13
Conor had been right about the damage. His exclusive well-manicured neighborhood was a mess. Broken branches lay tumbled against curbs, shingles littered the sidewalks, and disconnected power lines crisscrossed the long curving road like a child’s game of pick-up sticks.
Part of a neighbor’s fence stood tall in the mid-morning sunlight, while the adjoining section had been snapped in half by flying debris. A whole swath of overhanging trees and high hedges had been ripped out by their roots, and were scattered in haphazard clumps over several acres. Crushed flower petals lay everywhere. The fragrant scent of them was heavy beneath a cloudy gray sky.
The rugged old oak that had towered over Conor’s pristine pool was half-embedded in the shattered remains of his house, crushing fancy s
