When I Remember You

by Rosa Sophia

  The manatee slowly made its way under the bridge and Amalie watched it pass, the mottled patterns on its skin visible beneath the afternoon sun. She beamed as the incredible creature slowly vanished from view, its enormous tail fin disappearing beneath the bridge.

  Amalie envied that manatee. It was free from so many of the human constraints that ruled her life. Turning from the water, she ran on, listening to her breath, feeling the hot air around her, allowing a feeling of total calm to assuage her.

  Chapter 2

  2013, South Florida, Palm Beach,

  The Breakers Hotel

  “Amalie, you look fabulous!” A gentle hand brushed her back.

  “Thanks.” She feigned a smile as she turned to meet Joy Sabino, the executive editor of Island Time Review, her boss. “I won’t lie, I feel totally ridiculous here.”

  Standing in the huge ballroom, she felt out of place in the ten-dollar dress she’d bought at a department store. As a columnist for Island Time Review, a highly respected literary publication based out of Jupiter, Florida, Amalie was covering the event for an article she was writing.

  Joy leaned in, her long bleach blonde hair tickling Amalie’s bare shoulder. “I know what you need.” Joy handed her the second glass of wine she was holding. “I took the liberty of getting you a drink.”

  “I appreciate it. You always knew I didn’t fit in.”

  “Who really does? I just pretend to.” Joy stepped back, the diamonds in her Brighton jewelry and the sequins in her white blouse and frilly skirt catching the light in the ballroom, especially the multi-colored brilliance that shone down from the magnificent Christmas tree in the middle of the room. “Remember, now, I’m from Ohio,” Joy continued. “It’s been years since I’ve been back there, but I’m still a country girl at heart. I may look like I belong here, but it’s just a show. An executive editor has to look her best.” She winked conspiratorially.

  “What gets me is the Christmas tree. You know what I saw the other day? A giant blow-up snowman in somebody’s front yard, right under a palm tree. If they want a snowman, why don’t they move back north? Christmas in Florida is just weird to me.” She sipped the Merlot Joy brought her and shook her head.

  “Excuse me, dear,” Joy said, squeezing Amalie’s free hand, “I have to go hobnob with the great ones. I hope you’ve got your notebook in that bag of yours. We’ll need a great article on this fundraising event.”

  Amalie started to say, I wonder if these super-rich people even know they’re donating money to a literacy fundraiser, or if they’re just here for the drinks and food, but Joy had already disappeared into the crowd, her heels clicking against the flawless marble.

  Amalie stood tall in her little black dress, which was probably indistinguishable from one purchased at Saks Fifth Avenue, her black bag hanging by her hip. Tucked inside was her notebook. She was already filing things away in her mind, planning the article she would write for the magazine. Her ponytail tickled the area between her shoulder blades as she stepped carefully through the room and sipped her wine.

  She resisted the urge to yawn. She’d managed to hide it from Joy, but she was exhausted. Her nights had been fraught with strange dreams, and she hadn’t been sleeping well. She often woke in the middle of the night and couldn’t go back to sleep. If she did sleep, her dreams were so tiring she would awaken feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all.

  She watched each person in the room, surveying their fine clothes and smiling or saying hello when it seemed appropriate. A smartly dressed young man offered hors d’oeuvres, and she declined. Her tiredness overruled her appetite.

  She couldn’t help but be impressed by the architecture. The vaulted ceiling displayed intricate images, and gorgeous chandeliers cast soft light over the guests and the stage. At the forefront of the room was a classy sign that read, 2013 Palm Beach Literacy Advocates Presents 3rd Annual Dinner Charity Event.

  Amalie soon found herself at a wide table where all manner of delicate appetizers were being served. She finished her wine and handed the glass to a gracious server, who disappeared into the back. Without anything to hold in her hands, Amalie felt even more awkward.

  You’d think I’d be used to this by now, she mused. I’ve been working for the magazine for three years and I’ve attended a ton of functions like this.

  Nevertheless, her discomfort seemed new.

  “Excuse me, I’m sorry,” she said, glancing away as she shuffled past a young man in a fine black suit, his thin fingers holding a glass of white wine.

  For a brief moment, dull pain overcame her, during which she stopped abruptly and lifted a hand to her forehead, leaning her head down. A wave of heat passed over her skin, and for a split second she felt as though she were on fire. Pressure passed over the left side of her face and a bolt of pain shot toward her nose. She cringed at the familiar feeling, something that had plagued her for years. She never knew when it was coming. Blinking again, her vision blurring, she was aware of an emptiness in her stomach and wondered if she’d eaten enough.

