Meet Me in the Garden

by Rosa Sophia

  “What a show, huh?” Garrett said, setting his glass on the table. “You think they’re drunk?”

  “No,” Amalie said, sipping her beer. “I’ve been watching them since they came in. I think he’s had one drink and maybe she’s had two.”

  “Is this what you do when you go out, just sit and watch people?”

  “Something wrong with that?”

  “No, I guess not.” Garrett shrugged. “Anyway, how have you been?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Feeling better? I keep hearing you haven’t been doing so well.”

  “Office gossip.” Amalie wrinkled her nose at him. “People love to talk.” She was glad when the band lit into their next number. She didn’t feel much like talking. Unfortunately, it didn’t dissuade Garrett.

  “Great place,” he said loudly, nodding his head to the music.

  Amalie noticed he wasn’t wearing a suit for once; instead, he wore a dressy black button-up shirt, and his hair was slicked back with gel.

  “It’s an okay place,” she said, figuring she ought to add to the conversation. “I don’t go out much. I’m not a partier.”

  “What do you do then?” Garrett asked. “I mean, not that I party all the time, I’m getting too old for that, but, you know.”

  “I run.”

  “You run…like in races?”

  “Yeah, and I read and write.” It seemed silly to say that, when they both worked for a publisher. “I mean, obviously,” she added, laughing nervously.

  “That’s cool,” Garrett said, taking a sip from his beer. “Lately I’ve been reading Harry Potter. Don’t laugh, Am!” He grinned. “I know, it’s stupid.”

  “No, it’s not. Actually, I loved all those books.”

  “Well, my little nephew talked me into it. I thought we might bond that way, ya know? I didn’t think I would like them that much, but I ended up reading the first book in two days.” He laughed again, adding, “Oh, I love this song!” when the band started playing an old Steve Miller tune.

  Later in the evening, the biker couple was still commandeering the dance floor, but others danced around them. Amalie was feeling a buzz halfway through her second beer. To her surprise, she and Garrett had continued talking about literature, work, and family. An hour had flown by.

  He stood, setting aside his empty glass, and looked at Amalie with brown eyes and a wide smile. “Wanna dance?”

  “Huh? Me?”

  “Sure.” Garrett gestured toward the dance floor. “Everybody’s out there, even Joy. Come on, it’ll be fun, just a couple friends having a good time.”

  When they went out on the floor, the flashing lights made her eyes blur, and she accidentally bumped into the biker cowboy. The man gave her a curious glance, then slid his arm around his girlfriend and whispered conspiratorially in her ear. Momentarily distracted from Garrett, Amalie got the distinct impression the biker was talking about her. Before she could consider it further, Garrett slipped an arm around her and tried a sexy move.

  She would have told him to stop if she’d felt up to it. Instead, she just froze in place and raised her hand to her forehead. He stepped back to look at her, but she was aware of his hand on her lower back.

  “Are you okay?” He leaned in so she could hear him over the loud music.

  She smelled the beer on his breath and felt her stomach turn, but she was unsure if it was the scent or sudden pain that was messing with her insides.

  “I’m fine, but you know, I think I need some fresh air.” Without bothering to see if he would follow, Amalie made her way through the crowd toward the front entrance. She felt sick, and she fought to keep her balance. She bumped into a few people, unsure whether it was their fault, or her uneven gait that was causing it.

  It was pouring. She found an empty bench just a short way down the sidewalk. The smokers were all to her right under a wide canopy, puffing away and sharing lighters. A few people gave her a brief glance, but quickly returned to their conversations.

  The bench was dry, tucked beneath the overhang. Amalie sat down and leaned forward as the stabbing pain sliced at her face and finally receded, becoming a dull ache that made her want to vomit.

  “I hardly drank anything,” she mumbled to herself, frustrated. She sat straight up and leaned back against the bench, watching the water come down in sheets. After a few moments, she felt better. It was quiet. The lack of noise calmed her. The only thing that bugged her was the occasional smell of cigarette smoke as it wafted over.

