Remembered by E. D. Brady

week. He was a good man.”
    She was surprised. She hadn’t anticipated that explanation.
She wondered why her father had never mentioned him.
    “My family attended your parent’s funeral,” he continued. “I
know you wouldn’t remember us from that day, but I remembered you. I felt so
sad for you, and remember wanting to say something comforting, but I was an
awkward boy,” he chuckled. “I also remember being intimidated by your beauty.”
    “It was a very sad day,” she admitted, unable to think of
any other reply. “So, your father owned a shop?” she asked, hoping to lighten
the mood.
    “He still does,” Kellus replied. “This one.”
    “This is your father’s shop?”
    “Yes, and this is my father,” he answered, nodding in the
direction of the shopkeeper who still held the clip in his hand.
    The shopkeeper and Kellus were so alike that Annie wondered
how she hadn’t noticed sooner. The shopkeeper was tall and handsome, about
forty-five years old. His hair was dark brown with gray speckles peppered
through. He had twinkling eyes, like someone who found great joy in life.
    “You are Annella Derlyn?” the shopkeeper asked.
    “Yes, sir, I am. I assume you knew my father also.”
    “Yes, I did. He was a wonderful man,” he replied.
    “Thank you,” she responded sadly, feeling her eyes begin to
sting. She still found it hard to talk about her parents, even after so many
years.
    “Are you alright? Would you like to sit for a moment?”
Kellus questioned.
    “No, I’ll be fine,” she assured him.
    Kellus continued to stare into her eyes, causing her to feel
uncomfortable suddenly.
    “Would you like to buy the hair clip, Annella? the
shopkeeper asked. “I would like to give you a special price.”
    “No, thank you, sir, I was just admiring it,” she answered.
    “Please call me Tol,” he said kindly.
    “It was a pleasure to meet you, Tol, but I should be going
now,” she said.
    “I should be going as well,” Kellus added. He bid goodbye to
his father and held the door opened for Annie.
    She walked through the door and turned to say goodbye, but
must have misjudged the distance between them. When she turned, they were much
too close, merely inches apart—her eyes were level with his collarbone. They
both blushed and took a step back.
    “Goodbye, Kellus,” she said bashfully.
    “It was a pleasure to see you again, Annie,” he answered,
staring deep into her eyes once again. She had a feeling he wanted to say
something, but thought better of it.
    She broke the stare and walked up the hill.
    The rest of the day was spent in inner dialogue, arguing
with herself that this attraction was useless—despite her growing
infatuation—and that she must put him out of her head completely.
    She went to sleep quite content that she had come to her
senses, that she would no longer think of Kellus constantly, and that her more
logical side had won the battle.
    By morning, however, it was obvious her efforts would be in
vain.
    “Annie, look at this,” Max called from the front door.
    “What is it?” she replied, rising her voice above the patter
of raindrops that pelted her bedroom window. She decided to stay in bed later
than usual. It was a wet, miserable day, a perfect day to finish the book Mrs.
Wellum had lent her, or rather, to start it, since she still had no idea what
was written on the first page.
    “Come here and see,” he yelled back.
    She pulled the blanket off the bed, wrapped it around her
shoulders, and walked up the hallway to the front door, feeling agitated. “What
is it?” she moaned.
    “Look there,” Max said, pointing outside the door into the
rain.
    A small black box sat in a puddle on the top step, a soggy
note tucked underneath it. The note tore apart when she picked it up, but she
could make out enough of the lettering to tell it simply said ‘To Annella’ .
She looked up and down the hill. There was no one in sight.
    “What is that?” Cora asked.
    “Give me one