She felt lighter as she headed back to her car. That’s it, she told herself. I got it out of my system. Now I can go home and make moussaka, like a normal person. She opened her car door, and looked back at the pool, wondering how she could have been so foolish. Then she froze – there was William, standing outside the fence on the other side of the concession stand. He had on sunglasses and was watching the people at the pool. Something about it didn’t feel right. She stared at him, wondering what he was doing.
He must have felt eyes on him, for he turned and looked directly at her.
Miranda stiffened, as if she had been caught at something, and then smiled. Then she realized that William had reacted in the same exact manner. He also appeared guilty, then quickly smiled and walked towards her.
She met him halfway. “William! What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Miranda. I heard there was a public pool nearby and thought I’d check it out. But I’d say it’s a little too crowded for swimming laps. What about you?”
“Oh, I was looking for someone. I thought she might be here. But she’s not.”
Miranda stood uneasily for a moment, sensing that William knew she was lying, and suspecting that he was also lying. It felt especially awkward after their intimate conversation in the garden just yesterday. They seemed like different people today.
“So how are things?” Her voice sounded too cheerful, the tone all wrong, as if she hadn’t seen him in ages.
“Fine, fine.” William smiled and rubbed his foot against the pavement.
Miranda gestured behind her. “Well, I have groceries in the car – ice cream. Better go.” She walked to her car and turned to wave goodbye. William was still standing where she had left him.
She drove off wondering how so much could change in a day. She was feeling more and more unsure of herself, of her judgment, of what everything meant. Her mind was a jumble – the dreams, the shelter, the argument with Ben, the kids, the conversation with William. Nothing added up. But foremost in her mind was a subtle shift towards William. She couldn’t help seeing him in a different light. Why was he lying? What was he up to?
*
Miranda was behind schedule, busily preparing a salad for the dinner party, when she heard Ben pull in the driveway. She groaned as she remembered the mess of shattered china outside. She had completely forgotten about it.
Ben walked into the kitchen with a bunch of red roses, an expression of concern filling his face. “Hi, Honey – everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” she said, annoyed at his worried tone. She knew exactly what he was thinking – my wife is losing it, and now she’s smashing dinner plates in front of the house before our guests arrive.
She lifted her cheek as he bent to kiss her. “I started on a project and then got interrupted.” She noticed the stiff, store-bought roses in his hands, and turned back to the salad.
Ben glanced at the flowers and set them down on the counter. “I forgot. You don’t like this kind.”
She chopped the cucumbers with more vigor. “It’s just that I’ve already picked flowers from the garden.”
Ben looked over at the vases of fresh flowers in the dining room. “Seems like I can’t get anything right lately.”
“Oh, Ben, all I meant was…” She shook away her explanation. “They’re very pretty. Thank you.” She wondered why she was being so short with him. They rarely argued, but lately everything seemed to be spiraling downward.
She handed Ben a bowl of tabouli. “Can you set this on the table?” She smiled at him but he avoided her eyes and carried the bowl to the dining room. She filled a vase with water, trimmed the roses, and placed them in the vase. Just then the doorbell rang.
Ben answered the door, and showed Paula and Derek into the kitchen.
“Looks like someone had a meltdown outside,” Derek laughed, setting a bottle of wine next to the red roses. “Nice flowers.”
Paula put her face in the roses and inhaled. “No smell. But they’re pretty.”
Miranda saw the look on Ben’s face and felt bad for him. “Aren’t they? Ben brought them,” she said, trying to sound as if she loved the flowers.
Derek sniffed the air. “Something sure smells good!”
Paula handed a small box to Miranda. “Baklava, in keeping with the Greek theme.”
“Wonderful!” Miranda opened the box to show Ben, but he had already left the kitchen, saying he and Derek would be out on the deck.
Paula raised her eyebrows at Miranda.
Miranda ground pepper over the salad of tomatoes, cucumbers, red onion, and feta. “Just a little tension.”
