A tree between us

I'd spoken to her before, the woman who'd stood beside a tree stump where the tree that had shaded her parents' grave had been. She was with a man this time, he solid with tattoos, holding an orange leaf blower. I mentioned the missing trees. "We complained about it," said the man, "but they didn't have any explanation." I suggested that the tree had come between the top of the hill and the new water feature with its loud gold lettering (in the early morning sun). Can't break that monetized line of sight. "They did respond," the woman said, "to tell us they could move my parents somewhere else; something could be arranged." "But we'd have to pay for it," the man added.