Mr. Rempel

“I don’t want to hear any more about what Mr. Rempel said.”

Her lips were pursed in a tight line. A sparrow hopped between the thick limbs of an old oak. She braced herself for the reaction. She waited for the sulking.

“Okay, Mom.”

And that was it. Something about the girl’s casual indifference bothered Jill.

No more was said that weekend about Mr. Rempel. But Jill began watching her daughter more carefully. On Sunday, she spied Chelsea sitting on a stump near the treeline at dusk, talking and gesturing. But mostly listening.

This time, after returning to her job at Branded For Success!, she couldn’t get Mr. Rempel out of her mind. She thought about him constantly, usually with a creeping sense of dread.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)