Rum Punch Regrets

Also By Anne Kemp

All Fruits Ripe

(An Abby George Novella)

Rum Punch Regrets

by

Anne Kemp

Premier Digital Publishing - Los Angeles

eISBN: 978-1-937957-70-4

Premier Digital Publishing

www.PremierDigitalPublishing.com

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Cover art by Kelly Hanna

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This book is lovingly dedicated to my dad.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I am forever and always indebted to the following people for your contributions to me and to this book:

To my agent, friend and mentor, Cynthia Manson. Your guidance and perseverance inspire me. Without your support and experience (and the helpful insight of Jeff Faville!) I would never have made it this far! From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

To the folks at Premier Digital Publishing – Tom Ellsworth, Hutch Morton and Julie Morales - thank you for taking the chance. Thank you to Lauren Kuczala and Paula Breen for being behind-the-scenes and making things happen and to Kelly Hanna of Drink Red Creative for my author website, guidance and cover design. It truly takes a village!

A special thank you to Ron Hofmann, a constant in my life for many years, and to Grace Manzano for providing me with endless answers to my questions and for their constant friendship. To Barbara and Sevan Avakian of VII A.D. Jewelry – your generosity, creativity and talent blow me away…Thank you!

To my wonderful friends and book club buddies Kim Fertman, Pam Grimes, Yanaika Harrigan, Meredith Monroe, Megan Moore, Marci Proietto and Laurie Selkowitz: Thank you for your unwavering support, love and help putting the book club questions together. You were the first to read my book and truly critique it! Thank you!

To the greatest support team and my biggest cheerleaders – Kim Fertman, Megan Moore and Scott Grimes, Laurie and Adam Selkowitz, Yanaika and Paulie Harrigan: You have listened to me rattle on for months about this book. It’s done now. THANK YOU!!

To my partners-in-crime: Natasha Arnold, Mira Cho, Dawn Bailey, Jill Calhoun, Christine Bellfield, Michael Troy, Shelly Snider, Cynthia Calley, Heather Johnson and Laurie Krug – You are amazing friends. Thank you for being with me on this roller coaster ride!

Bobby, Brittany, Colleen and Neall: Always know that dreams DO come true. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And to Brett Docksteader – If you ever read this, you’ll see your guest appearance!

Daniel, thank you for your living room and for sharing your space when I needed it. And JW: thanks for dealing with me and for all of your help. I’m truly blessed to have you both in my life. Two words: life. insurance.

Maria Penchoen – You are simply lovely and wonderful. I love your island and it’s rich history! Thank you.

To my mother Vern, my sister Karen and her husband Gerry, and my brother Robbie – I’m proud of us. Thank you for always being there. I love you AND I like you, too!

And lastly to St. Kitts and all of the wonderful people I met along the way: Thanks for the memories!

CHAPTER ONE

Everyone in the main cabin let out a surprised shout as the sputtering, tiny, too-old-to-still-be-flying biplane lurched suddenly to the left, then dropped about 100 feet in the air. Abby had closed her eyes as she tried to calm herself with quiet happy thoughts. She refused to believe that this was how she would go down.

I finally get to go to the Caribbean,
she thought apprehensively,
and I’m going to plunge to my death in a plane crash?
Abby felt like a character in Alanis Morissette’s “Isn’t it ironic?” song.
We’re probably over the Atlantic still anyway. I won’t even make it to the damn Caribbean.

It felt like light-years away but it was truly just a few weeks earlier that Abby’s sister Leigh had shown up on her doorstep, revealing her newest plot. Abby had just been laid off from her job as executive coordinator and VIP relations manager for the CEO of an Internet start-up in Los Angeles, and was swimming in confusion and loss, when Leigh arrived, making the offer of a lifetime: Abby could lick her wounds in the Caribbean and Leigh would pay for her to get there.

“Abby, I need you to go down to the islands for a few months to help me wrap up the sale of . . . well, the sale of my house there. I can’t go, and if Daryl found out, it would kill him.” Leigh took a deep breath. “He can’t ever know this is happening.”

Abby had been completely confused. House in the islands? This was all very dramatic. And why didn’t Leigh’s husband know about it? Shouldn’t he know?

“You. Have. A house. In the Caribbean. And it’s for sale.” Abby nodded once for effect after each word, making sure she was getting the details right. She reached toward the pack of cigarettes to light one. As she did, she looked at Leigh out of the corner of her eye. “How the hell do you have a home there?”

“I just do.”

“Like a time-share condo?”

“No. Not a time-share.”

“Like a rental property that you dreamed about last night and then ya woke up crazy?”

“Abby, shut up and listen. I’ve had it since I was married to Ken, and I kept it, okay? It was his. When we divorced, I got to keep it. Mom and Dad knew about it, but Daryl doesn’t. He would freak out that I never told him. And he’s never going to know. You get that part?
Never
.”

Despite all the secrecy and drama surrounding it, who could say no to a free trip to the Caribbean? Abby thought. Yet as with anything Leigh-related, there was always a catch. This time it was to do some work on the house. Abby’s head began to spin just at the mere memory of the night Leigh had told her about her dilemma.

