Meet Me in the Garden

by Rosa Sophia

  He stood and extended his hand. Almost instinctively, Amalie accepted his gentlemanly offer and stood, allowing him to hold her hand a moment longer, as though they were two dancers about to step onto the floor.

  “Shoot me an email or call me if you want, any time,” Ian added.

  “Thank you. I might do that.” She withdrew her hand and tucked the business card into her bag.

  They walked inside together, continuing to chat about their work, what brought them to Florida, and commenting on how funny it was that both of them were working in Palm Beach, the one place neither of them expected to end up.

  ***

  When Amalie got home, she looked at herself in the full length mirror. Behind her, she could see the tiny kitchenette. To her left was her neatly made bed. On it was her cat Zoey, stretching her thick body across the soft comforter and watching Amalie through half-closed eyes.

  “What do you think, Zoey? Not bad for a ten dollar dress.” Amalie made sure the blinds were closed before slipping the dress over her head and tossing it carelessly into the laundry basket. She pulled off her bra and panties and walked naked to the bed, where she slipped under the covers. When the lights were out, the only illumination came from the nightlight across the room.

  Zoey curled up next to her and made loud purring noises. Amalie closed her eyes. She was comfortable in her little studio apartment, but she was troubled and found it difficult to get to sleep. Eventually, she drifted into a half-sleep in which she could still feel Zoey at her side and hear her purring. The sounds of cars on the busy boulevard outside reached her ears, infiltrating her drowsiness. She could almost hear the clock ticking in the tiny kitchen.

  She could smell—

  Cloves?

  The scent was strangely familiar to her. She’d smelled it before, late at night, and the memory of the scent was like a fleeting dream hovering over her. It happened at least a few times a week and had been recurrent for the past few months. It was troubling, especially to a woman who wasn’t certain God existed, let alone unexplainable phenomena.

  She wasn’t sure what it was—or who it was. She only knew it was happening to her and she couldn’t just ignore it. Her eyes snapped open. She looked across the room and caught sight of the man-shaped shadow. The scent was strong in the air. Her heart was pounding.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here? Why do you keep coming back?”

  The form disappeared, leaving her with a strange emptiness. She wasn’t afraid. In fact, she was oddly comforted. Whatever it was, whoever it was, seemed to lull her into a state of relaxation. With the scent still fresh, Amalie drifted to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  1698, Ireland

  When he discovered her father and brothers had shunned her, she thought he might ask why. Then she realized he already knew. He knew her deepest secrets, as though he’d always known them since the beginning of time. It titillated and frightened her.

  She had very few belongings, just what she carried with her in a bag and stowed behind the house during the garden party, so he wouldn’t know she was homeless. She’d found out about the party by chance, from a traveler who knew the dark, brooding man and had once known his parents who had died. Although the distance was a great one to travel, there were few people in the county who didn’t know the name of the wealthy landowner. She had worn her best dress—the only nice one she had—and went to him prepared to give him her whole heart.

  She feared he would think she was using him, just looking for a place to live. After all, she had nothing left.

  Climbing the main staircase and walking down the wide corridor on the second floor, she chanced to overhear the conversation she dreaded. She’d been there all of a week, and already people were talking. A guest of his told him he shouldn’t be involved with her, that she was beneath him.

  Handsome paintings peered down at her. The floor was hard and cold under her feet. She breathed in and scarcely realized she was holding her breath.

  She didn’t have the courage to go looking for the man who had captured her heart seven years prior. It was sunny outside and the garden beckoned. The gardener glimpsed her, and this time he nodded hello. She wandered among the flowers, spent some time sunning herself on a bench, and walked back toward the house. She stood for a moment to admire the way the huge estate rose out of the bottom of a great hill, trees stretching behind it, thickening into a forest that stretched for miles.