Paula bent over a dish of dolmades and olives. “Just one,” she said, tasting an olive. “You haven’t been yourself lately, Miranda. Like you’re preoccupied or something.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” she laughed. “I’m not sure what’s going on with me.” She went to the refrigerator and took out a platter of three different kinds of Greek dips. She then turned on the stove, added a touch of butter, and began to pan fry the pita bread.
“That looks delicious. Anything I can do?”
“How about opening the bottle of wine in the fridge? We’ll start with white.” She reached into the cupboard and lifted down the glasses.
“A brilliant idea,” said Paula, reaching for the bottle of wine. “This will help to soften the edges.” She opened the bottle and poured out two glasses.
Miranda flipped the pita bread, and then clinked her glass to Paula’s. “To mid-life crisis.”
Paula lifted her glass. “Hear, hear!”
*
Candle flames glinted off the glasses of red wine, and illuminated the small vases of multi-colored zinnias that were set among a spread of dips, bread, and salad. A dish of fragrant moussaka sat in the center of the table. Ben’s mood improved as the evening wore on, as Miranda knew it would, with the effects of good food and good company – though Miranda thought he had drunk a little too much wine, which was unusual for him. He would have a headache tomorrow.
The four friends were enjoying one of their lively debates. Twice, Miranda had started to clear some of the dishes, but got caught up in the discussion and sat back down. Paula had asked Miranda if she was sleeping better, and the conversation had turned to a general discussion about sleep, then about dreams, and what they meant, where they came from. Ben and Derek took the position that they were simply the result of the day’s information sorting itself out in sleep. But Miranda and Paula argued that dreams often meant something.
“Tell them about the weird nightmares you’ve been having, Miranda. See what they make of those,” Ben said, refilling their glasses.
“They’re not weird. They’re – ” Miranda searched for the word – “disturbing. And I never referred to them as nightmares, Ben.”
He raised his eyebrows and gave a little laugh. “No?”
“She told me about them,” said Paula. “They’re worry dreams about the kids. I had them, too, after my kids left home.”
Miranda shook her head in doubt. “I don’t know. I’m not sure about that. I’ve thought about it, and I’m really not worried about Clara and Michael. They’re both doing fine, and are happy, excited.”
Ben leaned in to Derek and Paula. “She’s been having them ever since she went to one of those shelters. I told her not to go back, but she has.”
“That’s not it either, Ben,” Miranda said. “That was just a coincidence.”
Derek turned to Miranda. “Well, how do you explain them?”
“Whoa,” said Ben, leaning back in his chair, and swirling his wine. “You don’t want to hear this. Trust me.”
“Ben doesn’t agree with my interpretation of my own dreams, so he disparages them,” Miranda said, shooting Ben a warning look.
“I think people have a sense of what their dreams are trying to tell them,” said Paula. “Miranda must know what her dreams mean.”
Miranda gave a firm nod.
Paula scrunched up her face. “So what do they mean?”
Just then the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” said Ben, rising from the table. He soon came back with William. “Look who’s here,” he said pointedly to Miranda. “He didn’t want to come in, but I insisted he have a glass of wine with us.”
Paula and Derek greeted William, who smiled but hung back. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said. “I just wanted to ask if any mail had arrived for me.”
Miranda shook her head. “No.” She gave a quick smile, and then brushed at the tablecloth.
Ben pulled up a chair and was urging William to try some of the food.
William reluctantly sat down, casting his eyes up at Miranda. “Just for a few moments.”
Derek reached over and shook his hand. “Evening, William. You can be the tiebreaker.”
“Perfect timing,” said Paula. “You’re just the person we need. We’re trying to settle a dispute about – ”
“Oh, let’s just forget about it,” interrupted Miranda. “How about dessert? We have baklava and I made some – ”
“No, no,” said Ben. “Let’s put it to a vote.”
