Rum Punch Regrets (4 page)

Abby smiled at Maria’s back. She slowly nodded and turned on her heel, unable to shake the feeling of familiarity she had with Maria. This woman was funny and honest: She had gone from being a jolting surprise to a blessing in a just a couple of hours.

All this and it wasn’t even noon yet.

Welcome to the island . . .

CHAPTER THREE

The thick Caribbean humidity was beginning to take its toll on Abby. Sitting at a table on the patio at Ricky’s, she waited patiently for a very late Ben to join her for their get-to-know-your-roomie dinner. Already on her second rum punch, she was jiggling the ice cubes in the cup as she waited to order number three. Abby was nervous, but ready to meet Ben. All she could do was hope he was the understanding type.

#

Abby had begun the day by placing a call to her sister, which had promptly been sent to voicemail. She followed up by sending her the obligatory “What the hell were you thinking?” email while wishing there were some way she could send a good ass-kicking instead of flowers to her doorstep. Obviously a conversation with Leigh was out of the question at this point -- at least until she decided to return Abby’s messages.

Maria then had gotten Abby settled in the small office off the main kitchen, where Abby would be making her calls to schedule the repairmen. Being used to the “go-get-’em” attitude of the States, Abby was expecting to place a call and have the repairmen over for an estimate within a few hours. As she opened the Yellow Pages for the island, she found that there were only three roofing companies to pick from. The first two didn’t have voicemail, much less answer the phone. The third try was her lucky charm, as someone named Buddy answered and agreed to come by. In three days.

“Three days? Buddy, is there anything I can do to get you to come sooner?”

Buddy’s end was silent as he thought. Then, “No.”

Okay.
“I’ll pay more. We can pay a little bit extra on top of the fee to get you here?”

Silence again. “Mmmmm. No. Sorry, Miss George. I got tings to do. Leavin’ today for fishin’. But I see you in tree days.”

So he was going fishing. Abby felt her frustration welling up inside of her, but decided that if it had to be “tree” days, then it would be. She agreed to his terms and opted to let it go for the time being.

She spent the rest of her day hustling around, jumping at the mere sound of Maria’s voice and her delivery of orders to prep La Cantina. She helped polish, shine, dust, sweep, launder and replace linens. Maria allowed her one last lovely, luxurious long shower in the main home before having Ziggy grab her bags and help her get set up in the pool house, air mattress and all.

“An air mattress? Ziggy . . . I mean, really? I go from ‘I’m living in this gorgeous home’ to ‘Here’s your air mattress and a hole under the stairs’?”

Ziggy chuckled. “Miss Abby, you will not be sleeping under the stairs. You have a roof over your head! What more do you need?”

Ziggy was already walking away from Abby, headed to the pool house with the air mattress tucked under one arm and one of her suitcases dangling at the end of the other.

The pool house was not as large as Abby had originally imagined. Granted, from the outside the size was deceiving; it looked small because the width was not grand. Yet the length was amazing -- it stretched back into the tropical foliage, almost disappearing as if into a miniature rainforest. From her first glance, she guessed the living room to be the size of the bedroom she had just slept in the night before.

Ziggy had begun rooting around in an alcove off to the side of the living room. It was a small area. It looked about 5 x 10, had curtains and was the size for . . .
Wait,
Abby thought,
is he taking the air mattress out of the box and putting it there? Am I not getting a door at least?

“Ziggy, is that my place? Or are you adding some more seating?”

“No, man. I’m making your bed nice and firm now, Abby. Blow it up with the hair dryer and cap it for you.” His head nodded and the dreadlocks bounced as he began to inflate her new bed.

Unreal! Leigh, you did it again. I always think things will be different with you, Leigh,
Abby thought.
They never are. I don’t even have the pleasure of being able to shut a door to close out all of the complete strangers I keep meeting.

Abby found a corner behind the dining room table where she could hide her bags for the time being. May as well wait to see where Ben wanted her to store her things. She then made her way through the pool house, looking at pictures -- Ben had only a few present in sporadic locations. It was most certainly the home of a college student. There were some schematics of animals up on the walls as well, skeletal systems or diagrams of some sort, and shelves that were laden with books on anatomy, physiology and animal science. There was a pile of dishes in the sink and the coffeemaker looked as if it had seen better days about twenty years ago.