  Just beyond the garden was farmland, all owned by this estate. He employed farm hands who harvested the vegetables he ate and slaughtered the animals that kept him alive. But he hid there, tucked away in a room full of books, losing himself in words. Something struck her as odd. When she’d known him before, he worked the land himself, mixed with the hired hands, and did the bidding of his parents, whom he respected a great deal. Something had happened between then and now. Something dark, something that had changed him forever.

  The war.

  Looking up, she caught a glimpse of him in the window of his study. Then the curtains were drawn shut and he cut out the world, preferring darkness to light and night to day.

  I will help him. I will be there for him. It has worked before. It will work again.

  She had to be careful. They were still close enough to town that she had to play the part of the Protestant girl. If he could convert, so could she. She worked her magic mostly at night, but she craved the splendor of the forest in daylight. She prayed for a blessing to wrap the estate in love and light and draw her dark one out of his misery.

  “He’s a strange one, he is.”

  She startled and turned. The gardener was standing there.

  “Oh, yes?” she asked, her voice timid.

  “Be careful, Miss.” The older man, his skin leathery from the sun and his hair thinning on top, tapped gently on his left temple with a gnarled finger. “He hasn’t been right since ’e came back. Gets these moods, ye see. If ye haven’t seen, ye will. Keep your wits about ye.”

  She nodded and said nothing. After a while, the gardener walked away.

  Fat raindrops began to fall from the sky. She ran in her bare feet, her calloused soles thumping against the earth.

  A soft ringing entered her head, and she covered her ears as if to make it disappear. It only grew louder, and louder, and louder—

  Chapter 4

  2013, North Palm Beach, Florida

  Rain slammed relentlessly against the thin windowpane over Amalie’s bed as the shrieking of the alarm clock roused her from a deep slumber. The vivid images from her dream assailed her and the scent of cloves returned, but she knew the smell was just her imagination—or was it?

  As she sat up, she felt sick and a heaviness descended on her. Zoey jumped on her bed and meowed loudly; she was ready for her breakfast.

  “Hold on, baby,” Amalie mumbled. “I don’t feel so good.”

  She thought again about the doctor and wondered if she should make an appointment. Then she considered doing a web search for facial pain but decided not to, knowing she would come up with a plethora of sites that would only provide her with suggestions of what she might worry about next.

  As she cooked a breakfast of eggs and a bagel, and popped a few blueberries in her mouth, Amalie thought about her diet and how it might be affecting her. As far as she knew, she ate well. The pain had to be from something else.

  It was almost ten o’clock when she dressed in her slacks and white blouse. She slipped into a pair of stylish flats, checked herself in the mirror, and headed for the office.

  When she got there, Joy was standing in the cozy main room by a loveseat and a small table that housed a coffee maker and a dish of fresh cookies. Her eyes widened and a smile spread across her face when she saw Amalie walk inside, leaving the gloomy, rainy day behind her.

  “Hey, what are you doing here? It’s your day off. And you got caught in the rain—should have stayed home! Have some coffee.”

  Joy was as energetic as she was kind. Som
etimes Amalie had a hard time following her. When she got excited, she would jump from one thing to the next.

  “Thanks,” Amalie said, a slight smile crossing her face. “I actually came by to pick up some papers for a project I’m working on, and to send a few emails to some of our clients.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine.” She took the proffered coffee mug and breathed in the heady aroma. “I’m just tired, I guess. Sorry about the other night. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Joy raised an eyebrow. “I can tell you haven’t been feeling well. Are you sick?”

  “Only in the head,” Amalie said, forcing a laugh. She didn’t feel much like laughing, but even a little titter seemed to improve her mood. Laughter is good medicine after all. “I don’t know. I might go to a doctor.” When Joy gave her a questioning look, she begrudgingly continued. “I’ve been getting this weird pain in my face. I’ve had it my whole life, but it’s gotten worse lately. I don’t know why.”

  “Sweetheart that could be serious. Do you have a family doctor?”