  She heard the front door to the bar open, followed by an outpouring of noise—a cacophony of laughter, loud voices, and blaring music.

  “Are you okay?” Garrett asked, this time in a soft voice, now that he didn’t have to yell to be heard.

  “Yeah. I guess the alcohol got to me, I don’t know. It hurts.”

  “You didn’t drink that much,” Garrett said, echoing what Amalie had been thinking moments before.

  “I know.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s almost eleven-thirty. I should go home anyway.”

  “Are you okay to drive?”

  “Yeah, fine. I think I’m just tired.” She stood slowly, noting that the pain had dissipated for now. She checked herself and made sure she had her keys, wallet, and cell phone, then glanced out toward the parking lot. “Leave it to me to wear a white blouse on a day like this.”

  “Sorry, I don’t have an umbrella.”

  I know that’s not what you wanted to say, Amalie thought to herself. Out loud, she remarked, “It’s okay, I don’t use them anyway. If Joy says anything, tell her I’m fine. I don’t want her to worry.” She smiled wanly. “She’s like a mother to me, you know?”

  “Sure.” Garrett stepped forward and reached out, and there was an awkward moment in which he attempted an embrace. Amalie brushed against him, then stepped back, gently squeezing his arm, if only because she felt guilty she couldn’t offer more. She just wasn’t interested in him.

  “See you on Monday, Garrett.”

  “Drive safe, Am.”

  Amalie walked around the corner of the building and decided to wait for the rain to slow down. She stood there for ten minutes or so, watching puddles collect in the parking lot. After a while, it began to dissipate, and she reminded herself of a phrase she’d heard when she moved to Florida from Maine: If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.

  As she stepped out into a slight drizzle, she saw two shadows moving across the asphalt and recognized the biker and his girlfriend. He cupped her ass with his hand and leaned down to kiss her. Amalie watched as they each climbed onto their motorcycles and put on black helmets. Taillights brightened the dreary night, and the beams from their headlamps pierced the darkness. With one last glance at each other, the man took off first, and the woman followed behind, the engines rumbling and roaring.

  Amalie could hear them even as they drove down U.S. Highway 1, the sound drifting into the distance. Soon the only thing she heard was her feet touching the pavement as she stepped up to her car and slipped her key into the lock.

  Chapter 6

  1698, Ireland

  She was blissfully alone, listening to the birds in the trees and the breeze as it tousled foliage and made flora dance.

  It was almost as if the wind whispered her name.

  “Myrna, Myrna?”

  She sat bolt upright and startled when she saw the woman standing at the edge of the clearing, a small basket clutched against her right hip. It was the cook. What was she doing out here? How had she found her hiding place?

  “I am sorry I frightened you, dear one.” The older woman walked into the clearing, stepping up the slight incline, her dress fluttering in the breeze. She was a stout woman, with a round face and graying hair.

  “Fianna, I…I come out here to…”

  “I know why you come here, child.” She reached out her hand and helped Myrna to her feet. “You come here for the same reasons I do.” Fianna breathed deeply, her eyes fluttering, and gest
ured to the wide expanse around them. “Look where we stand, in the bosom of the Great Mother ’erself. This is where I collect my herbs, where I come to seek solace, where I do my work.”

  “Work?”

  “Yes, child.” Fianna leaned in close and whispered, “I know what you are, for I am the same.” She stepped back, her brown eyes full of laughter, her smile wide and inviting. “Come help me.” Fianna stopped for a moment, adding, “That is, if you wish it—”

  “I do. I’ll help,” Myrna said, happy to be of assistance.

  “Good. Ye already know what to do, dear.”

  For a while, they walked together and did not speak, reaching down to pluck gifts from the earth and tuck them away into the basket. Myrna felt an instant connection to Fianna, who seemed to know all her secrets—much as the brooding man did, shut away in his office, buried in words.

  After some time, Myrna could not hold back. She needed the answers to years of questions.

