Meet Me in the Garden

by Rosa Sophia

  When Ian had said those words—mind if I have a smoke—something inside her responded, and somehow she knew. How could it be? How could that shadowy specter be in any way connected to Ian, this flesh and blood man she’d met by chance at The Breakers?

  They stepped into her apartment, and Zoey met them both with enthusiasm, rubbing against their legs. Amalie remained silent for a while as she tucked the bag with her sleeping pills into the cabinet in the kitchen and refilled Zoey’s water bowl.

  Ian seemed to know she was uncomfortable. He stood by the door for a while, his hands tucked into his pockets.

  “I’m sorry, Ian.” Amalie walked into the living area and sat down on the loveseat. She patted the cushion beside her, inviting him to sit down. When he joined her, he waited for her to speak, watching her attentively. “If you didn’t think I was crazy before, you must now.”

  “No.” Ian shook his head. “I’m curious, confused. But more than anything, I’m worried about you. I know you’re not crazy.”

  “What makes you so sure? Like I said, we—”

  “Haven’t known each other that long, I know. Forget about that. Just tell me why the smell of cloves bothers you. Did your mom used to smoke? If that’s it, I understand and I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is remind you of painful memories.”

  “No, I wish it were that simple.” She tucked her legs beneath her and sat cross-legged, leaning against the arm of the loveseat so she could face him. “I don’t know if I can tell you this.”

  “Will you stop worrying? I believe more things than you know, things you’d probably think are pretty strange. You should see the lady who lives in the condo below me in Jupiter. She’s quite a character, but I don’t think she gives a damn what other people think. I’ve learned a lot from her. In fact, I think you should meet her someday.” He took her hand and held it. “You don’t have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable, but just know that I won’t judge you.”

  Amalie liked the feeling of her hand in his. She liked being close to him. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but she trusted him—and she wanted to tell him.

  “I’ve smelled cloves before, at night when I’m trying to sleep. And sometimes I see a shadow like a man’s standing there. For some reason when you mentioned smoking, that’s what I thought of.”

  He turned his head and looked at Amalie, one eyebrow raised over his wire-rimmed glasses.

  “I haven’t been sneaking into your apartment,” he assured her. She punched him playfully on the shoulder. “I don’t know what this means,” he continued, adopting a more serious expression, “but the only thing I can tell you is to accept it, don’t read into it too much, and eventually maybe you’ll figure it out.”

  “Somehow I thought you’d say that.”

  For a moment, they were both silent. Amalie couldn’t tear herself away from his gaze. Before she could react, he leaned in and kissed her, gently at first. Then the kiss deepened, and his tongue probed her mouth as he drew her closer until her body was pressed against his. She moaned softly against him. Slowly, the kiss ended, and Ian brushed his lips gently against hers one last time.

  “Walk me out to my car,” he said softly.

  “You expect me to be able to move after that?”

  He kissed her again, on the lips and then on the cheek, and gently drew her off the loveseat.

  Outside, things weren’t as noisy as they had been before. The neighbor had finished washing his car and was nowhere to be seen. The Trans Am was locked up and parked by the grass.

  As they crossed the lot to Ian’s car, a lanky older woman with gray hair lugged a laundry basket across the asphalt, sweating in her t-shirt and shorts. Her bare feet, calloused and browned by the sun, scraped against the loose gravel. She waved to Amalie, who turned and smiled back.

  “Hey, Mrs. Collins,” Amalie said reluctantly, wishing she could avoid exchanging pleasantries with neighbors. She wasn’t in the mood; the only person she wanted near her right now was Ian.

  “Am, nice to see you.” The tone of Mrs. Collins’s voice betrayed years of cigarette smoking. “And who’s your friend?”

  “This is Ian. Ian, this is my neighbor Mrs. Collins.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Ian said, shaking hands with the older woman.

  “Well, I’m just headed to do my laundry,” Mrs. Collins said, dropping her basket on the ground with a thud. “What’re your plans, hon? Find a place yet?”