  “No.” Amalie sipped her coffee. “I always kinda thought family doctors were for people who have families.”

  Joy frowned. “I’ll give you a great recommendation. My doctor’s wonderful. I really think you ought to go.” She squeezed Amalie’s arm reassuringly. “Believe me, Doctor Lee’s a great gal. There’s no need to be nervous. It’s best that you find out what’s going on with you.”

  “What’s going on with who?” a deep voice called out. One of the copyeditors had just emerged from the wide hallway to the right, which led to the editorial offices of Island Time Review.

  Garrett always has to know what’s going on, especially when it’s none of his damn business, Amalie thought. Out loud, she said, “Nothing, Garrett, I just have a cold.”

  He was wearing the usual office attire, even though everyone else at Island Time preferred casual dress. Amalie sometimes wondered if wearing a black suit, striped tie, and shiny black shoes made him feel superior. His thin black hair was combed nicely, and he had handsome brown eyes, but that was about all she could say for him. She didn’t like that he was nosy and always asking questions. Amalie was a private person and Garrett was not.

  “Not feeling well, Amalie?” Garrett asked, a concerned look on his face. He stepped over to the coffee pot and filled his mug.

  “I’m fine,” Amalie lied.

  “Well, anyway,” Joy began, clearly sensing the tension in the air, “I’ll be back in my office if you need me. Amalie, stop by on your way out and I’ll give you that information.” Joy winked a long eyelash and sashayed to the wide corner office on the other side of the main room.

  Amalie cleared her throat, topped off her coffee, and forced a smile at Garrett before she walked down the hall to her own office.

  She hated office atmospheres, but Island Time wasn’t so bad. The building was small and housed about five offices, including Joy’s. Anyone else who worked for Island Time was hired remotely.

  Amalie’s office was the last one in the short hallway. She had a wide door with a glass pane inset, and had placed colorful cartoons overtop. The plaque on the door read Amalie Jarvis, Associate Editor. It was a title that didn’t quite fit all the many things Amalie did for Island Time, including writing columns and reviews, and editing novels and non-fiction for Island Time Press.

  Inside, soft blue carpeting covered the floor, and Amalie had decorated the walls with cheerful paintings. She liked to sit in the armchair in the corner when she was reviewing paper manuscripts. Hanging over her desk were framed degrees and certificates. She’d made the office a pleasant place, so she didn’t mind driving to Jupiter to work. Of course, there was nothing better than staying at home and working from her laptop, but she couldn’t complain.

  “Just so long as I don’t end up with office ass,” Amalie mumbled to herself.

  She glanced out the wide window that overlooked a parking lot and US Highway 1. It was still pouring. Eager to finish her work, she went to her desk and pulled out the project file. It was for a book she was editing, and she needed the file in order to work on it from home. Setting it on the edge of her desk, she turned on her computer and accessed her email. She quickly sent off emails to the clients she needed to contact, replied to a few in her inbox, and glanced at her watch. When she was finished, the whole task had taken a half hour.

  She shut down her computer, scooped up the file, and headed for the door. As she stepped outside, she nearly collided with Garrett, who was just stepping out of his own office.

  “Oh, excuse me, Amalie! I didn’t see you there.”

  For a moment, she was close enough to smell his aftershave. When she nearly dropped her folder, they both scrambled to catch it, and for a brief moment Amalie worried Garrett might accidentally grab something else.

  “You got that?” he asked, smiling warmly.

  “Yes, Garrett, thank you. I’m headed home now. I’ll see you later.”

  “Amalie, hold on,” he said, following her down the hall. “Are you going to the office party on Saturday?”

  She stopped for a moment and thought. “I forgot about that. I don’t know, probably. Are you?”

  “Yeah. So I’ll see you there?”

  “Well, I’ll be at work before then.”

  “Okay, see you tomorrow?”

  “Sure.” She hurried away, wanting to end the conversation.

