Rum Punch Regrets (2 page)

And she was. Abby nodded blankly.
Grocery store, bar, gas station, bar, port, bar, bar, yeah, yeah, bar, yeah.
Abby needed a shower, not a sightseeing tour right now. She couldn’t help but notice something else was lingering in the air of the vehicle. It was the smell of someone who had some serious pot in his or her pocket or possibly a skunk. This guy was packing some good shit.

Ziggy slowed down after they went through a small roundabout, and without putting on his blinker he turned sharply to the left. Abby was thrown across the backseat and landed hard on the armrest.

Well,
she thought,
the good news is I’ll be able to pass the driving test swiftly and with ease!

They stopped at a gate in a partially hidden driveway. The wrought-iron doors swung open as Ziggy tapped the remote he held in his hand. He turned around and handed it to Abby. “Dis one be yours.” He smiled, showing her his sexy yellow teeth again.

They pulled up the winding driveway and made their way through the lush green foliage to the house. The South American guys who had originally built it had named the spread “La Cantina.” They had lived there years prior, before selling it to Leigh’s ex, Kenny. In not-so-typical island fashion, it was a Spanish masterpiece that was set back off the main road, surrounded by palm trees and other dense tropical plants. Being not so well versed in trees and bushes of the islands (or anywhere, really), Abby only knew they were green and gorgeous.

The South Americans were wise in the home design and landscaping. It had ultimate privacy, and there was plenty of land -- something that not many homes had here unless they were old plantations or sugar mills, as Ziggy was quick to point out. There were maids’ quarters on-site, but not where they could be seen from the main house, in addition to the two-story guesthouse that had been built after the pool was added.

Abby was stunned when she saw it. The home was more of a manor than a little old cottage. There were balconies -- not just one, but two. The porch was massive, built with a Southern flair, stretching like fingers around to the back of the house, where it met with a stone patio. And the grounds were like those of a Beverly Hills home, perfectly manicured and neatly organized by color. Abby could tell that Leigh had had some influence on the landscaping as they pulled closer, recognizing some of the rose bushes from her hybrids.

Ziggy came to a sliding halt in the circular driveway and jumped out of his taxi. He grabbed the heaviest suitcase and took the steps two at a time to open the front door. Abby followed him in and stopped short in the foyer. She took one big, long sweeping look at her new place of residence, and only two words came to mind:
Holy shit.

Nothing could have ever prepared her for this moment. Nothing. Her eyes were trying to take it all in and they just couldn’t. She was so far from her little one-bedroom in her old run-down apartment building in Los Angeles. From the palette chosen to cover the walls to the art hanging on them to the beautifully enticing overstuffed couches, Abby felt as if she had just awoken in the middle of a beautiful dream. She had found herself in heaven, and it was her sister’s hidden home.

To Abby’s left was the formal dining room -- formal in every sense of the word. There was a gorgeous light wood dining table that was set for eight, but there were other chairs in the room to provide seating for twelve.
That must mean there is an extra leaf somewhere,
she found herself thinking.
Why the hell would Leigh and Ken have been entertaining this many people?
And the South American influence was wonderfully married to the island feel. The colors were very relaxing, yet vibrant. The walls had a yellow tint that was highlighted with the artwork that had been chosen. Stunning.

Glancing to her right, toward the family room, Abby’s eyes rested on a 72-inch flat-screen TV.
Really?
Leigh obviously had made arrangements to get that put in, as flat-screens were not around when she and Ken had divorced. There was an oversize coffee table made out of an old dock, and the fireplace beyond the sitting area was massive. It was flanked by bookshelves that were stuffed with tons of reading material. Anything from a good James Patterson read to the karma-focused “heal your life and find yourself” books that Leigh loved so much. Abby could feel her jaw sinking closer to the floor as she took in her surroundings. She had just hit the lottery.

Somewhere in the distance Abby heard a throat being cleared, and she was brought back to reality. Ah yes, the Caribbean answer for Dale Earnhardt was still in the room.

“I am so sorry!” Abby said, reaching in her bag for her tattered wallet. “I’m so tired and confused, and this is more than overwhelming for me.” Ziggy watched her with amusement. Or was that stoned confusion? “Here, how much do I owe you?”