  “Um, no, not yet. Did you?”

  Mrs. Collins beamed. “My son finally came through for me and he’s buying me a condo over at Century Village.”

  “Oh, that’s great.” Amalie glanced at Ian, who was fidgeting by his driver’s side door. “Mrs. Collins, I gotta go, Ian has to go to work, and I just wanted to talk him for a second. But I’ll see you later.”

  “Sure, hon.” Mrs. Collins scooped up her heavy basket, grunted, and made her way slowly to the laundry area on the other side of the building.

  When they were alone, Ian peered at her curiously. “What’s going on?”

  Amalie crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the car. “I have to find a new place to live. The building is under foreclosure.” She turned and glanced at the stucco siding and frowned. “It’s not as if I’m attached to the place, but I have nowhere else to go.”

  “How long do you have?”

  “About a month before I have to be out, maybe a few days longer.”

  “What are you going to do?” The car beeped softly when Ian unlocked the doors.

  “I don’t know. I don’t have many options.”

  The trees swayed in the breeze. From the edge of the parking lot, they could see the lake. A water bird touched down to snag a fish. Lizards rushed across the sidewalk as if they had someplace important to be.

  Amalie glanced up at Ian, suddenly very frightened of the possibilities.

  “I don’t want to go back to Maine,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

  “Don’t worry, Am.” Ian drew her into a hug, then kissed her. Before he climbed into the car, he added, “I’ll help you look for a place. We’ll make sure you have somewhere to go.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Amalie felt useless for the rest of the day. She called Joy to see how things were at the office, and was ordered to rest. Amalie could sense the motherly concern in Joy’s voice, especially when she explained her next appointment.

  “They’re not sure why I passed out. I might’ve just fallen because it hurt so bad, I don’t know. I don’t really know what happened.” Amalie stretched out on her bed, her cell phone pressed to her ear. “They don’t know what the pain is. I guess I thought I’d walk in there and she’d know right away what was wrong with me. With all the advances in medical science, why don’t they know what this is?”

  “Doctor Lee will help you, I know it,” Joy assured her. “She’s fantastic. Keep me posted and let me know how things go, sweetie.”

  “I will. Thank you, Joy. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you today?”

  “The only thing I want you to do is relax. I hope you had someone drive you to the appointment this morning.”

  “I did.” Amalie thought of her professional relationship with Joy and Ian, and briefly wondered if she should keep the romantic aspect a secret. Her excitement over her immediate attraction to Ian won over, and she suddenly didn’t care what Joy thought. “Ian drove me. He offered to take me to my next appointment in case I don’t feel up to it, but—”

  “Ah,” Joy intoned, saying more than she meant to with the light titter that traveled over the line. “Let him help you, Am. I’ve been working with him for a long time now. He’s a genuine, caring man. A tad mysterious, but that adds to the excitement, doesn’t it?” As if she was reading Amalie’s mind, she continued, “Don’t worry, it won’t make office meetings awkward. As long as Garrett doesn’t butt in. You know he’s had a thing for you since you moved to Florida.”


  “I think I have the best boss in the world.”

  “Well, your best-boss-in-the-world will send you some assignments to work on from home tomorrow. Stay home the next couple of days and try to get some sleep. I know it’s been hard for you, I know you have trouble sleeping. Give your body a chance to catch up, okay?”

  “Yes, boss,” Amalie said playfully.

  “Good. I’m headed back to work. We have that new author I told you about coming in to sign a contract in a few minutes.”

  “Okay, Joy. I’ll talk to you later.”

  When Amalie hung up the phone, she couldn’t bring herself to sit up. The comforter was cool and inviting. She rolled onto her side and pressed her head against the soft pillow. Within moments, Amalie fell asleep—and dreamt.