  On the way out, she stopped in Joy’s office, got the information for Doctor Lee, and ran across the parking lot with the folder tucked under her arm. By the time she climbed into her Honda, the folder was damp, and her ponytail was loose. A quick glance in the mirror showed her black hair everywhere, wet and stuck to her shoulders. The rain pounded on the roof as she started the car and drove out onto US 1.

  The morning disappeared while Amalie sat in front of her computer marking up a manuscript. It might be her day off from Island Time, but she also took on freelance work. Money was always on her mind, especially recently. She’d done some research into nearby apartment buildings, but they were all asking more than she could afford. The only reason she was paying such low rent was because the building had been under foreclosure when she’d moved in. She knew she was taking her chances, but she couldn’t handle anything else. She made decent wages, but it was difficult to save. She needed all the extra work she could get.

  “Mow.” Zoey jumped up on her lap and nudged her arm.

  “Almost done, sweetie.” Amalie glanced out the window. The rain was slowing. “And then I’m going to go for a run.”

  Chapter 5

  The bar was packed when Amalie arrived. The room was spacious, with the bar on the right hand side, and pool tables on the left. The lighting was dim, illuminating the many bottles of liquor behind the bar, while a strobe and multi-colored lights flashed across the wide, polished dance floor. A large mirror on one side gave patrons a glimpse of themselves as they swung around with their partners. There were only a few couples dancing. The DJ was perched atop a stage behind his equipment, overlooking the huge mirror. A live band was just setting up.

  Amalie noticed many of the women were decked out in flashy clothes, wearing make-up to hide their age, and flirting with much younger men. Amalie was a stark contrast in her modest white blouse and jeans. A group of scantily clad young women giggled over cocktails while men stood around gawking. Amalie was quickly reminded of why she never frequented bars.

  She found a table on the far side of the room, near the stage, where Joy and the others were enjoying their first round of drinks.

  Joy was wearing a pair of white linen pants and a pink top, her hair hanging around her shoulders. When she laughed, her bright eyes widened and she clicked her glass against Tara’s, one of the columnists from Island Time.

  “Hey, Tara, Joy. Hey, guys,” Amalie said, stepping up to the table.

  “Hello there, Am!” Joy exclaimed. “We make the editorial worl
d look fun, don’t we?”

  “Definitely!” What Amalie really wanted was to be at home in her bed. Instead, she slid into a seat at the table and ordered a beer. When it arrived, she took a few grateful gulps, willing to admit to any crowd that alcohol had a tendency to bring her out of her shell.

  She settled into her seat, sipped her drink, and watched everyone around her. As things began to pick up, Amalie took it all in, absorbing every detail. Shortly after she arrived, a man in a black t-shirt and a leather vest strode in, clad in tight jeans and wearing a black cowboy hat. He had a leering stare and a wide smile that Amalie would have called demonic; it spread wide across his face and displayed large, imposing teeth. He had a mustache and a goatee that was neatly trimmed, but graying, and every move he made seemed an attempt to deny he was over fifty.

  Amalie watched as he walked across the dance floor and slipped his arms around a woman who was perhaps ten or thirteen years younger than him. She was a head shorter, with a mane of wavy blonde hair and a dazzling smile. She also wore jeans and leather, and black motorcycle boots. When the band started playing, they took to the floor, commanding everyone’s attention, making moves that were both risky and sexual. She wiggled against him, and he grabbed a handful of her hair as she slunk almost to the floor, and then rose up again, a seductive smile on her face.

  Dancers jumped aside and a crowd gasped when he lifted her into the air, her crotch in the crook of his elbow, and then nearly dropped her. For a split second, his grin dissipated, and she stiffened, her fingers clutching the top of his leather vest in a white-knuckled grip. Amalie’s own fingers tightened around her beer glass as she watched. The man was able to catch his balance and lower her to the ground before the slight miscalculation became a grievous error.

  Amalie startled when the empty chair beside her moved and someone sat down.