Ziggy laughed. “No, mon. You don’t. Leigh already took care of it. I live here, mon. But I got to leave now. So I got to go now to come back, okay?”

“What?”

Ziggy stared at Abby, hard. “I said dat I. Go now. To come. Back. You see? I go now. I come back. I got to go . . . to come back.” He nodded his head and made hand gestures that said to Abby “follow along.” It was put in a particularly patient way that was mildly amusing to her.

Then Abby smiled, realizing what it was he meant, and why it was on the back of his taxi.

“You go,” she nodded, “so then you can come right back . . . Okay. I totally get it. So, when
are
you coming back?”

He shrugged and pulled on a dread that was peeking out from under his cap. “I be here. Tomorrow I find you to see if you need to go anywhere. Maybe afternoon, but before six.”

Abby looked at him and tilted her weary, fogged head. “You can’t give me a more ‘set’ time? Just afternoon, but before six?”

Ziggy looked at her and tilted his head, too. “Well, yes. Dat is when I find you. Afternoon, but before six.” He shrugged, then laughed. “Oh yeah, you like Leigh. Welcome to St. Kitts’ island time. It is what it is.” Ziggy started laughing, and as he was doing so he reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper. Or, a joint. His lips were curled back, sharing his yellowing teeth with Abby again as he lit his find. Nope, Abby was not in Kansas anymore. And she was beginning to understand why Leigh needed her to be here.

“Okay, Ziggy. Tell you what. I will be here tomorrow and I plan on seeing you when you get here. I need to sleep and get settled in, so maybe you should go outside . . . ” She waved at him and his joint to go outside like she was trying to shoo a small child to the swing set for playtime. Maybe she could find some Febreze in the kitchen when he left.

He laughed again. “Okay, Abby, Leigh’s sister. I go. You rest. Tomorrow we go to store or someting. Maybe go limin’.”

Interesting,
Abby thought.
He wants to pick limes.
“Okay, Ziggy. Sounds good to me.” She reached for the door and held it open. “G’night.”

“Yes. Oh, Abby, sister of Leigh . . . ” He smiled and stood in the doorway, blocking it from being closed and blowing a steady stream of reefer into her nose. “Maybe tonight you watch for centipedes. Dey are not your friend.” He turned to leave.

What the . . . ?
“Wait, Ziggy! Centipedes? What are you talking about?”

Ziggy leaned back and drew another long pull off the joint. “Centipedes, mon. Little, lots o’ legs, dey bite. Dey bite hard, and it fucking hurt. Make sure you pull back da sheets, look all around. Tuck covers all around you after you look and try not to move. Dey like warm spots if it is cold, so be careful of de air conditioning.” He smiled and blew out the smoke, all over her face.

Great,
Abby thought. If a centipede attacked her now, she would have a contact buzz and be too high to do anything about it, except maybe dip it in chocolate.

“So, I just have to look for them in the sheets? What do I do if I do get bitten? Will I? Get bitten? Are there some here?” Great, she was freaking out now. She wanted to rip the joint from his hands and throw it into the bushes, or give him the kick in the ass she had so desperately wanted to give herself for so long.

“Yeah, mon. Just look. If you get bit, you cry. It’s okay. And dey are everywhere. It’s de island.” He laughed and pulled the joint up to his lips for another long pull. As he blew it out he looked at Abby. “I get a soda, okay?”

He wants a soda,
Abby thought, torn between being annoyed and amused.
He’s never leaving. Christ! He is either going to be a giant pain in my ass or the best friend I never wanted. Doesn’t he have a place right here on the property he can go hang out in?

“Fine, umm, kitchen?” She looked at Ziggy, shrugged, and then gestured with her right arm as if to say, “Lead the way.” She didn’t have to worry; he was already padding in his bare feet to the kitchen.
Wait,
she thought.
Oh good lord! He has no shoes on?

Abby shook her head as she followed this funny little island man to the kitchen. As she walked in behind him, watching him root around in the fridge for a drink, she thought how funny would it be if this guy suddenly started talking to her like he was from the States, if he was not really an island native at all and Leigh had set this all up to mess with her after the long flight. She was smirking thinking about it, but as Ziggy began speaking, he snapped her back into the reality of the situation at hand and she realized that no, this was no joke. This was her new world.

