Second Chances

by Bria Marche

  “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 ba
ck 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.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Don’t you think I feel bad enough?”

  “You do remember what I said when you threatened to marry that vagrant, don’t you?” Charlotte stiffened and sat upright. She held the porcelain cup in the Blue Magnolia pattern in her right hand, her pinkie finger pointing upward. She handed Abby the paper and pen. “Here, figure out your life. Tomorrow at breakfast, I want to see what you wrote. If it’s reasonable and makes financial sense, I’ll speak to my attorney. If not, you’re on your own. Breakfast is at eight o’clock sharp. I suggest you get to it.” Charlotte patted her mouth with the hemstitched linen napkin, stood, left the room, and closed the pocket doors behind her.

  Abby stared at the blank sheet of paper, holding the fountain pen in her hand. “I hate these damn things.” She found her backpack, still lying in the foyer with her duffel bag, and brought it into the parlor. A dozen hotel pens were in the zipped side pocket. “Good enough.” After pouring another cup of coffee, she curled up on the chair and began to chart her future. Abby wondered if she could ever be in a relationship or trust men again after Remy. Did he ruin any chance she might have had to fall in love with somebody else? At the moment, she had to focus on her immediate need. Men could wait. She’d check out job postings online, hopefully in the only field she knew—relationship counseling. If there weren’t any jobs available working for somebody else, she’d start her own practice, somehow, somewhere.

  This outline has to look sincere, like I put a lot of thought into it. I’ll need to take some refresher courses and find out if my certification is still good. Maybe if I take this seriously, I’ll be able to read people better.

  After two hours of Internet searches and note taking, Abby had a viable plan of action to present her mother at breakfast. She rose from the chair, stretched, and rolled her neck. Popping sounds from her knotted muscles told her just how tense she really was. With a deep sigh, she opened the pocket doors and walked out of the drawing room. Her duffel bag still lay untouched in the quiet foyer. Seeing it lying there made her wince with anxiety and remorse. Her mother wasn’t welcoming her home, and deep down, Abby knew reconnecting with her wouldn’t be easy. Betsy normally would have taken her bag upstairs, but it was likely Charlotte had told her not to. Abby would have to earn back her place in her mother’s home, even if it was temporary.

  She wondered if they would ever be close again or if all chances of that were gone for good.

  Chapter Three

  She woke to an entirely different feeling—life had changed again. Gone were the tropical birdcalls and sounds of the surf crashing against the shoreline. She lay in the bed she had used while growing up, sleeping alone, just as she had then. Abby rolled over, rubbed her eyes, and checked the time on her cell phone. Crap! I have to be dressed and at breakfast in forty minutes. Luckily, her closet still held the clothes she’d left behind almost two years ago, and her suite had a private bath. She dove out of bed with no time to wake up slowly and lazily. With the shower running and the water heating, she rifled through the closet and picked out a simple peach-colored sheath. Abby pinned her mass of curls up with a hair clip and stepped into the blissfully hot water. She didn’t have enough time to bother with her hair that morning. She had to prove to Charlotte that she was responsible by arriving in the breakfast room at eight o’clock sharp with dry hair and wearing a respectable dress in one of her mother’s favorite colors.

  Abby grabbed the outline she had prepared the night before, inhaled deeply, and descended the staircase. Her mother sat at the table in the breakfast room, waiting. Charlotte glanced at the antique mantel clock sitting on the sideboard and gave an approving nod when Abby walked through the French doors.

  “Good morning, Abigail. I hope you slept well.”

  “Good morning, Mom. I slept fine, and the coffee smells great.”

  Abby sat across from Charlotte, with White Point Garden directly out the large window in front of her. Betsy poured coffee for both of them, placed a bowl of fruit and a plate of croissants on the table, and exited the room. Abby set her outline on the table, hoping her mother wouldn’t want to see it quite yet. Her stomach growled, indicating food and coffee were necessary before anything else.

