Second Chances (2 page)

Thankful that she had a few thousand dollars stashed in the back of her closet, Abby checked the airline schedules and fares and prepared to leave the paradise she had known for two years and return to her home and the familiarity of Charleston, South Carolina. The cheapest flight she found left on a Thursday and had two connections. She tapped the “buy now” button on the screen and closed her laptop. With a fresh cup of coffee, she sat on the balcony with a pad of paper in hand and a pen lodged above her left ear. Remy was gone for good. It wasn’t a joke, he wouldn’t return, and it was time to start that to-do list. In two weeks, beautiful St. Thomas and the turquoise Caribbean would be history.

The ringing cell phone brought Abby out of her deep concentration. The caller was Melanie Davis, Abby’s dearest friend since childhood.

Do I feel like talking to Mel right now or not?
Not wanting the drama but still needing her best friend, Abby picked up. “Hi, Mel. What’s up?” She stared out through the tree canopy to see the glorious, vibrant sea before her. Tears sprung to her eyes as she heard Mel’s familiar voice.

“Hey, Abby. How are you doing?”

“You know. Same thing, different day.”

“I think it would be a good idea if I flew down and helped you pack up everything you’re bringing home. What do you say?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. All I have are my clothes and a few personal belongings. I’m going to box everything up this week and ship it back home. Have you seen my mom recently?”

“I saw her last Friday night at the art walk on Broad Street. She made small talk with me, probably because there was a crowd. She didn’t look too happy. Have you heard from her since you told her what happened?”

“No, not a peep. After the scolding and the ‘I told you sos,’ she’s been keeping herself pretty scarce. I think she wants me to grovel. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I’ll have to do until I get on my feet. This was really a rude awakening. I just wish it was a year from now and all of this was behind me. I guess I’ll find out where I stand after I get home.”

The list of friends and acquaintances to say goodbye to was short. It seemed as though Abby had spent the last year and a half keeping Remy happy and being his wife instead of making friends of her own. Most of the people she knew were through Remy and the Island Guys. John seemed like the only person that wasn’t one of their groupies.

The news of Remy’s betrayal had spread through the island like the morning sun. Abby wanted to get away from the humiliation as soon as possible. Today, her intentions were to tie up loose ends, say goodbye to anyone she cared about, and reconnect with her mom before the flight out tomorrow morning. With a short stop in Puerto Rico and a two-hour layover in Miami, she’d have plenty of time to regroup and calm down before arriving in Charleston. Melanie offered to pick her up at the airport and take her home. Abby would enter through the wrought-iron gates of the pink Italianate mansion on South Battery. Charlotte Melrose, and Abby’s fate, would be waiting on the other side of the door.

Her seat was near the tail of the airplane, a bumpy, noisy area next to the lavatories, and since the seat didn’t recline, she would be sitting in a very uncomfortable, upright position until they reached Puerto Rico.

Life may be a lot different going forward. No more first class, at least for now
, she thought as the plane lifted skyward. She looked out the window and stared down at the island she was leaving, the place she had called home for nearly two years. She wondered if she would ever return. Would the memories of Remy ruin any happiness of a future visit, or could she separate the two? Did she even dare to imagine being there again, sometime down the road, with a man that really loved her?
I guess time will tell. For now, goodbye, St. Thomas. I’ll miss you.

Abby took advantage of the two-and-a-half-hour flight between San Juan and Miami to catch a nap. She would be too amped up to rest on the flight to Charleston.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is the captain speaking. We’ll be landing in Charleston right at the noon hour. The weather is a balmy eighty degrees with light winds and good visibility. Please return your seats to the upright position and lock your tray tables. The flight attendants will be by to collect any last-minute items you want to discard. Thank you, and have a great afternoon. We’ll be on the ground in twenty minutes.”

I should have ordered a stiff drink
, she thought. Her heart was pounding at an alarming rate at the realization she was about to be back in Charleston.
I’ll ask Melanie to stop somewhere before we get home. I definitely need a drink… or two.

