Chapter 12

Theresa tends to her backyard garden. Her father had created an impressive array of raised vegetable and herb gardens that capture most of the summer sun. Lining the yard are cedar hedges and additional gardens where nourishment for the bees and the butterflies are provided because of his efforts. A small pond with a fountain is something Theresa included a few years ago. She’d stocked it with goldfish, but the raccoons got to them the first year, and she couldn’t bring herself to sacrifice any more.

The warmer weather is beginning to brighten Theresa’s mood, as she enjoys nothing more than puttering around in her garden. A Japanese Maple, planted in 1969, offers a nice umbrella to the back corner of the yard where dandelions, white clover, and creeping Charlie have taken up residence. Weeds provide an opportunity to sit and let the repetition of pulling them place her in a meditative state. She would never dig them up outright or use chemicals to kill them. The practice of pulling them is a gift. Birds sing and visit the fountain to bathe and drink. The aroma of freshly cut grass and the feel of soil and dead leaves between her fingers complete the experience.

She breaths in deeply. Despite the white noise playing from her phone, she did not sleep well. This usually lulls her into a deep sleep, revitalizing her. Sleep is precious. It renews her body’s defenses. It restores her energy where it is lost to her work. Peter’s past life stuck with her. She tossed restlessly, trying to turn off her mind. She hopes not to revisit a long night after his next session.

Her phone rings, and she retrieves it from her pocket. It’s her friend, Nyra.

“Hi there,” she says, putting down her gardening utensil and standing.

“Hey, stranger! What’s new?” Nyra is the opposite of Theresa in every way. Bubbly, married with children, stay-at-home-mom. She can’t recall a single traumatic event that has interrupted her life. Kids thriving at school. A handsome husband. The best house in the ‘hood, thickest lawn, nicest cars. If she didn’t love her, she’d hate her.

“Oh, nothing to report,” Theresa knows she sounds like a broken record, but she has never enjoyed talking on the phone. “Just doing some gardening.”

“I love what a green thumb you have. Are you free tonight to go out for a drink?” If there’s one thing Theresa doesn’t envy in Nyra, it’s her lack of free time. She would be a lousy friend to say no.

“Sure, I’m free after seven,” it’s like a reflex when Nyra asks to spend time with her. Still, some human contact outside of work does sound nice.

“Awesome, I’ll pick you up at 7:30. There’s this great new place downtown I’m hearing a lot about. We have to go!”

“Yes, sure, thank you, Nyra. I’ll see you at 7:30.” They say goodbye, and Theresa almost immediately suffers a low-level panic attack. Being out is problematic for her. She knows this about herself. Even after all the therapy and her education and career path, there’s still a part of her who fears the outside world.

She breaths deeply again to ward off any more unpleasant feelings, hoping to embrace the moment. She won’t be alone. Nyra knows enough to pick her up and take her to the destination. She won’t leave her side. Just breath.

When 7:30 rolls around, Nyra is in the driveway, and Theresa is rushing out the door.

“You look nice,” Nyra comments slyly as Theresa enters the vehicle. She is always hopeful Theresa will hook up with a guy when they go out. No thanks, she thinks.

“Thank you, you too,” she’s such a bad conversationalist. But Nyra knows this about her too. “How are the kids?”

“Oh, you know, kids. Mommy needs some time out,” She turns out of the driveway before Theresa is even buckled in.

“And how are you doing?” Theresa continues to put the questions to Nyra to deflect her asking anymore.

Nyra sighs, “You know what, Tree?” That’s her pet name for Theresa. She likes it. “I’m good. But I need this. We’re going to have fun tonight.” Her inner cheerleader announces while her grip on the steering wheel tightens.

Theresa laughs. “You seem animated tonight.” That’s saying something, too, as Nyra always seems animated, but tonight is different. What’s she hiding?

“Truth be told, Tree, I’m a little restless.” Her smile never fades, but her tone becomes more anxious. She’s a heavier girl than Theresa but beautiful in that renaissance-painting way – wide hips and long hair. Maybe it’s the bedroom eyes and the pouty lips. Her skin is the color of caramel and clear of any imperfections. She gets a lot of attention from men, and that’s likely in no small part to her ample breasts. Renaissance. That is the perfect description for her. She belongs in one of those paintings.

“It must be hard being a mother to three kids under 7.” Theresa surmises.

“Yeah,” Nyra laughs out, “that’s part of it.” They turn onto the main drag, and Nyra eases down on the accelerator. Theresa has forgotten how nervous driving with her friend makes her feel.

“Is there more to it?”

“Save it for the bar. Do you want to get some appetizers? I left a casserole with the boys and Duke. I’m starting to feel a bit peckish now.”

“I ate something but can always eat again,” Theresa supports Nyra’s need to escape the family for the night. A glass of wine will offer the required confidence to play this night out.

At the new establishment, Theresa chuckles over the name. “Oh, this has potential,” she says, curious over the interior.

“Right? ‘Quoth the Raven’? It’s so charming.” They move inside, and both stop to take it in.

