Second Chances

This book is a work of fiction by Bria Marche. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used solely for entertainment. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Bria Marche is a contemporary romance writer. Though originally from San Jose, California, she has lived in the Midwest region of the United States for quite some time.

She is a member of numerous writers’ organizations including Fiction for All, Fiction Factor, and Writers Online.

In addition to writing, she enjoys all forms of art. She especially likes creating outdoor garden projects, designing and painting gourd birdhouses, and hand making soaps. She is an avid gardener and world traveler—including hot air ballooning across Italy—and she loves birdwatching, hiking, and bicycling.

Sleep eluded her again as it had every night for the past week. Abby lay in the dark, her piercing blue eyes fixated on the shadowy image of the spinning ceiling fan. She hoped staring at each rotating blade would help her doze off as counting sheep did—but it didn’t. Remy was in her thoughts and in the pit of her stomach. Even after all he’d done, he still had a firm grip on her heart.

“I hate you… I hate you… I love you. Where are you, and why did you do this to me?”

Tears dampened the satin pillowcase under the unruly coils of black hair she had worn since she was a toddler. Anger and heartache had begun to feel the same to her. She tossed the lightweight blanket to the side of her bed and rose. In the darkened room, she felt for her robe at the foot of the bed and slipped it on. The balcony’s sliding doors were only steps away, where she’d find fresh air, where she could sit and think. The sound of crashing waves in the distance used to soothe her but not anymore. The only calm she found came from a bottle of anti-anxiety pills in the medicine cabinet.

Chimes sounded from an antique grandfather clock in the foyer. She counted the strikes in her head—six o’clock, and the sun would soon rise. The automatic brew setting on the coffeemaker would have four cups of steaming Colombian roast waiting for her when she went downstairs.

She opened the double doors to the walk-in closet, accustomed to dressing nicely for Remy—something instilled in her by her mother—then reminded herself he was gone. A pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops was all she needed anymore. With a cup of coffee in hand and twenty minutes before sunrise, she walked out with a beach towel slung over her shoulder and locked the door behind her. A path carved through the dense canopy would end at the sugar sand beach, where she could sit, watch the sunrise, and cry.

The sky lightened gradually until a burst of brilliance hit the horizon and began its ascent. The glowing orange ball cast rays upward and outward, illuminating the Caribbean, making the water dance and shimmer. Black-headed laughing gulls scurried about on the beach, looking for an early morning delectable morsel. She was sure by the sound of their call, they were indeed laughing at her foolishness, for putting her trust in someone like Remy Bellavance.

There on the beach at Magens Bay, she spread out her towel and sat. Other than the sound of the gulls and the waves crashing against the rocks to her left, the beach was silent. The tourists never showed up before ten o’clock, and by then, she’d be home contemplating her future.

“Abby?”

She spun around, startled by the sound of a voice so early in the morning. He stood to her right with a beach rake in his hand. Abigail shielded her eyes with her hand, blocking the morning sun.

“Hi, John. What brings you out this early? The bar couldn’t possibly be open yet, could it?” She wiped her tear-stained cheeks, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Naw… it’s Monday. The cruise ships are coming in. Gotta rake the beach and get the kayaks and sailboards set up. I’ve got to stock the bar, too. The real question is, why are you out here? It’s barely daylight. Doesn’t Remy think it’s weird that you’d be here alone this early? Why didn’t he come with you?”

“Remy left, almost a week ago today. I’ve been coming out here every morning before sunup to clear my head. The quiet helps most of the time. I’m usually back home by seven thirty.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, but as long as I’m here…” He gave her a raised-eyebrow stare, concern etched in his forehead as he sat on the sand next to her.

With a small branch from a turpentine tree gripped tightly in her hand, Abigail drew an infinity circle in the sand as they talked. Drawing that circle was a habit she and Remy had shared. The thought made her kick the circle with her foot, letting the tide reclaim the image.

“What do you mean, Remy left? Is he setting up gigs for the Island Guys? I hear the tourists like their music. Didn’t they play at Beach Time on St. John a few weeks ago?”

“Yeah, they did. I should get going. I’ve got a lot of planning to do.”

“Planning for what? Come on up to the bar. I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

“I thought you were busy. I can’t tie up your morning with my problems.”

“What are friends for? It seems like you need to get something off your chest. I’ll give you thirty minutes,” he joked. “After that, we’ll have to meet at some clandestine location when I get off work to talk further.”

Abby became acquainted with John after she moved to St. Thomas eighteen months ago and married Remy. A Nebraska transplant, John Richmond had been living on the island for fifteen years and had inside information about everything that went on throughout the islands. He gave her a heads-up when he heard about a beautiful two-bedroom bungalow up for sale and located just minutes from Magens Bay beach. Abby contacted the owners before they listed the house and bought it from them directly.