  Chapter 15

  1698, Ireland

  Small white flowers cropped up in patches along the forest floor. Stalks of green ended in white petals with yellow centers. The rich soil birthed many types of plants and herbs, and Myrna knew them well. As months passed, she and Fianna became close friends. Fianna taught her to cook, and each woman shared what they’d learned over the years. Myrna discovered she was quite good at making lamb stew.

  Malachi O’Connor was a distant lover, keeping to his study and his books. The land was worked, the gardens tended to, the sheep wandered on the rolling hills, and the seasons changed, while Malachi continued to dwell in his own morose thoughts, few of which he shared with Myrna.

  She stared down at the white petals, and gently plucked a blossom from the mother plant. The two women walked in the waning daylight, headed through the fields and back toward the estate.

  “I went to him in the evening as I always do. I never knew it before, but I am the only one he permits to enter his study without knocking.” Myrna observed the grimace on Fianna’s lips, showing that Fianna herself had intruded on the young man’s privacy and seen the consequences. “He wouldn’t speak,” Myrna continued. “He sat there at his desk, staring out the window, his hands in his lap. I spoke his name, I went to him. I rubbed his back and talked to him, then kissed him. But it was as though I wasn’t there. Every effort was met with silence. This has happened before.

  “I grow frustrated, and I say things I don’t mean. I know I should just walk away, but I cannot, for I wish to know what he thinks, what he feels…of me. I was gentle, until I couldn’t take it anymore, and I demanded he tell me why he was so distant. My demand angered him.” Myrna hung her head as she cradled the basket of herbs in her arms. “He yelled at me. He said this wasn’t going to work, that there was a wall between us, that he didn’t know how to get rid of it, and he didn’t know how to get close to me.” Myrna’s voice broke and she stopped walking.

  Fianna put an arm around her.

  “Go on, dear.”

  “I sobbed and told him he was breaking my heart, and he is. It hurts.” Myrna clutched at her chest. “I cannot understand why this hurts so much.”

  The old woman wrapped her arms around Myrna, pulling her close. A soft breeze lifted the scent of trees and moist earth, enveloping them both in a cool embrace.

  Time seemed to pass quickly, too quickly.

  The pain Myrna felt was indescribable. She had been abandoned before. Her father and brothers had left her because she was different.

  Days and weeks passed as though in a rush to disappear. Time seemed irrelevant.

  The rolling hills of the fields beckoned to her, and she always walked those paths in the woods, wandering for hours, leaving the house especially when one of Malachi’s moods crept up.

  One day, she was alone, a good distance from the estate, when she heard footsteps crunching against twigs. The forest seemed to open up and let him loose, a man who appeared a part of everything around him. As if his father was the trees, and his mother the soil.

  Words traveled across centuries, painting dreamscapes with possibilities—and dread.

  The Woodsman.

  Myrna had tried so hard to find acceptance, and now she was alone. Alone with him.

  Images flashed across her mind, her memories. He was tall, dressed in clothes the color of the forest, weapons—a bow and knives—decorating his thick body.

  He spoke, and it was just one word—

  Chapter 16

  2013, North Palm Beach, Florida

  “Hey!”

  Amalie sat bolt upright in bed, then regretted it. The brightness of the room caused a shock of pain to cross the left side of her face, and she cringed. Sunlight washed over her from the wide sliding glass doors. At first, she didn’t know where the voice had come from, but then she heard it again—someone outside by the boat docks yelling to a friend.

  “Throw me the line!”

  “Damn it,” Amalie mumbled. “Shut the hell up. Some people are trying to sleep.” She grappled for her cell phone and glanced at the time. It was a little after eight.

  If they weren’t up until four, drinking, her neighbors would often go fishing in the morning. She’d left the glass doors open a crack for Zoey, so she could lounge on the screened-in sun porch. It hadn’t occurred to her she’d be rudely awakened by people who didn’t care how loud they were being or if they were bothering anyone.

  Once she’d adjusted to the light and sounds, she carefully climbed out of bed and peeked through the glass doors. The neighbor’s boat was half-sunk in North Lake. By the looks of it, it had been taking on water all night. Amalie smirked despite herself.