It’s beautiful, Theresa thinks. Low lighting sets the mood, ancient chandeliers with Edison lights. The beams and pillars are painted to match the spines of classic books. There are walls filled with books, or, at least, they appear to be books turned backward to reveal just their pages. A wrought-iron spiral staircase leads to nowhere. Bartenders with their groomed mustaches seem to have stepped out of some of these stories to serve you absinthe over sugar cubes.

“Welcome. Do you have a reservation?” A young woman dressed in black sporting a lacey, dark fascinator over her messy bun asks Nyra. People always focus on Nyra when the two go out. That cheerleader aura captivates any audience. The Hostess locates her name on the screen and leads them to a table built of old typewriters covered in a glass top. It is all very charming, Theresa thinks. They order a bottle of the house wine and continue to take it all in.

“Is that Patchouli I smell?” Nyra cranes her neck to see around the corner of the bar.

“Yes, with cinnamon, I think.” Theresa is well versed in essential oils and has a nose for them. They smile at one another.

Nyra leans in, “didn’t I tell you? This place already has my vote for new bar. Look at these menus!” Each menu displays a gothic imprint relatable to Poe’s works, and the menu items themselves have relevant titles to describe them.

“It’s so quaint,” she agrees. “I had no idea.” The wine arrives, and Nyra orders a small charcuterie board to start.

“You had no idea because you don’t leave the house.” Nyra lays a hand on her friend’s. “I’m not judging, Tree, but I do worry. You know I worry.” She picks up her glass and touches Theresa’s with it. “Cheers!”

“Cheers,” she says back, their glasses emitting a pleasant hum when they touch. Theresa imagines Nyra in her high school Cheer outfit, her high cheekbones lifting in that trademark, toothy grin. She tastes the wine. It’s good. It’s a dry Cab-Sauv. Gone are the days of the sweet wines. She can’t stomach them anymore.

The women drain the bottle as the night progresses, and Theresa feels the artificial confidence kick in. Good, it’s what she needs to be out like this.

“Peter?” Theresa says to the man walking past her table. He stops a moment, squinting in the low light, recognizing her. “Hi, how are you?”

Peter smiles and nods at Nyra also. “I’m good, thank you, how are you?”

“Good also. It’s nice to see you.” She can’t expand on the conversation without mentioning his session, so she asks, “isn’t this nice? Is this your first time here?”

“I actually came here a couple of nights ago for the first time. It’s going to be my favorite place, I think.” He laughs, knowing she knows where he works.

“Well, it was so nice bumping into you.” She notices a mousey but attractive woman waiting for him at a distance and recognizes her too. She waves. “Is that - Clare?”

“Oh, yes, of course, you know Clare,” he waves her over. She stands, and the two women hug for a moment.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t recognize you right away,” Clare says. “You’ve taken on Peter as a client.”

“Do I have you to thank for that?”

“I guess you do,” Clare smiles up at Peter, and they kiss.

“Oh, you’re a couple!” Theresa feels embarrassed but unsure why. Nyra waves at Clare and invites them to join their table.

“No, we don’t want to be a bother, but it was nice seeing you. I’ll see you next week!” Peter says in a buoyant tone she hadn’t seen in him at his first session.

“You will,” Theresa watches the new couple move off to the bar, where they have two tall, clear drinks waiting for them.

“Both are clients of yours?” Nyra is intrigued.

“Sorry I didn’t introduce you; they are clients, yes. I can’t discuss them, of course.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I just thought for a moment -”

“That he was an old boyfriend I’d never mentioned?”

“Well, you never mention anything like that to me. If you leave me to my own devices …” She winks, and the mains arrive.

Theresa finds she’s caught up watching the two at the bar, remembering Clare. She’d very nearly had her on a plane to take the same course she had years before. Peter looks happy. That gladdens her heart. He was approachable tonight without that sense of loneliness that accompanied him on their initial meeting. He has a girlfriend. How lovely.

“Oh, get out of your head, Tree,” Nyra demands in the easy way she has about her. “You’re staring!” She whispers.

Theresa snaps out of it and notices her child-sized pasta dish in front of her. “That’s embarrassing.” She says, her head down, studying the fettuccini. “Do you think they noticed?”

“No.” Nyra spears her fork into the Cobb salad, which had borne a thousand injuries to arrive on her plate, the server had recounted. “You missed the clever descriptions given by the server as to how your dinner came to arrive, though.”

“Oh,” Theresa feels terrible for her friend. Is she being inattentive again? She tends to daydream. “I’m so sorry, Nyra, it won’t happen again.”

“Hey, it’s me, Tree,” she explains kindly. “Never mind, I just don’t want you being called out on it by your clients.” She winks and takes a bite of her salad.

Theresa feels her face strain to smile, consciously pushing the corners of her mouth up. Don’t get too invested in your clients, she tells herself. It’s unprofessional.

“So, what did he have to say about my fettuccini?” Theresa asks, wanting to get back on track.

“If you want to eat it, maybe I don’t tell you,” Nyra laughs. Theresa laughs along, spinning her fork in the noodles, lightly peppered with parsley.

With a small amount on her fork, Theresa looks about the restaurant and smiles. “This is a fascinating spot.”

Nyra swallows and pats her napkin on her full lips. “We have to come again.”

Theresa nods and chews her fettuccini thoughtfully.