Derek leaned over to William and whispered, “Of course, you must side with the men.”
Paula grabbed Derek’s arm and pulled him back. “No fair. You must be unbiased, William, otherwise it won’t count.”
Ben came back from the kitchen with a glass and set it in front of William. “Red or white?”
“Red.” He watched his glass being filled. “Thank you.”
Ben sat back down. “We’ve been discussing the significance of dreams. I can never remember mine, but Miranda has been having weird dreams lately – sorry,” he said, addressing the tablecloth, “not weird – disturbing – and I think it’s because she was disturbed by spending too much time at a halfway house.”
“Too much time? I spent a total of ten minutes there.”
Paula spoke over Miranda and Ben’s dispute. “William, you’re the academic. What’s your take on dreams – random brain impulses, or messages from the universe?”
Miranda winced at Paula’s choice of words. “Let’s forget about it.” The conversation had degenerated away from its original idea, and the last thing she wanted was to discuss her dreams in front of William. “Who wants coffee?” She tried to catch Ben’s eye, but he was purposely avoiding her. She started to clear the table.
William gave a soft laugh. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the subject.” He took a sip of wine.
Miranda had taken some dishes to the kitchen, and on returning to the dining room she heard Ben telling them about her recent dreams.
“She’s been having dreams that there’s a kid trapped somewhere in a wall or pool or somewhere, and he’s calling out to her to help him. It’s obvious – she’s missing the kids and feeling bad about the kids at the halfway house. Her mind mixes it all up, and the result is nightmares. It makes perfect sense.” He turned to William. “But Miranda thinks she has to do something about them. What do you think?”
William shifted in his chair, and shook his head, declining an opinion.
“Oh, no you don’t,” said Paula. “You must take a position. Your vote!”
Everyone awaited William’s response, except for Miranda, who continued to clear away the dishes.
William studied the wine in his glass. “There’s so much we don’t know about the mind. About a lot of things.” He raised his head and addressed Miranda. “What are your thoughts?”
Miranda lifted a few more dishes. “Like you say, there’s so much we don’t know.” She smiled at no one in particular, hoping the discussion was over.
But Ben stubbornly persisted. “Isn’t the consensus that dreams are our subconscious minds organizing the input from the day?”
“What else could they be?” asked Derek, in support of Ben.
Everyone looked at Miranda and waited for her to refute their argument. Paula made a sweeping gesture for Miranda to take the floor.
Miranda stood with dishes in her hand, determined to counter Ben’s generalization. “Well, what if that’s only partly true?” she asked. “What if dreams are also a way we communicate – a way of picking up on each other’s thoughts, feelings – even actions?” She studied William’s expression as she added these last words. Had his eyebrows contracted ever so slightly, or was it her imagination?
“Gee, I hope not,” said Derek. “That could be dangerous.” He laughed as Paula punched him in the shoulder.
Ben gave a snort of amusement, bringing out Miranda’s stubbornness.
“Well, I know it’s true. For me. I know that sometimes I have picked up on other people’s thoughts.”
“Oh, no,” said Ben. “Get ready for the cream cheese story.”
Miranda felt her cheeks flush in growing anger. “Okay, Ben, it’s a silly example, but to me it’s proof.”
Paula put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Tell us. Come on.”
Miranda waved away the request. “No. It sounds stupid when – ”
“Oh, come on,” urged Paula. “We want to hear it. Don’t we Derek?”
“Sure we do.”
Miranda wavered, then decided to prove her point. “Well, once I was staying at my sister’s house. This was years ago. When I woke up in the morning, I went to the kitchen and saw a box of cream cheese on the counter. And I remembered that I had just dreamed that my sister was searching in her refrigerator for cream cheese. I told her, ‘You won’t believe this, but I just had a dream that you were looking for cream cheese. Except in my dream there were two boxes.’ And she said, ‘Well, that’s really weird because I was looking for a second box. I was so sure I had two, for that cheesecake recipe.’”