  “Fianna, why is he happy one moment and sorrowful the next? Sometimes I fear he does not love me.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop to think.

  The two women came to a halt near the edge of the clearing. The basket was nearly full.

  “Dear one.” Fianna touched Myrna’s arm to comfort her. “I’ve been working for the family for many a year, and he has changed much. There is darkness in him. He’s seen many a terrible thing, though I don’t know what they be. I remember ye from years ago. I had a feeling you’d return. Be warned, my dear, he’s not the man he once was. He’s damaged, hurting inside.” Fianna stepped into the shelter of the trees. “War does terrible, terrible things to a man.”

  In the forest, the cool air surrounded them, and Myrna felt a sudden chill. Since first arriving, she’d gone in the woods many times. This was the first time she felt different, almost uncomfortable. The trees wavered in an unsuspecting wind, and it was as though a dream swept over her, a fleeting flash of remembrance that came and went in a second’s notice.

  Fianna stopped and turned, her brow crinkling. “Myrna, are you ill?”

  “No, I…Forgive me. I’ve so much on my mind.”

  Without speaking, the older woman slipped her arm around Myrna’s and the two of them walked slowly down the winding path, through the trees, down the hills, until they reached the stone steps that led to the back of the estate. From here, Myrna could see the veranda. She could see the gardens. The huge house stretched over the rear of the property, a stone edifice withstanding the tests of time, wide windows letting in the light.

  Chapter 7

  2013, Jupiter, Florida

  “Are you okay, Amalie? Am?”

  Amalie lifted a hand to her head as she sat down on the loveseat in the comfy main room of Island Time Review. She heard the motherly concern in Joy’s voice, but her head was hurting all of a sudden, and she was finding it difficult to concentrate.

  “I’m…I’m sorry, it’s just…It hurts.” Amalie took the glass of water Joy offered. She sipped it slowly. “I’m okay now.”

  “Did you call Doctor Lee yet?” Joy sat down across from her, leaning against the fabric of the pinstripe slacks she wore.

  “No, not yet.”

  “Amalie, you’ve gotta do that, sweetheart.” She reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. I must sound like your—”

  Amalie looked up and caught Joy’s gaze. For a moment, they understood each other, but it was difficult to put it into words. Joy had lost a daughter. Amalie had lost her mother. There was a connection between them they couldn’t deny.

  “I’ll go to the doctor,” Amalie whispered. “I promise.”

  Once she was in her office and back to work, she felt better. The pain was unpredictable, but it was becoming more frequent. It worried her that it seemed to coincide with strange flashbacks she couldn’t explain—dream images she couldn’t be sure were her own. She didn’t tell Joy about it because she wasn’t sure how to explain it. None of it made sense.

  She hardly slept at night as her astral form led her on journeys that were so detailed and vivid she would sometimes wake up wondering what was real and what wasn’t. She was beginning to question if she should forgo visiting Doctor Lee and see a psychiatrist instead. But the pain couldn’t be ignored.

  After lunch, Amalie wandered into the hallway holding a stack of papers in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. She read the papers as she walked, making her way to Joy’s office, her heels clicking against the smooth floor. The flower pattern dress she wore—a thrift shop find—swished against the backs of her thighs as she moved.

  She heard laughter emanating from Joy’s office and figured she was on the phone. Usually, Joy took her calls using a Bluetooth headset. She thought nothing of pushing the door open and walking right in. She nearly dropped her coffee when she almost collided with Ian Gardner.

  He moved back a step, looking at the coffee and then glancing down at his clean sport jacket and white button-up shirt.

  “Wow, I was almost a casualty right there,” he said, grinning. “Amalie, it’s nice to see you again.”

  She shuffled the papers under her arm in order to shake his proffered hand, then grimaced when some of the coffee spilled on Joy’s new carpet.

  “Hey, don’t worry about that!” Joy exclaimed, her bright blue eyes widening as she grabbed a roll of paper towels. “I got it.”

  Joy sopped up the mess while Amalie and Ian exchanged a nervous glance.