Abby moved slowly through the house, taking in the quarters she would be sharing for the next few weeks. The downstairs appeared neat, but when she looked upstairs, she was granted a glimpse into Ben’s bedroom, which appeared to have suffered from a small explosion. She started climbing the steps and then opted not to go. It was, after all, someone else’s living quarters. It was awkward enough without her rooting around any more of his space.

As she surveyed the surroundings, she noticed a litter box a few feet from the air mattress
. Please don’t let that thing stink in this heat,
she cringed silently.

The sound of Ziggy’s voice snapped her back to the present.

“Mon, all set. I’m taking you to Ricky’s now,” Ziggy said, looking ready to go.

Abby furrowed her brow. “I thought Ben was meeting me here first?”

“Happy hour, Abby. I need to meet some people at Ricky’s for some tings.” He was grinning widely. It was the smile that said, “I’m about to sell some of my weed that perfumes the air around me.”

“Okay. As long as he knows I’ll be there?”

“Yeah, mon. Handled.”

With that, Ziggy sailed out the door, heading to his cab. Abby took a look around at her new digs one more time. She had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.
I hope Ben and I get along
was the only thought she could muster.

#

Abby took her cup and wiped it across the top of her forehead, letting the condensation from the drink trickle its way down over her flushed face. It was harder to catch her breath here today, and sitting outside was turning out to be a dumb idea. But she wanted to “break bread” with Ben since they would be living together for the next who-knows-how-many weeks.

Ricky’s Café and Bar was a comical little spot down the road from La Cantina. At the end of a pothole-infested drive, it was tucked in the underbelly of a hotel that was slowly rotting away due to lack of love from the owners and a hurricane that had hit seven years ago. Abby got the feeling that Ricky’s was a home away from home, much like Cheers, to many of the folks gathered around its plastic patio tables and picnic benches. There was a dive shop, and the whole crew was at one end of the patio enjoying the sunset, knocking back the local beer, Carib, and hanging with tourists from a cruise ship. The bar had only four seats pulled up to the window, with two customers sitting with their heads together, sharing beers and cigarettes. One of the gentlemen was quite dark and weathered with bleach-blonde hair and seemed kind of dirty in that needing-to-be-washed way, while the other man was tall and rugged with dark hair and a great smile, emitting a “mysterious stranger” quality. The two were speaking in hushed conspiratorial voices, the blonde one gesturing wildly ever other word or so.

Behind the bar, the bartender was fanning herself with a
People
magazine that was so tattered Abby thought it must be from at least three years ago. Abby knew she needed another drink to keep herself cool, so she slowly crept up to the bartender.

Abby was walking up behind her and was about to introduce herself when the robust woman made a grunting sound, like “Ahem, yeaaaaahhhh,” and then turned to face Abby.

Abby stopped dead in her tracks, thinking that the woman was ready to yell at her. She braced for the biting words to come.

“Another rum punch, girl?”

Abby smiled and showed her the elegant plastic cup she held in her hand.

“Please.”

The bartender eyed Abby like the drunk she was proving to be.

“Be careful with dose. Dey can bite you in de ass.”

Abby smiled politely but held fast. “I just want to be numb. Please, another drink.”

“What you needin’ to numb, girl? No need.” She slid off the stool and went behind the bar to mix Abby another concoction. “For every bar on this island, there are two churches. Not many people know dat. It’s like we forgive the drinkin’ everyone does and we ask them to go to church. My boy,” she clutched a locket around her neck, “he loved the drink. He loved the church, too. Fitting he ran into a church when he was drunk and died instantly.”

Abby was stunned. Her mouth dropped and she stared at the woman stirring the elixir.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m really sorry that . . . ”

The older woman laughed. No, she guffawed at Abby. “I’m sorry, girl. Don’t know why I decided to lie to you like that. I got a son, but he alive.”

Wow, you really can’t make this up,
Abby thought as she stared at the woman as if she had three heads.

“Well, good then,” said Abby a little sarcastically. “Glad to hear it. I’m going to take my cocktail and go back to staring out over the water and drinking myself into the sand.” With that, Abby pinched a smile at the two other customers, raised her now-refilled cup to the woman and went to her table.

“Girl!”

Oh what now?

“Yes?”

The woman was still laughing as she came from around the bar and went up to Abby.