Derek waited for more. He turned from Miranda to Paula, and back to Miranda.
Paula gave an exasperated groan. “It’s obvious. She picked up on her sister’s thoughts.”
Miranda thought she had made herself perfectly clear. “I mean – what other explanation could there be?”
“There could be plenty,” said Ben. “Maybe she told you the night before that she was going to make the cheesecake.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Maybe you forgot you had the conversation,” Ben said.
“You’re just determined to prove me wrong. And maybe that wasn’t the best example. But there have been other times, especially with the kids.” She turned to Paula. “You know, when you go to call the kids, and just then the phone rings and it’s them.”
“Exactly,” said Paul, slapping her hand on the table in emphatic agreement.
“That never happens to me,” Derek said, still looking confused. “So what does the cream cheese have to do with the dreams you’re having now?”
Miranda was about to explain, but Ben cut in.
“Miranda thinks there’s a pervert out there, locking kids up in closets. And she needs to rescue them. They’re calling out to her in dreams.” He took a sip of wine, and shook his head. “Crazy.”
Again, Miranda felt her cheeks heat up. “What if it was one of our kids in danger, Ben? Wouldn’t you want some crazy dreaming mother to try and help them?”
“But it’s a dream!” he laughed. “You can’t respond to it as a fact. What are you going to do – check every swimming pool in town? Every basement and attic?”
Miranda glanced at William and saw that the color had gone from his face.
“Don’t be absurd. I’m just saying…” She shook her head, wanting the conversation to be over.
“I don’t know, Miranda,” said Derek. “I’m afraid I have to agree with Ben. I mean, even if it’s true, how do you know it’s in this city? Or state? Or country?” He turned to William. “What do you say to that?”
William gave a barely perceptible shrug. “I see Miranda’s point. No one wants the burden of guilt. But like Ben says, there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s just a dream, after all.�
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Ben slapped William on the back, and gave a triumphant raise of his chin to Miranda.
Just then the phone rang. As if to prove her point, Miranda stood. “That would be Clara,” and she left the room to answer the phone.
Derek opened his mouth and looked at the others. “I don’t know, Ben. Maybe there is something to what she’s saying.”
Ben shook his head. “They call each other all the time.”
Paula gathered up a couple of plates and followed Miranda into the kitchen. She placed the dishes in the sink as Miranda hung up the phone.
“Well, that was perfect timing.” Paula said. “I think you might have Derek convinced. What did Clara have to say?”
“Wrong number. But they don’t have to know that.”
They started to laugh, just a little at first, but then harder and harder, until they were bent over, wiping tears from their eyes. Paula was slapping the counter, trying to say, “That look on Derek’s face – ” but couldn’t get it out, which made them laugh all the more.
Miranda wiped her eyes and then opened the refrigerator, took out a dish, and uncovered a cheesecake. She began to cut slices and set two plates of the dessert in front of Paula. “Can you bring those?”
When Paula saw the cheesecake, she burst out laughing anew. She and Miranda were still laughing when they went back to the dining room.
Ben and Derek exchanged looks, wondering what they had missed.
Miranda set the plates down in front of Ben and William. “And for dessert we have – ”
Derek interrupted her. “Nooo. Don’t tell me – cheesecake.”
Paula kissed him on the cheek and set a plate in front of him. “You’re getting the hang of it.”
Ben gazed deep into his wine glass. He was sure Miranda had somehow orchestrated the whole thing – but he couldn’t figure out how.
William stood up. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a few hours of work to put in tonight.”
“I thought you were on vacation,” Paula protested. “Besides, you have to taste Miranda’s cheesecake, William. It’s divine.”
Ben had walked to the wine rack and was searching for a bottle. He stood now with a bottle of port in hand and held it out in front of him as he read the label. “And we have this dessert wine the kids gave us for – was it Christmas?”
The Garden House Page 9