She sat at the bar on a well-worn rattan stool and cozied up to the rail. John poured two cups of coffee and handed her one.

“Okay, spill. What’s going on between you and Remy?”

“Remy is your friend. Do you really want to get involved?”

“I don’t have to be involved to listen.” He set out the cream and sugar then came around the bar to sit on the stool to her right.

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning. You know me only as Abby Bellavance, Remy’s wife. I met Remy on a vacation two years ago in Charlotte Amalie. The Island Guys were playing at the Fat Turtle that night. Of course, Remy was doing his thing, handing out free drink vouchers to all the tourists getting off the cruise ships—me being one of them. He probably got a kickback from the bar to bring the crowds in. I was drawn to him like a moth to light, with his enormous smile, dark golden skin, and those crazy dreadlocks.” She laughed in hindsight as tears pooled in her eyes. “I don’t want to drag this explanation out, but the bottom line is, Remy emptied out the bank account, liquidated all my stocks, and sold the house and furnishings. I didn’t know anything was going on until I got a knock on my door last week from a contractor saying the new owners wanted an estimate to enlarge the balcony. Can you imagine my surprise when I heard that? My suspicions were right. I checked the bank account and my stocks, and they were cleaned out… vanished, just like Remy.”

“He’s a native, Abby, and quite the player. Women never could resist him, and he took advantage of that constantly. In the past, women have paid for everything and anything he wanted. Remy has a certain charisma, charm if you will, that works well for him. Good looks don’t hurt either. There’ve been plenty of ladies in his life that have come and gone, probably because he took them for everything they had. He wore that ability like a badge of honor. I really thought he’d changed when he asked you to marry him though. That’s a big step for him, to actually commit to someone.”

“Maybe the other women were filler until his ship came in… literally. The ship that would make Remy a rich man just happened to be the one I was on. I doubt it had anything to do with commitment, but it had everything to do with my last name.”

“Which was?”

“Melrose. A common name unless you do the research. I’m sure Remy did after meeting my mom and seeing our home in the nicest area of Charleston. My dad built his computer processor business from the ground up. I know it doesn’t sound sexy, but he got in at the right time and made a fortune. It was new money, and he earned it all on his own. My family was just the three of us—my dad, my mom, and me—but my dad was killed in New York a few years ago in a random mugging.”

“I’m so sorry, Abby. That must have been heartbreaking.”

She traced the outline of her coffee mug and gave a wistful shrug. “Now it’s just my mom and me, unless she’s already disowned me. In hindsight, I wouldn’t blame her if she did. She was very protective, especially after my dad died, and Remy sent up every red flag possible. Mom threatened to cut me out of the will if I married him, which of course I did to spite her. I was a smart-ass then and called her bluff, yet I have no idea if she was actually bluffing or not. All I do know is the five million dollars I received from my trust fund when I turned twenty-five is completely gone. Obviously, Mom read Remy and his intentions much better than I did. I’m going home to see if I can fix things with her. She hasn’t spoken to me since I got married. I need to find a job and try to get on my feet, unless my mom reconsiders and welcomes me back into the fold.” Abby smiled wearily and sipped her tepid coffee.

“Need a warm-up?” John asked as he reached for the pot.

“Sure, thanks, but I think my thirty minutes is up. Anyway, I have to be out of the house in two weeks. I have a private investigator looking for Remy and my money, but who knows if anything will ever turn up. He’s probably drinking a piña colada on some remote island that doesn’t have extradition laws with the United States. Why didn’t I listen to my mom when she insisted I get a prenup?”

“It sounds like you were butting heads with her and trying to live your own life, especially with five million bucks in your pocket. Have you ever worked? What will you do to support yourself if you two can’t make amends?”

“Well, I did work before I got married just so I wouldn’t seem like a deadbeat daughter. Actually, I had my master’s degree and interned as a relationship counselor. What a joke, right? Only real life can be that ironic. It’s impossible to make up stuff like that.”

“Let’s talk some more before you go. I’m really sorry this happened, and I’m sorry Remy did this to you. He’s your husband, so I don’t know if he actually committed a crime or not, but I think he did. Someday, karma will come back and bite him in the butt. The world has a way of righting itself, and I hope everything eventually turns out right for you. You’re a great person, and you didn’t deserve this. Stop by for coffee before the crowds show up in the mornings. I’m always here by nine o’clock.”

“Thanks. I guess I needed to get that off my chest. I’ll stop by later this week.”

Abby shook the sand out of the towel and draped it over her forearm. She waved goodbye and followed the path through the mahogany and turpentine trees that led to her house overlooking the bay.