“They call me Miss B. And no, that ‘B’ is not for bullshit. It’s for Benson. That was my husband’s name.”

“Hello, nice to meet you. I’m Abby. Abby George. My sister owns La Cantina.”

“Leigh?” Miss B. exclaimed. “You Leigh’s sister, all grown up, eh? Well!”

“Yes, Miss B. I am . . . ”

“Girl, things just changed for me and you. Now we gonna get along! My name is really Charlie, for Miss Charles, not Miss B. I mess with people. Usually ones I don’t know.” She smiled at Abby and patted her head. “You? I kind of know. You’re Leigh’s sister.”

Abby stared intently at the woman, Miss C. or B. or whoever the hell she decided she was at the given moment. Abby wanted to ask her how well she knew Leigh, but as she opened her mouth she saw Miss Charles’ eyes light up; apparently there was something more interesting beyond Abby’s shoulder.

“Ben Stenson! Oh, baby boy Ben! How are you doing tonight?” she practically sang to the sunset.

Abby slowly sucked in a deep breath through her nose. Ben had arrived, bless his heart. She was fumbling with the rings on her fingers in her signature nervous fashion, glancing over at Ziggy working his pot-selling magic across the patio with some locals. He waved to her as he jumped a small wall next to the beach and walked off with the rugged dark-haired guy from the bar in tow, most likely to smoke some of his goods before the money was exchanged.
What an entrepreneur,
she thought.

Abby could hear Ben and Miss Charles talking behind her. She was clucking like an old hen, and he was laughing with her and the dirty man that had been left behind by his friend at the bar. Cutthroat? Did he really just refer to the man sitting there as Captain Cutthroat?
What is he . . . a pirate?
Abby fought the urge to shake her head and laugh out loud, opting instead to turn around and meet her new roommate.

Abby stood and watched the scene in front of her for a beat before interjecting. Ben was holding a Carib and toasting with this Captain Cutthroat person and Miss Charles was giggling and patting him on his head. It was Miss Charles who motioned for Abby to come over and join the group.

“Abby, you must come ’ere girl and meet my Ben. An’ this be the Cap’n of our dive crew, Cap’n Joe Cutthroat, or Cutty.”

Abby felt out of place and a little lost as she put her hand out and approached Ben. Standing among the group of castaways, laughing at an inside joke, was a blonde, tanned young man, in his mid-20s, standing six feet tall. He had the build of a construction worker, yet also managed to emit a boyish charm that was almost infectious.

“Ben? I’m Abby. Your dinner companion . . . ” She stopped suddenly, not because it was her choice, but because Captain Cutty decided it was time for him to be introduced.

“Abby, you’re cute.” The smile he gave her was yellowed and missing a tooth or two, which seemed the way of this island, but the grin was wide and sincere. Captain Cutty had a leathery, weathered look to his too-tanned face, but there was something in those eyes that made Abby like him instantly.

“Thank you. Nice to meet you, Cutty.”

“Not Captain? I deserve to be called Captain, you know.” The smile was still there as he lit another Camel Filter and took a swig of his beer.

“Nah. I like Cutty. Captain is too complicated. Makes me feel like you may be relied on to be in charge of something.” Abby smiled and took a swig of her drink as well, then leaned over and took one of his cigarettes out of the pack. She was surprising herself with her boldness, but she felt the energy around her to keep up with these guys so she wasn’t verbally tossed to the side.

“Touché.” Cutty grinned and pointed a gnarled finger at Ben.

“Is there a reason you’re called Cutthroat?” Behind her smile, Abby hid her surprise that such a menacing name was attached to such a non-threatening man.

“Well, I can be a real jerk if you -- ” He never finished.

“Ain’t no reason, girl,” Miss C. interrupted. “He just decided when he came ’ere he should be Cap’n Joe Cut-troat.”

Cutty scowled at the older woman, who was grinning from ear to ear, before turning his attention back to Abby. “You know this guy?”

It was Ben’s turn to speak. “No, Cutty,” he said in a tight British accent. “We are just meeting now for the first time. It seems we are about to become really good friends out of circumstances we cannot control. At the most inconvenient time possible.”

Ouch. Abby felt the arrow of irritation land directly at her feet. Ben was not happy about this at all and would more than likely be taking it out on her. This was going to be nearly impossible, and she couldn’t blame him.