There Melanie stood, wearing that huge smile she was known for and waving as Abby walked up the concourse toward her. Melanie was happy, carefree, and vibrant—the woman Abby had always wanted to be like. She lived life on her own terms and said to hell with anyone who tried to change anything about her. A single woman not looking for anyone to complete her, Mel was the most upbeat, positive person Abby knew. People gravitated toward her. Abby was certain Mel was self-medicating to always be in that good a mood.

“There you are! I’m so happy you’re home, safe and sound. We’re going to get you back on track, just like that.” Melanie snapped her fingers to emphasize how quickly Abby’s life would be back to normal. “Consider the last two years as nothing more than a small speed bump in your journey through time. It’s all good. Let’s get your luggage and go home.” Melanie grabbed the backpack off Abby’s shoulder and slung it across her back. She air-kissed Abby’s cheeks, European style, and took her by the hand before leading her down the escalator toward baggage claim.

“I’m glad there’s one person that’s happy I’m back. I can’t say I am since I’m scared to death, and my mom won’t answer the phone. I have no idea what I’m going to walk in to. You’re coming in to help break the ice, right?” The conveyor belt started, and Abby watched each piece of luggage drop onto the carousel. Her eyes scanned the multitude of suitcases as she looked for the monogrammed leather Louis Vuitton duffel bag she was so fond of.

“Sure, if you think it will help. I wouldn’t want to be that poor soul on the wrong side of your mom… she’s kind of scary.”

“Ya think? I know one thing for sure,” Abby said while struggling to grab the leather handles of the heavy duffel bag and pull it off the belt.

“We’re stopping somewhere for a drink first?”

“You’ve got that right. How about Crabby’s Shack on King Street?”

Melanie parked her 2011 Toyota Camry along the curb, and they entered the darkened establishment that had been their go-to place since they turned twenty-one. The food was great, and Louis Dillard wasn’t too bad either. He was gorgeous with a capital
G,
but happily married. Louis did make the best cocktails in Charleston though. Strong yet smooth, just like him. He was co-owner of Crabby’s and a good friend to anyone passing through the louvered front doors. The girls grabbed vinyl barstools and sat, waiting for him to notice Abby Melrose was back in town.

“Abby, I can’t believe you’re home! Are you staying for good this time?”

“It kind of looks that way. How have you been, Louis?” She reached for the drink menu, knowing she needed something strong.

“I’m great. We’re expecting our first baby in a month. It’s going to be a girl, and Diana is more than stoked. Pretty exciting stuff, right?”

The sincerity in his voice warmed Abby’s heart. She was happy for him. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That’s so cool. Congrats. I’ll have a Gypsy Girl, and make it strong.”

“I’ll have the same but weak. I’m driving.”

“Mel, it’s thirteen blocks to my house from here. That’s less than seven minutes by car,” Abby said, laughing at Melanie’s responsible yet fun-loving nature.

“Well, whatever… the streets are always full of tourists darting around. I wouldn’t want to hit anyone because I was wasted.”

“Really, on one weak drink? You’re nuts. You know that, right?”

She smiled at Abby with perfectly aligned sparkling-white teeth. “I know, but you love me anyway.”

“Who doesn’t?”

After two drinks each, they settled the tab and promised to be back soon.

“Are you ready for this?” Mel asked as they climbed into the car and belted themselves in.

“No, but I don’t have a choice. It’s time to face the music. I was wrong, and my mom was right. It’s really just that simple. All I need to know right now is if she’s going to welcome me home or not.”

Mel drove the twelve short blocks down King Street and turned left on South Battery. She pulled into the side driveway a half block up and killed the engine. The ornate iron gates that led to the inner courtyard with its enormous fountain were twenty feet to her left. Both women stared at the house, feeling as if they were being watched, and quickly did their yoga breathing exercises.

“Okay, there’s no sense in prolonging this anymore, but my heart is going a hundred miles an hour. Let’s go,” Abby said.