Of course she would have some hidden home in the Caribbean that needs some TLC. Of course she would need me to go down there to oversee the sale and some repairs. And how hard could it all be, anyway?

Leigh was the kind of sister who made other people’s heads spin, especially poor Abby’s. Twenty years older than Abby, Leigh had acted as Abby’s mother over the years, when their mother just couldn’t . . . right after their father passed away. But Leigh treated Abby as the perennial village idiot, almost without meaning to. Known for her caustic tongue (that frequently lashed out at Abby) and biting backhanded compliments (again, meant for her ill-fated younger sis), Leigh was
that
woman who, no matter what, could keep it all together and make it look as simple as tying your shoes. Or so she would have you think. Yes, most grown men feared Leigh. Abby was sure she had made many cry over the years.

As much as Abby wanted to be irked that her sister had never bothered to tell her about her secret Caribbean home, she was determined to push those thoughts to the back of her mind, opting instead to go to the Caribbean in order to help her sister out, and to take advantage of a terrific offer. After all, opportunities like this only happen once in a lifetime, and honestly, how often would she be newly laid-off
and
single? Abby scoffed internally at this last thought.

Single. Laid-off, broke and single,
she thought sadly.
I’m worse than a country song.

Yes, the last 365 days had not been Abby’s finest.
At least I didn’t have to tuck my tail

between my legs and move back home to Maryland from Los Angeles.
Abby was still picking up the pieces of a lost romance-turned-engagement-turned-breakup-because-said-jerk-cheated. Before Abby had even had time to recover from the blow, her mother had passed away. It was too much devastation and Abby had closed herself off to the sadness and had put on her best stoic face, the way her mother had done years prior when her father had passed. It was a Southern tradition to smile through the pain, and Abby and Leigh were both well versed in this ritual by now. Abby had been through this once before and knew that no matter what, she could not bring her mother or father back, so she needed to move on. But it was on a night like tonight that she wished she had her mom to call and cry to or her dad for answers and a shoulder to lean on.

Abby wiped her sweaty palms on her pink capris, reflecting on how the whirlwind trip had already changed.
Oh, Leigh.
The promise of a first-class flight was long forgotten, if it had ever been an option at all.

In order to get Abby to the island at a “reasonable cost,” Leigh had flown her on three different legs before having Abby land on St. Maarten, the neighboring island. Then she was put on a twenty-minute puddle-jumper flight to St. Kitts. Now, Abby was in the air, the last ten minutes to go, wishing she had the ability to teleport.

The lurching was quickly replaced by a smooth ride and clapping from fellow seatmates as the plane righted itself and glided along over the water. Abby smiled to herself and said a silent thank you as she let out a huge sigh of relief. It was night, so Abby could only see the occasional light playing peek-a-boo with her beyond the view she had from the window. It was the telltale sign that there was an island down there somewhere and the promise of a new adventure that would be filled with . . . well, she really had no clue what it was going to be filled with.

Abby had done some research about St. Kitts before leaving and discovered there were three universities on this particular island. There was an American-based nursing school, an East Indian medical school and another American-based school, a veterinary college. Apparently, Leigh also had a tenant whom she had forgotten to mention, who was a student at the vet school and lived in the pool house.

This surprise news was information Abby had digested surprisingly well when Leigh had shared it with her. They were organizing Abby’s boxes at her storage unit when Leigh had slid this tidbit into conversation.

Abby was leaning against an old shelving unit that housed boxes of memorabilia and listening to Leigh rattle off a list of things that needed to be accomplished before flying out.

As Leigh was ticking down said list, she suddenly interrupted herself to say, “Oh, Abby, I did forget to mention one thing in my haste the other day. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

There was that smile again -- the one that Leigh pulled out of her reserve when she really needed something. Abby narrowed her eyes at her sister.

“Of course you did, Leigh. Let me guess, the house is wired with explosives, but as long as I get to the blue wire in under ten seconds, I can save not only myself and the house but the island and civilization as we know it?”

Leigh breathed out a heavy sigh and shook her head. “God, you are such an asshole. No. There’s a tenant. He’s a student in the veterinary program. Nice guy. You’ll need to let him know that we are selling the house and he may only have a few weeks left.”

“Does nice guy that is about to be homeless have a name?” Abby tightened her smile as she locked eyes with Leigh.

“Ben. His name is Ben, and he’s from the U.S. but he’s British. Like half or something. Or maybe Australian?” Leigh winked. “Eh, they all sound the same to me. He pays his rent on time and the folks down there who help keep up the property say he’s a good guy.”

“So Ben isn’t aware his home may be going away while he tries to study for med school?”

“Vet school, Abby. And if you must know, I believe Ben is already in his last semester at Rhodes University, which is a pre-clinical school of veterinary medicine. What that means is that when he finishes up there, he’ll come back to the States to complete his degree here.” Abby couldn’t help but notice the annoyance in her sister’s voice as she spoke to her -- well, more like spoke down to her. Rather than argue about the tone of Leigh’s statement, Abby chose to move forward.