  “I shouldn’t be permitted to carry around mugs of coffee,” Amalie said sheepishly. “There’s something about coffee. I spill it, no matter what.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Ian said, winking.

  Amalie felt her cheeks flush.

  “Am, Ian is going to be designing some book covers for us.” Joy tossed the coffee-stained paper towels into the trash. “In fact, I’m having him do the cover for the memoir you’re working on, Scattered Ashes.”

  “Oh. That’s great,” Amalie said, her mind drifting. “Um, you wanted to look at these contracts?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you.” Joy took the papers from her and laid them on her desk. “Ian, I think we covered everything for today. Amalie, I’ll let you know if I need you later. For now, it’s my lunch break.” She grabbed her purse and patted Amalie on the shoulder as she headed for the door. “Talk to you two later. Ta!”

  Amalie followed Joy out of her office and into the main area, where someone had put on a fresh pot of coffee. The percolator gurgled and Amalie was tempted to top off her brew. She thought better of it, not wanting to ruin her dress.

  She had almost forgotten Ian was standing somewhere behind her.

  “Headed back to work?” he asked, jolting Amalie back to reality.

  “Uh, no, actually…lunch time.”

  “Coincidentally, I was also headed to lunch.” Ian slipped out of his sport jacket and hung it over one shoulder. “Would you like to come to lunch with me? Not that I was planning it that way or anything.”

  “Sounds as if you were.” Amalie smirked.

  “It does sound that way, doesn’t it? What do you say?”

  “Sure.”

  Ian drove a small, sleek black car—something that would fit right in pulling up in front of The Breakers.

  Not my car, Amalie thought, remembering how she’d tagged along with Joy on the night of the literacy event. I’d be laughed out of Palm Beach if I drove that twenty-year-old four-banger up to the valet parking.

  She waited for Ian to unlock the car, which made a soft beeping noise. Before she could open the door herself, Ian opened it for her, stepping aside and waiting for her to climb in.

  For a moment, she just stared at him, trying to remember if this had ever happened to her before.

  “What?” he asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Um, nothing, I just don’t think anyone’s ever held open a car door for me.” She bit at her bottom lip, something she always did when she felt uncomfortable.

&
nbsp; A sly smirk spread across Ian’s blond stubble. “Hey, if I didn’t open the door for you and my mom found out, she’d kill me. She raised me to be a gentleman.”

  “Okay.” Amalie was at a loss for words. She was still too uncomfortable to think of any. She was experiencing a new sensation. It felt good, and that was what bothered her. In her mind, four little words echoed continuously: What’s wrong with me?

  The upholstery was clean and neat—unlike her car—and it was cozy and smelled faintly of musky cologne. Ian waited until she was situated before gently shutting the door and walking over to the driver’s side.

  Once inside, he turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred to life. It didn’t croak, tap, or groan like Amalie’s car. My car is the only car that sounds like my car.

  “So, where’d you like to have lunch? Or maybe I should ask you, how much time do you have?”

  Amalie turned and looked at Ian, who had slipped on a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses.

  “Anything’s fine. I’m easy.” Her cheeks burned. “I mean, I’m easy to please. I mean…it doesn’t matter, I’ll eat whatever.” Her shoulders slumped and she sunk against the seat, feeling completed dejected. Dear God, I wonder what he thinks of me now?

  They drove a short distance down the road to a restaurant, and the radio provided a mild distraction from the awkward silence between them. It had been a little over a week since they’d met at The Breakers. Maybe the wine had made it easier to talk to him. Or maybe she’d had too much coffee that morning. No matter the reason, Amalie was staring down at her high heels, pressing her toes against the carpet, interlocking her hands and squeezing her fingers until her knuckles turned white. They pulled into a parking spot, and Ian put the car in park and took the keys out of the ignition.

  “You okay?” When he reached for his wallet in the center console, his elbow brushed up against hers and she gulped.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Amalie hadn’t spent any time with a man in—

  I don’t remember.