  “Good. Let the damn thing sink,” she said aloud. “Maybe there’ll be fewer parties if the center of attention is gone.” She watched for a few minutes as two men tried to pull the boat closer to the concrete piling.

  Her dream came back to her in flashes as she turned and went to feed Zoey. While the cat pranced around her legs, anxiously awaiting canned salmon, Amalie yawned in exhaustion. Once again, she felt as though she hadn’t even slept. It was as if she’d been wandering around in the woods all night.

  In the woods, where?

  If only the loud neighbors hadn’t woken her, she might’ve seen the man’s face—the man in her dream. She tried to remember, but nothing was clear. The harder she tried, the quicker the details slipped away from her. Whoever it was, it was only a dream.

  This is real life, she reminded herself. Thursday. Work. No more doctors’ appointments, not for a while, at least not unless it gets worse.

  Yesterday had been CAT scan day. She was still waiting for the results. Doctor Lee had instructed the imaging center to read the scan, and someone would call Amalie in a few days. It had been a new experience for her, laying down and placing her head in the large round device. She mused on it for a moment as she made a pot of coffee and scrambled a couple of eggs. By the time she was finished eating and halfway through a mug of hot java, it was time to go. She poured the rest of the coffee into a travel mug and gave Zoey a quick pat on the head.

  She was feeling okay for now. Except for some mild pains, it hadn’t been nearly as excruciating as that day on the beach. Doctor Lee had advised her to take it easy. She only wished she could predict the pain. Maybe she’d be able to, once she knew what it was—if she ever found out.

  The usual rush of cool air prickled her skin when she entered the office and the cozy main area, where a couple of her coworkers were sitting with their heads together and bickering over paperwork. They sunk against the sky blue cushions of the soft furniture, looking as if they were at home instead of in an office. Joy had designed Island Time with that motif in mind. She loved her work and figured she and her employees may as well be comfortable while they were plugging away at manuscripts.

  “Hey, Tara. Hey, Raquel,” Amalie said, slipping into her white knit cardigan now that she’d entered the air conditioning.

  Raquel straightened and tucked loose strands of her black hair behind her ears. Unlike Amalie, she preferred the cooler temperatures and was perfectly comfortable in a t-shirt.

  “Amalie, maybe you can end our argument,” Raqu
el said, a hint of exasperation in her words. “Tara keeps insisting this sentence is correct, here where it says ‘Mark homed in on the prize,’ and I say that’s totally wrong and she knows it!”

  “Sorry, I don’t have time,” Amalie said, feigning disappointment. “I gotta stop in and chat with the boss lady for a minute—but good luck with that. Let me know who wins.”

  “I know I’m right,” Tara countered. “Homed in is right, not honed in.”

  “I think neither of them makes sense!” Raquel snapped.

  Amalie stepped across the room and tapped gently on Joy’s office door before entering. When she stepped inside, she shut the door and blocked out the heated discussion that continued in the foyer.

  Joy was sitting at her desk, typing. “Amalie, sweetie, have a seat. Just give me a minute to finish this email.”

  “Sure.”

  Joy tapped the keys for a moment longer and then sighed as she stood and stepped away from the desk.

  “I just sent off my approval for a book cover for one of the non-fiction books we’re publishing next year.” Joy took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. For a moment, she looked tired, not like her usual energetic self. She recovered quickly and added, “Ian designed the cover. It’s fantastic. And we’ve got my contact at the New York Review reading it as soon as the galley’s complete.”

  “That’s great!” Amalie said. “Did you know Raquel and Tara are out there arguing over a sentence?”

  “What else is new? What’s the topic this morning—punctuation, grammar, structure?” Joy opened a tin and added, “Cookie?”

  “Sure.” Amalie grabbed an oatmeal raisin cookie and took a bite before explaining. “Homed versus honed. You know, that old chestnut.”