  Once breakfast was over, Charlotte asked to see the outline. Abby nervously handed the paperwork to her mother, waiting to find out her fate. After lifting the reading glasses that hung from the beaded lanyard and perching them on her nose, Charlotte read the four-page outline. Abby already had her master’s degree, but she would need to take continuing education courses and become a licensed counselor if she wanted to start her own practice in marriage, family, and relationship counseling. She had been disappointed that she couldn’t find any job openings in an existing practice during her online search last night. She researched the cost and length of time it would take before she could open her practice. She was sure her mother would find that a respectable occupation. All Abby needed was a loan from her mother to make it a reality.

  “It looks like you’re taking this seriously with all the work you’ve put into this outline,” Charlotte said. “The only problem is, it will take a year to accomplish, and you want a twenty-thousand-dollar loan. What will you do in the meantime?”

  “I’ll find something to prove myself. I’ll work in a daycare center or nursing home during the day and take my courses at night. All I need is a roof over my head, and I’m hoping it will be here. I’m truly sorry for all the grief I’ve caused these last few years. I’ll even accompany you to the galas and art events. It can be like old times again.”

  “We did have fun, didn’t we? All right, I’ll give you another chance to do the right thing. I’ll stop in at my attorney’s office this afternoon and have him change the will back as it was before the Remy fiasco. I’m having lunch with the board members of my favorite charity anyway, so I’ll be in the general neighborhood.” Charlotte poured each of them another cup of coffee and bit into a chocolate croissant.

  “So you really did change the will?” Abby was shocked but not surprised that her mother had lived up to her word.

  “Of course I did, dear. You defied me. I had no choice. I want another outline tonight at dinner of the school you’re going to enroll in and places you’ve contacted today for employment. After you get a job and start school, I’ll loan you the money.”

  Abby felt the flush of anger prickle the back of her neck. Her mother was a control freak, but there was nothing she could do about it yet. Sure, she could work for meager wages somewhere, but that income would be eaten up by rent and living expenses. For the time being, she’d have to conform to her mother’s demands even though they infuriated her. Abby retreated to her bedroom to get started on her assignment. She felt like a schoolkid again, having to obey her mother. This is such crap. I’ll call Mel and see what she’s up to. Hopefully, she has time to do lunch.

  At twenty-seven, Abby felt like an irresponsible child, not having much money or even a car to call her own.

  “Mel, what are you doing today? I really need someone to talk to, and a few beers
. I’ll buy lunch if you’re free, but you’ll have to pick me up.”

  “Sure, no problem, do you want to go to Crabby’s again?”

  “Yeah, I like the vibe there. It isn’t a tourist trap. Do they still offer the best Crab Louie Salad in town?”

  “They sure do, and the largest choice of beers. Okay, I’ll pick you up at noon.”

  Abby checked the time. She still had two hours to kill. She’d get to her mother’s demands later. Right then, she wanted to reconnect with the beautiful city she used to call home. She followed the sound of voices she heard from downstairs at the back of the house. Her mother might come looking for her, so it was best to be upfront and say she was going out to clear her mind. Abby found Charlotte and Betsy in the lush walled garden behind the house. Charlotte sat at the wrought-iron table, paging through the Meyer’s Nursery catalog. She was choosing the annuals she wanted delivered and planted. Betsy was in charge of contacting the local nursery and making Charlotte’s every wish a reality.

  “Hi, Mom. I’m going for a short walk around the neighborhood to gather my thoughts. I’ll be back in a half hour.”

  “All right. Just remember what you need to do later. Don’t disappoint me, dear.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it. I’ll be back soon.”

  Abby left, feeling more deflated than ever, wondering how long she could tolerate Charlotte’s stranglehold on her every movement. She walked up East Battery to Rainbow Row, trying to enjoy the moment. She had always loved the colorful homes and the beautiful private gardens behind each gate. She remembered coming to the neighborhood as a child and behaving the same way the tourists did, gasping with excitement and clicking cameras at every lovely home and historical monument they passed. That was long before her family moved there themselves. She turned west on Elliot Street and followed it to Meeting Street, where she went south. Abby stopped at Two Meeting Street and went inside the beautiful bed-and-breakfast to say hello to the proprietors. The owners were close friends of Charlotte’s—a welcoming couple who had been a mainstay in Charleston for years. On her way home, she stopped at White Point Garden and found an empty bench to sit on. She’d gone there often before she met Remy and moved to St. Thomas. She inhaled the ocean air deeply, thankful that nothing about the area had changed.