A/N: Doing some revamping. I read through the story and it could use a little work. I also really like it, but I want it to continue, so I have to fix the things I messed up. Enjoy.

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oOo Celia oOo

My fingers are enriched with the scent of soil, so I am reluctant to wash them, but supper is being served. With a sour face I scrub my hands clean of the dirt most people would dub grime, filth, or, "Blech!"

But I've always loved the garden. I love feeling of waking up at dawn and seeing the first sprout of a tomato vine. I love the fragrance of flowers after rain and the way they sway and dance in the kisses of the autumn breeze. It makes me smile just to think of it.

But it makes me frown to think of with whom I saw this year's first harvest.

Sweeping the sorrowful thoughts from my mind, the aroma of Vesta's beloved banana bread catches the air through which I am walking. With a grin I hurry into the house to find Marlin setting the table with plates and silverware as Vesta carefully places the freshly baked bread onto the middle of the table. She looks up, puffing her fiery red hair away from her deep, dark eyes, and chuckles at my excited expression. "Ah-ah!" she says playfully. "No banana bread for you, Celia, until you bring back that boy!"

My smile droops and my eyes dim at his mention. I can tell Vesta senses my sudden sorrow because she stands erect and gives me a solemn look. "Celia, dear, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, it's just that it's different without him around here...we miss him."

"I know." My voice is so unsteady that I think I might start crying. Suddenly, even the banana bread doesn't look appealing anymore. "I'm going to go for a walk."

Marlin grunts and mutters something under his breath. He's never liked my Ephraim...though I can't call Ephraim mine anymore.

The air is sweet outside, and it comforts me only a little. I walk away from the farm and to the right until I reach the bridge that connects us to the village. Tucking my dress under me, I sit down so my boots dangle but a foot above the gentle flowing river. When I reach up to itch my head, I realize that the wind has blown my beige-ish bandana out of place and take a moment to fix it again so that only a few strands of dark brown hair hang in front of my ears.

I do miss that boy...I remember how we used to sit here some nights in the summer in a perfect, pure silence. He would stroke my hand with his thumb, our fingers entwined, and I would gaze at him with a love I had never known before.

A love that I would never know again...

oOo Ephraim oOo

"Yes!" Rock cheers as he gleefully tosses another big huchep into the cooler. "Fourth one in a row!"

"Congratulations," I say in a flat voice. "I'm proud of you."

"What's with you, Ephraim?" Rock asks, re-casting flawlessly. "Ooh, Eph, your line's bobbing!"

Immediately I begin to reel 'er in, but it's too late. The fish has gone, and it's taken my bait with it. Silently I slide another writhing worm onto the sharp hook and recast.

I learned how to fish almost two years ago, when I first arrived in Forget-Me-Not Valley. Since then, I've really enjoyed it. It seems to relax me, but at the same time gives me a thrill. I never catch much, maybe a few pitiful snelts here and there and once, I caught a big columbo, but that's about it.

I came out here with Rock tonight in hopes of distracting myself. So far it's not working. All I can think about is her.

"Ra-ams!" Rock says with a flick of laughter in his voice.

I know he is expecting me to chuckle and jokingly tell him to quit it, but I can't bring myself to. All I say is, "Don't call me that, Rock."

"What? Rams?"

I realize that he's joking and that he doesn't mean any harm, but his teasing is getting on my nerves. "Seriously, Rock. Don't call me that."

"Geez, Eph," he says, and I nearly sigh in relief that he's using my normal nickname. "I know heartache is a killer, but I ain't never seen it kill like this before. Why can't I call you Rams? It's cool. Get it? Eph- RAIM? RAMS?"

"Yes, Rocky, I get it." I laugh genuinely at my own joke.

"Now that's not funny."

"I think it is."

"How did you know my mom calls me that?"

"Rocky," I say, mimicking his mother's Japanese-accented voice, "Rocky! Time for supper, Rocky! Rocky, stay away from the turtle!"

"Ha...ha...ha," he says plainly. Then after a pause he says, "But since Rams is cool, why can't I call you that?"

"Because."

"Because?"

"Just because!"

Silence. Then, "Because that's what she used to call you?"

I say nothing for a few seconds and then quickly reel in my empty line and stand. "I'm done for today. Should be getting home. Sheelah's grumpy when she's out too late."

"The cow? You're leaving because the cow will be grumpy?"

I laugh and tell Rock to bring me back my cooler tomorrow.

Walking away, fishless, I breathe in the pure autumn air. This is my second fall in Forget Valley. So far, I'm partial to it. Yeah, spring is refreshing, summer is exhilarating, and winter is beautiful, but to me, nothing feels as good as watching the clean, crisp autumn wind blow through pleasantly colored trees.

As I'm walking down the hill that leads to the bridge, a familiar figure, silhouetted in the setting sun, catches my stare.

It's her.

She's sitting on the bridge, wiping her face like she's crying. I don't why she would be crying. She's the one who doesn't love me anymore.

I wonder if she's even crying over me. Probably not. No girl has ever cried over me; I'm always the one who gets dumped.

But Celia...she just seems different.

Will she ever love me again?