Mel popped the trunk then grabbed the backpack off the back seat. Abby pulled the duffel bag out of the trunk, closed it, and punched the code into the keypad on the gate, allowing them to pass through. The chandeliers in the parlor glowed as the women walked by the open window. Charlotte was home, and they saw her watch their arrival from her vantage point on the widow’s walk. With a solemn look on her face, Abby opened the front door. Mittens, the black cat with white feet, greeted the women as they entered. She meowed loudly, brushing against their legs with her tail held high. Abby dropped her bag on the walnut floor of the foyer and knelt to pet the cat. The sound of high heels clicking on the second-level hallway told Abby her mother was approaching. Charlotte Melrose descended the circular staircase, obviously expecting all eyes to be on her, and they were. She wore a hot pink Lilly Pulitzer knit shift with pale gold trim. Charlotte was a member of upper-class society and was perceived by many as older, but at only forty-nine, she was far too young to dress like a stuffy socialite. She hadn’t seen Abby for eighteen months, yet she offered no motherly embrace.

“Mom, you look good. How have you been?” Abby asked, trying to break the tension hanging heavily in the air.

“Hello, Mrs. Melrose. Nice to see you again,” Melanie said as she followed Abby and her mother to the parlor, where tea and finger sandwiches waited on the Queen Anne table.

Charlotte Melrose wasn’t snooty by nature. She was angry and hurt that Abby had gone against her by marrying Remy. Her intention was to protect her only daughter from that predator, yet Abby couldn’t see it at the time. The marriage forced a permanent wedge between mother and daughter, ruining the close relationship they once had. They both knew it would take a lot of work to repair the damage.

“Melanie, thank you for picking up Abigail at the airport, I’ve been busy. Please, have some tea and a sandwich.”

Charlotte was accustomed to wearing dresses every day. “One might have unexpected guests,” she’d always say. Before the money, twenty years earlier, they were just another family living a common middle-class lifestyle far from the likes of the upper-crust families in Charleston, south of Broad Street. That was where the society people lived, a place common people only dreamed about. Charlotte used to take the city bus with Abigail and a stroller in tow. She would walk Meeting Street, Bay Street, and East and South Battery. She’d daydream about the people living there and what their important lives must be like.
Do they host parties with servants catering to their every need? Do they attend galas and art exhibits regularly
? Back then, those questions consumed her whenever she strolled past the gorgeous mansions, each more fabulous than the one before.

But today life was different. Charlotte was wealthy, and she wanted to protect that wealth, especially since Edward was gone. And because of Abby’s bad judgment, Charlotte had five million reasons to be furious with her.

Melanie said goodbye and graciously left. Abby and Charlotte needed time alone to sort out what the future would bring. Abby wasn’t due another withdrawal from her trust fund until she was thirty, and she still had three years to go.

“Abigail, let’s sit in the drawing room, shall we? We have plenty to discuss.”

Charlotte instructed Betsy, the maid, to bring a tray with coffee, cream, and sugar into the drawing room, along with pen and paper. Abby followed her mother like a scolded adolescent, waiting for the wrecking ball to drop.

The drawing room was always one of Abby’s favorite places to sit and reflect. The walls wore a rich but subtle cream palette to ensure the paintings had no competition. Antique Chippendale furniture filled the room, and a vibrant Persian rug with four-inch cream-colored fringe lay over the walnut floors. The crystal pendants hanging from brass sconces created brilliant colors that danced against the walls every time the lights were turned on. Two matching brocade wingback chairs beckoned them to sit.

Betsy placed the coffee tray on a table between the chairs. “Welcome home, Miss Abigail. May I get you anything else, Mrs. Melrose?” she asked as she stepped back toward the pocket doors.

“No, thank you. I think we’re fine for now. Please close the doors on your way out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Is there any new information on your missing husband and money, Abigail?”

“No, Mom, there isn’t. I’m pretty sure I’ll never see either of them again. From what I’ve been told, it isn’t illegal for a spouse to withdraw as much money from a bank or stock account as they want.”

“But it was
your
money, not his.”

“After we got married, it belonged to both of us. I put his name on all the accounts to make life easier. I didn’t feel it was right to have my husband asking me for money every time he needed some.”

“So the con artist had no money of his own until you made life
easier
for him? I guess he’s living on easy street now, and you’re the one with nothing. I was certain you were smarter than that, but obviously I was wrong.”