“Okay, Leigh. Well then, I will be more than happy to give good old Ben the bad news. In fact, I will do it right when I get there. ‘Hello, are you Ben, the nice little college student that needs to live here until you finish out your semester? Okay, that’s nice. Get the hell out.’ Yep, sounds perfect, Leigh.” Abby shook her head and looked at Leigh.
Why do we always have to spar?
“I mean, really?”

“Get off your high horse, Abs. Just tell him and then do what I need you to do. He’ll figure it all out. The couple who help keep the house live on-site, so they’ll be there to help with any other issues you may encounter.”

Yeah, yeah, I got it,
Abby thought.
Here it comes, all the little surprises that had been “forgotten.” Next thing you know I will be living in a house with four other people that --whoops! -- Leigh forgot to tell me about. Or the first-class tickets will somehow disappear due to a computer glitch. Or there is no house and I get to stay in a tent. Ha ha, Abby, here is your version of
Survivor.
Joke’s on you!

“Oh, and I got your tickets all handled this morning before Daryl had a chance to see me do it.” Leigh smiled as she took a swig of her scotch and soda. “You are out of here on the 8th of January. I wasn’t able to do the first-class ticket. Sorry.” She took another swig of her drink. “There was some weird issue with me redeeming miles, and I had to play all kinds of games with different airlines to get you there.”

What is this woman, a mind reader?
“No problem. As long as I get there in one piece, I’ll be happy.”

Leigh laughed at this. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine, I got you covered.”

#

Famous last words. Three airlines and almost twenty hours later, what should have been an easy five-hour trip out of Charlotte, on an airline with a movie, some nuts and cool air, had turned into a nightmarish day of travel with broken air conditioning and flight delays. On one of the flights they even ran out of food for the Economy Class passengers. Not only was she running three hours behind her original estimated time of arrival, but Abby was now on the plane ride from hell and her stomach was growling. The cabin was hot, sticky and humid; everyone was packed on top of one another and gasping for air in the stale cabin as the jostling of the plane finally stopped. Abby couldn’t get her breath and could only wish to feel firm, unmoving ground under her feet and to have her hand grasping a cold drink as she sat in front of some air conditioning.

Once landed -- finally! -- and through the sauna that St. Kitts called their immigration and customs line, Abby thought she would step into the cool, air-conditioned comfort of the luggage terminal. But no. The room was sweltering, like a July evening in New Orleans. The air was saturated with the smell of sweat and sticky bodies. As soon as she was able, Abby grabbed her over-packed luggage from the belt and hauled it out the door to the curb, dragging it and sliding it the whole way, even stopping to kick it a time or two.

There was a guy outside the terminal standing by the curb holding a dingy ripped-up sign that had the name “Jorge” scrawled on it. Did he mean “George”? He and Abby eyed each other for a moment, and then she finally broke, nodding and waving her hand to call him over.

“Hi! Is that for Abby George?”

The Rastafarian shrugged and smiled a big toothy grin. He looked like he had yellow Tic Tacs in his mouth. “Indeed, yes, yes. Are you Abby?”

Abby smiled as she realized that the tension was sliding from her body. Home must not be far off, and this guy seemed nice enough. This man was Ziggy, one half of the couple that helped Leigh by maintaining the property. Leigh had called and asked if he would please fetch Abby from the airport and help her get settled at the house.

“Yes, that’s me. Abby George. Nice to meet you. And you are Ziggy, I presume?”

The Rasta man laughed and grabbed one of Abby’s three bags. “Yes, mon. I be Ziggy. Master of all tings. Let’s get you in da taxi so I take you ’round to your place an’ get you dere. Then you sleep, mon. Good?”

This is going to be different,
Abby chuckled silently. She was truly on the island now, her escort complete with accent and dreads. She suppressed a laugh and walked with him towards the white minivan that had “TAXI” in big bold letters (like the kind you would buy from a hardware store) emblazoned across the side. The front of the hood was painted in bright colors and zigzags (maybe this was where “Ziggy” came from?) and on the top of the front windshield, in the Rastafarian green, red and yellow, was painted big and bold: “ZIGGY.” The back of the white van displayed a bit of island wisdom: “You got to GO to come BACK.”

Where am I?
Abby thought as she shook her head and climbed into the back of the beaten-to-hell-and-back minivan.

Ziggy tore out of the small parking lot and began the journey to the place Abby would be calling home for the next few months. As he flew at a race car’s pace through narrow dirt lanes, Ziggy pointed out the things she would need to know, like Ram’s, the grocery store that was not open on Sundays and closed at six o’clock in the evening all other days. There was a gas station, one of two on the island that was open on Sundays, but never open later than ten o’clock at night. Then came the bakery, a car rental lot, and a small stadium for rugby, cricket and soccer games. She could make out the lights at Port Zante, where cruise ships docked and the town would be overpopulated for a few hours while tourist dollars stimulated the local economy. Then there was Ricky’s, Ziggy’s favorite bar and a local spot for dive training. Ricky’s was attached to the Frigate Beach Hotel and the property also boasted a small but quaint beach with a view of Nevis, the other neighboring island. Ziggy made sure to toss all of this information Abby’s way like a machine gun, glancing in his rearview to make sure she was taking it all in.