She hadn’t had a drink in a long time, in part because of Ian. She was overcome with guilt drinking around him after everything they’d been through. Alcohol repulsed her now, but at the same time it sort of intrigued her. She wanted to let go, forget. Sometimes she wanted to get drunk. The thought upset her, because she didn’t want to end up like her father.
Publication date: January 20th, 2015
Memories of another life, and the garden where it all began, keep Amalie Jarvis awake at night.
A columnist for a popular magazine, she attends a function in Palm Beach at the famous Breakers Hotel, only to cross paths with graphic designer Ian Gardner—who appears to hold the key to her visions. The more time they spend together, the more Amalie realizes how much she wants to be with him. And how much she fears admitting that she loves him.
Ian can’t remember the past, but he is drawn to Amalie with an intense passion he’s never felt before.
Many moons ago, they met in a garden. Different names, different faces—but their souls were still the same. Unable to resist her, Ian falls deeply in love. He remains by her side as she battles severe facial pain, not knowing what it is or if it could kill her. Frightened for her, he swears his adoration without ever speaking the words.
But their devotion has dangers, and they’re about to be faced by hazards neither of them could have foreseen…
There was something about the condo downstairs that captivated Amalie’s imagination. As the days passed, Ian’s words echoed in her mind. She knew he was right. She had to talk to Roseanne.
She was the only person in the building who, on cooler days, would turn her air conditioning down and open the small window by her front door. Scents of freshly made apple pie and traditional kosher dishes would waft out the window, making Amalie’s stomach grumble as she passed the older woman’s condo on the way to her own.
She wasn’t the only one drawn in by Roseanne’s oddly comforting personality. Amalie remarked to Ian one day about the tree frogs that continually took up residence outside Roseanne’s door. They sat on her welcome mat, barely moving. Sometimes they looked like tiny figurines, until Amalie stepped close enough and saw the gentle pulsing at their throats.
Butterflies flocked to Roseanne’s windows, especially the zebra longwing, Florida’s state butterfly. They fluttered about as if peeking inside, wondering when she would emerge. Amalie watched them as she stood in front of the door, poised to knock. Before she could rap her knuckles against the wood, the door opened, and Amalie gulped in surprise.
Roseanne was clad in another of her multi-colored kaftans, her red hair pulled into a casual up-do. She smiled warmly and stepped aside, bracelets jingling on her wrists.
“Come on inside, dear.”
“How’d you know I was here?” Amalie said in a small voice, her heart pounding in her throat.
“I saw ya through the window.” Roseanne cocked her head, one bushy red eyebrow rising above her pale blue spectacles. “Are ya feeling all right?”
“Uh, yeah, I…” Amalie laughed nervously. “I don’t know, it’s stupid, I sort of felt like you knew I was coming.”
“Oh, don’t be silly!” Roseanne waved a hand dismissively as she shut the door behind them. “I’d hafta be psychic, wouldn’t I?” She let out a musical peal of laughter and took off her glasses. “Don’t need these anymore. I was reading one of those dirty novels, ya know. Just got to the part where he was ‘bout to rip her shirt off, then ah looked up and saw ya out the window.”
“Maybe you won’t be able to help me,” Amalie mumbled distractedly.
“I’m sorry, what’d ya say, dear?” Roseanne stepped into the kitchen. “Would ya like a slice ah cherry pie? I just baked it yesterday.”
“Uh, sure. I mean, Ian keeps telling me you might be able to help me with something, and I don’t know who else to talk to. I…I’m afraid you might think I’m crazy if I tell you. And we don’t really know each other that well.”
“Honey, the things I’ve seen, most people wouldn’t dare believe,” Roseanne said, the tone of her voice becoming stronger, more indicative of her Jersey Jew roots. Amalie watched her scoop a generous helping of pie onto a gold-rimmed plate. She handed the plate to Amalie and served herself a slice. “Let’s sit down at the table.” Roseanne indicated the small dining area near the front door.
The two women settled across from each other, and Amalie dug into the pie. It was delicious. As she savored her first bite, she nearly forgot why she’d come to see Roseanne in the first place.
EXCERPT
She was the only person in the building who, on cooler days, would turn her air conditioning down and open the small window by her front door. Scents of freshly made apple pie and traditional kosher dishes would waft out the window, making Amalie’s stomach grumble as she passed the older woman’s condo on the way to her own.
She wasn’t the only one drawn in by Roseanne’s oddly comforting personality. Amalie remarked to Ian one day about the tree frogs that continually took up residence outside Roseanne’s door. They sat on her welcome mat, barely moving. Sometimes they looked like tiny figurines, until Amalie stepped close enough and saw the gentle pulsing at their throats.
Butterflies flocked to Roseanne’s windows, especially the zebra longwing, Florida’s state butterfly. They fluttered about as if peeking inside, wondering when she would emerge. Amalie watched them as she stood in front of the door, poised to knock. Before she could rap her knuckles against the wood, the door opened, and Amalie gulped in surprise.
Roseanne was clad in another of her multi-colored kaftans, her red hair pulled into a casual up-do. She smiled warmly and stepped aside, bracelets jingling on her wrists.
“Come on inside, dear.”
“How’d you know I was here?” Amalie said in a small voice, her heart pounding in her throat.
“I saw ya through the window.” Roseanne cocked her head, one bushy red eyebrow rising above her pale blue spectacles. “Are ya feeling all right?”
“Uh, yeah, I…” Amalie laughed nervously. “I don’t know, it’s stupid, I sort of felt like you knew I was coming.”
“Oh, don’t be silly!” Roseanne waved a hand dismissively as she shut the door behind them. “I’d hafta be psychic, wouldn’t I?” She let out a musical peal of laughter and took off her glasses. “Don’t need these anymore. I was reading one of those dirty novels, ya know. Just got to the part where he was ‘bout to rip her shirt off, then ah looked up and saw ya out the window.”
“Maybe you won’t be able to help me,” Amalie mumbled distractedly.
“I’m sorry, what’d ya say, dear?” Roseanne stepped into the kitchen. “Would ya like a slice ah cherry pie? I just baked it yesterday.”
“Uh, sure. I mean, Ian keeps telling me you might be able to help me with something, and I don’t know who else to talk to. I…I’m afraid you might think I’m crazy if I tell you. And we don’t really know each other that well.”
“Honey, the things I’ve seen, most people wouldn’t dare believe,” Roseanne said, the tone of her voice becoming stronger, more indicative of her Jersey Jew roots. Amalie watched her scoop a generous helping of pie onto a gold-rimmed plate. She handed the plate to Amalie and served herself a slice. “Let’s sit down at the table.” Roseanne indicated the small dining area near the front door.
The two women settled across from each other, and Amalie dug into the pie. It was delicious. As she savored her first bite, she nearly forgot why she’d come to see Roseanne in the first place.
About the author:
Rosa Sophia divides her time between South Florida and Pennsylvania. She edits for publishers and independent clients, holds a degree in Automotive Technology, and enjoys running, hiking, collecting comic books, and traveling.
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