  “Are you all right?”

  Amalie turned and looked up, noticing for the first time the man she’d just brushed past. His curly blond hair was neither long nor short, his eyes were sky blue, and he had a neatly trimmed goatee. The ladies he’d been speaking with watched with interest, then began chatting amongst themselves.

  Amalie hesitated. “Yes, I’m fine. I just don’t feel well.”

  “Here, come this way,” the man said, taking her arm and leading her across the room. The wine had made her lightheaded, or she might have said no. There was a secluded spot on the far side of the ballroom. She hadn’t noticed it before. Beautiful antique furniture decorated the corner, where a few guests sat chatting.

  Something about the room, the richness and the beauty of it, felt strangely familiar to Amalie even though she’d never been to The Breakers before. It was almost as if she’d been in a room like this, a long time ago; it was like a distant memory she couldn’t shake, a blurry image that had no definition. It was made all the more confusing by the flashes of pain crossing her face. Seeing her reflection in a decorative mirror, she knew there was nothing physically wrong with her. Where was this coming from?

  The man led her to an ornate cushioned loveseat, and the two of them sat down.

  “Now, how are you feeling?”

  She started to answer, but was interrupted by Joy’s trilling laughter as she left a handful of giggling debutantes in her wake.

  “What have we here?” Joy leaned down and touched Amalie’s hand. “Are you okay, dear? I see you’ve met Ian. How are you, Ian?”

  “Ian?” Amalie turned and looked at the man next to her, who stood and shook hands with Joy.

  “Good to see you, Joy.” He beamed. “How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since Jackson’s book signing for House on the Riverbend.”

  “House on the Riverbend?” Amalie mumbled. “Wasn’t that number one on the New York Times bestseller list last year?” No one seemed to hear her.

  “What have you been doing with yourself?” Joy asked, using what Amalie liked to call her boss’s best ‘kiss-ass voice.’

  “The usual. I just hired a few new guys. Business has been great.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Joy immediately switched gears from ass-kisser to concerned friend. She sat down next to Amalie and frowned, placing her hand on her knee. “You haven’t been yourself, Am. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I just got a little headache, that’s all. I don’t know. I haven’t been sleeping that well lately.” She forced a laugh. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me these days. No worries, it won’t stop me from writing the best article you’ve ever read.”

  All of a sudden there was some commotion up front as everyone started clapping and one of the guest speakers of the evening was introduced. The noise was deafening to Amalie, who was beginning to wish she were back at her studio apartment safe under her bed sheets.

  “Ian, I have
to go cover this, but why don’t you take Amalie for a little walk to one of the courtyards? It’s much quieter out there.” Joy looked Amalie over, her gaze heavy with an almost motherly affection. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Sure, I’ll be okay. But I’m supposed to be covering this event too, and—”

  “Boss’s orders,” Joy snapped. “Take a few minutes to take care of yourself. I know you’ll still write a damn good article, even if you have to fake some of it.” She winked and patted her on the knee.

  “Okay,” Amalie said, standing on shaky legs. She looked at the man beside her.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  They made their way across the ballroom and toward the corridor. As they maneuvered away from the crowds and into a quieter hallway, the man said, “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Ian, Ian Gardner. And you’re Amalie, right?”

  “Yeah, Amalie Jarvis.”

  “I’ve known your boss for years.” Ian slipped his arm around Amalie’s elbow and walked with her as though she were just as glamorous as the expensively dressed ladies they’d left behind in the ballroom.

  Amalie wondered what he thought of her, but instead she said, “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes, I used to do book cover designs for Island Time Press, back when you guys first started. She still hires me from time to time, and I might be working with her more in the future. So, you don’t have to worry about me,” he added, smirking. “I see Joy treats you like a daughter. You must be close.”

  “Somewhat. Joy’s daughter was my age, twenty-seven, when she was killed.”

  They ventured farther down the hallway. Another bright Christmas tree lit up a circular lobby, and Ian pushed open the door to a courtyard. They stepped outside into the evening air.

  “I remember that. I knew Dolly,” Ian said. “I met her shortly before she died. That was a terrible accident.”

