Friday, June 2, 8:00 p.m.

“You know I don’t believe in dreams.” How can I? I’m one of the small percentage of people who never dream. I fall into bed and it’s total oblivion for the next eight hours. My brain powers down to sleep mode. No fragments of memories, no images, no dramatic storyline to analyze when I wake up. No dream content, period.

And I have to confess, I like it that way.

“I’m not trying to convert you, sis. You say you don’t dream, and you don’t believe in dreams. Okay, I get it. Some of us feel differently, you know. I think of a dream as a little window into my subconscious.”

Allison looked distracted as she scurried past me, putting the finishing touches on a platter of delectable-looking petit fours. The bite-sized cakes were calling to me with their sugary little voices, nestled in a checkerboard pattern on a hand-painted porcelain tray. Ali strategically placed dark chocolate truffles in between them and stepped back to admire her work.

Very Savannah, I decided. Elegant, sophisticated, with a cosmopolitan flair. I was dying to grab a tiny cake and pop it in my mouth, but I knew it would ruin the look of the platter. As Ali says, it’s all about presentation.

“I’m totally out of my element with this stuff,” I went on. “Dream interpretation. The paranormal. Psychic phenomena. Things that go bump in the night. Tarot readings. Voices from the beyond—”

“Okay, enough, Taylor! You’ve made it very clear how you feel.” A hint of a frown crossed her face, and she blew out a little sigh. I couldn’t tell if she was exasperated with me, or just a tad stressed out over playing hostess. We’ve had this conversation dozens of times and have never come to a meeting of the minds. “Here’s the deal. I won’t ask you to share your history of childhood night terrors, and you don’t have to be a believer to enjoy yourself tonight. Anyway, it’s not as woo-woo as you think. Scout’s honor.” Ali quirked an eyebrow and held up three fingers in the Girl Scout salute.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Just think of the Dream Club as an experience, an entertaining evening. It’s a fun way for me to socialize with my friends. Not everyone takes it seriously, but we do have a couple of die-hard psychics and intuitives in the group. Everybody has dreams, and all we do is try to make sense of them.”

“Okay, you win,” I said, pushing myself to sound positive. “You’ve certainly put out a nice spread. And the sitting room looks great.”

Ali had gone all out tonight. My sister seems to have inherited a Martha Stewart gene, and sadly, I didn’t. My Chicago condo is positively spartan compared to Ali’s place. I took a moment to appreciate the creamy taupe walls, the glossy white woodwork, the old brick fireplace with the white marble mantelpiece.

The whole room was bathed in a golden glow thanks to fat amber candles she’d placed on nearly every flat surface. Soft cello music was playing in the background, and the faint scent of lavender danced on the air.

“So tell me you won’t be grumpy and you’ll try to enjoy yourself.” Ali turned, flashing a smile that has melted my heart ever since we shared a crush on Bon Jovi, growing up in Muncie, Indiana. “Please? For me?” Her voice was warm, entreating, and she had little crinkles around her eyes.

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I’m...