“So, Abby . . . How is Leigh? She coming to see us soon, too?”

“Well, I don’t think she planned on it. She sent me here to help get this place ready to be sold. You do know that she is selling it, right?”

Ziggy nodded his head emphatically up and down. “Oh yeah, mon, we got to start wit’ da roof. She sent me a letter ’bout it.” His whole face lit up as he looked at Abby seriously. “Email.”

This man has a computer?
Abby was blown away.

“Oh good! So you know what I’m here to do?”

“Yeah, mon! We like it here, Maria and me.” Ziggy bobbed his head up and down to no one in particular. Abby knew that the Maria he mentioned was his wife; Leigh had said she was the other part of the property-managing duo she had hired to assist with the upkeep of the house. Maria was usually around during the day, sporadically, cleaning and making sure the house was kept nice. For what, Abby was not sure. Hell, Abby was not sure of a lot right now, but who the hell was she to argue with a sheer stroke of good fortune?

She noticed that Ziggy had cocked his head toward the big glass doors off the living room. Across the pool and patio Abby saw a two-story building with a light on outside the door.
That must be the pool house Ben lives in,
she thought.
Nice.
I want to see it, too. If this place is so kick-ass, I can only imagine the pool house must rock. And it’s two floors!

“You will meet him tomorrow or next day.” Ziggy nodded and smiled.
What? Another mind reader?
He was sitting on a bar stool that was by the island in the middle of the kitchen.
Man, he looks more than comfortable there,
Abby thought
. He’s probably used this place a lot over the years; he seems to know it really well. Weird. He’s like the guy who comes over to help you do handyman work and never leaves, she thought. Like that TV show . . .

Abby took in the layout of the kitchen as she was pouring herself some soda as well. Immaculate and new, it was fit for a gourmet chef. It was stocked with Viking appliances, a huge island in the middle, butcher-block style. Julia Child would be jealous. Waffle maker? Blender?
What the hell is Leigh doing with a place this amazing on an island?

As she was looking around, taking in the room, she heard the soft splash of water as it was broken by human -- or maybe animal? -- contact. Was someone or something in the pool? She scooted over to the window and peered outside and saw someone gliding through the water, slowly and effortlessly. Obviously doing laps, back and forth, back and forth, the length of the pool. Abby could see the silhouette of the person’s arms rising up methodically to the swimmer’s body, then cutting through the water, and the turning of his head as he went from left to right to get air as he executed a flawless freestyle stroke.

“Dat be Ben,” Ziggy said matter-of-factly as he put his empty glass down in the sink where Abby was standing. She had been so mesmerized by the motion of the swimmer that she hadn’t even heard Ziggy get up and walk over to her. He was standing next to her watching Ben do his laps as well.
This is one hell of a sight,
she thought as she looked at the little Rasta man next to her and smiled.

“I guessed ‘dat’ would be Ben,” Abby said as well, to no one in particular. Well, it was too late to go meeting him tonight. Tomorrow she and Ben could meet, and then go from there. Maybe she could have him over for dinner one night to find out more about this place and the island. And to break the news of eviction a little bit nicer.

“Okay, Ziggy,” Abby yawned. “I’m usually not the party pooper, but I must sleep or I’m going to be no good to anyone tomorrow. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Ziggy nodded and smiled at Abby. “Oh yeah, I be back. You sleep good, and I see you tomorrow. Good night, Abby, sister of Leigh.” He giggled and went down the hall without a look back and teetered out the front door.
Well, that was easy,
Abby thought.

She went around the kitchen and turned off all the lights and made sure all the doors were locked. Front door, glass doors, and windows . . . Ahhh, her OCD. She grabbed one of her bags and trudged upstairs with it to the bedrooms -- the glorious, lovely bedrooms that were just waiting for her. She spied at least five upon her initial glance, causing her alarm bells to ring a little more, but not enough. Abby was so tired and excited from arriving on the island that she figured a good night’s sleep was the first order of business. Tomorrow she could figure out why Leigh’s house on a Caribbean island was more like a mansion.