  “Yeah, I get freaked out every time I drive down that part of 95.” Amalie’s black heels clicked on the stone flooring of the courtyard.

  Ahead of them, a beautiful fountain was lit by soft yellow light, and they went to sit on a bench nearby, watching the droplets of water fall and cause ripples on the water’s surface. It was a balmy, comfortable evening. Now that she was away from the noise of the crowd and the bright lights, the sick feeling was beginning to pass, and the pain had dissipated.

  “Your name sounds familiar to me. Where’ve I seen it before?” she asked.

  “My company has done cover designs for big-name authors. We do websites, and other graphic design projects too,” Ian added. “I’m the CEO.”

  “Not Eyebright Designs?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You don’t look much like a businessman.” She hesitated, hoping she hadn’t unwittingly offended him. “I mean, you don’t look like you fit in here, either.”

  He chuckled warmly. “No, I probably don’t. I’m from upstate New York.”

  “Ah, a country boy. No wonder Joy likes you.”

  “And where are you from? Florida native, by any chance?”

  “Heck no, I’m from Maine,” Amalie said, smiling genuinely for the first time that evening.

  “That explains why you’re so pale, and that funny accent.”

  “Hey, buddy, the same could be said for you!”

  Within a few moments, they were laughing together as if they’d known each other for years.

  “How’d you end up here?” Ian asked.

  “Well, I got the usual boring-as-hell degree in English, worked my way up, spent a few years as a freelance editor, and then I took on a job editing a manuscript for Island Time. I was working remotely from Maine. When Joy decided to start the magazine, she hired me as an editor. I moved down here and started writing columns. How about you?”

  Ian appeared to think deeply for a moment. “I went to school in New York and then moved down here. I’ve been living here ten years or so. I started freelancing too, but then I formed my own company. I met the right people. I guess that can happen in Palm Beach.”

  For a moment, they looked at each other, then glanced away toward the fountain.

  Ian cleared his throat. An awkward awareness had descended upon them. They were comfortable talking to each other until reason set in, reminding them they’d only met minutes before.

  “Are you…are you feeling better?” Ian hazarded.

  “Somewhat. I wish I knew what was causing this. I really should see a doctor, but I hate going to the doctor.”

  “You mean the headache?”

  “Well, it’s this strange pain, it comes and goes. I don’t know if I can call it a headache.” Amalie tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know where it comes from. It’s been happening since I was a kid, but never so frequently. And it always seems to be after some weird dream or when something odd happens.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. No offense, but I just met you. I’m a little uncomfortable explaining it, especially when I’m having a hard time figuring it out myself.”

  “No offense taken.” When he smiled, tiny lines at the corners of his blue eyes crinkled upward. Each part of him was smiling, not just his lips. Amalie was struck by how comfortable she was sitting beside him.

  “Thank you. You know, you’re a really nice guy. I didn’t think I’d meet anyone who wasn’t a stuffed shirt at this event. Usually, I have to pretend to be something I’m not when I come to these things. But for some reason, I feel like I can be myself…” She almost added ‘around you’ and stopped herself. It sounded ridiculous to her. How could she feel so contented around someone she’d just met? Intimacy had always been difficult for her, and she remained guarded, afraid to reveal herself to others. But for some reason, Ian was easy to talk to.

  “No worries.” He reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a business card. “Here. This has my cell number and my email on it.” He paused for a moment as a flash of nervousness passed across his face. “Because we just met, I’ll leave it up to you. I’d love to get together and hang out, get coffee or something. We’d better be heading back inside. Joy’s going to start worrying about you. I know how she gets.”

  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.

  Acknowledgements

  Having lost my father prematurely, this story is—in part—an expression of that loss. I miss my father very much, but I know that he’s always with me. Thank you to my dad, Dennis Godshall, Sr., for the short time we had together. I treasure every moment.

  The first book in this series, When I Dream of You, was published while I was living in Orwigsburg. For those of you who are wondering, Orwigsburg can be found “between Mayberry and The Twilight Zone.” My dear friend Claudia made mention of that comparison while I was living in Pennsylvania, and it has stuck with me ever since. Many thanks to that little town for the brief inspiration it provided, and to the many friends I made while I lived there.

  About the Author

  Rosa Sophia is a novelist and full-time editorial consultant. With a degree in Automotive Technology, she adores writing and editing as well as fixing cars. Rosa is also a crazy cat lady in training, and currently divides her time between South Florida and Pennsylvania.