Second Chances

by Bria Marche

  “Or what, tough guy?” Brandon laughed in response. “You’re overdue for some etiquette classes, Neanderthal.”

  “Stop it, both of you. First off, Brandon, I don’t report to you, and Erik, thanks, but I can take care of myself. I think I’ve lost my appetite. Good night.”

  Abby grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass from the wet bar in the library and took the stairs to the widow’s walk. With the lower door between the second and third floor locked, Abby was alone, exactly as she wanted. Dusk was setting in, and the sun dipping beneath the horizon caused the water to glow a reddish purple. The sky held a palette of colors from brilliant orange at the water’s edge to a deep indigo blue near the stars. She sank the corkscrew into the cork and, with a twist of the handle, pulled it out with a pop. A half glass was enough while she watched the sun fall into the ocean and the darkness of night blanket the sky. She was over it, over the secrecy and lies. Full disclosure was the way to go. At that point, she didn’t care anymore. I screwed up, I’m ashamed and humiliated, and I started this stupid boardinghouse idea with a lie. It wasn’t intentional. I just wanted people to know me as someone other than Abby Melrose or Abby Bellavance. Tomorrow night at dinner, I’ll come clean to everyone.

  ***

  Brandon sat in a private office of the insurance company, reviewing the paperwork for the wrongful death claim. He was the new guy in town and wanted to prove his worth at the prestigious law firm he had joined as a partner. As far as he was concerned, City Waste and Recycling wasn’t responsible to pay anyone. The claim couldn’t be blamed on negligence, faulty brakes, or anything specifically related to the garbage company. Mr. Hanson’s death was unavoidable no matter what he had been driving at the time. His personal insurance policy should pay, if anyone’s, but not Brandon’s client. He studied the paperwork again, still irritated by the fact that he and Charles lived in the same house. The suit was filed by Attorney William Baron Lewis for the Melrose Estate.

  “That’s interesting,” Brandon said, his eyes darting across the documents for the tenth time. “How did I miss this before? I know Abby called the house the Melrose Mansion when she welcomed me as a tenant.” He flipped through the pages, trying to find an address, but the paperwork kept referring back to the attorney who filed it. “The woman that died in the accident must be listed by name somewhere in these documents.” Brandon was becoming frantic, scattering pages and pages across the conference table. He finally found what he was looking for. Most of the documents stated the claim was on behalf of the Melrose Estate and Trust, but he needed a name, and finally found it. A copy of the death certificate for Charlotte Melrose was buried among the paperwork. Brandon did an online search for her and found more information than he ever expected. She was a well-known philanthropist in Charleston, always involved in fund-raisers, foundations, and the like. She donated to charities, belonged to committees, and sat on the boards of the art institute and the historical society.

  “Wow, this lady was impressive. Too bad she had to die.” Before he forgot why he was even doing a search on her, he looked up her address. His suspicions were correct, and the address was exactly the same as the house he lived in on South Battery. Okay… so Abby is the property manager for the estate. No surprise there. Now there are two people I live with on a case I’m fighting, damn it. With even more curiosity, Brandon continued to read. There were numerous pages from his Internet search about the Melrose family. “What’s this one?” He found an intriguing post titled “Melrose Family Tragedy” and clicked on it. The post told the story of the Melrose family beginning with Edward and his road to fortune in 1995 in the computer processor industry. The beautiful Italianate mansion on South Battery was purchased in 1997. The post went on to say that Edward had been killed in 2010 in a random mugging, and just recently, Charlotte had lost her life in a collision with a garbage truck, leaving the Melrose estate to their only child, Abigail.

  What the hell? Brandon leaned in, his elbows planted on the desk and eyebrows furrowed as he read the post again from the beginning. His wheels turned, grinding in his head, as he put two and two together. Abby is the owner of the house. The Melrose estate belongs to her, the only heir, and she’s the one who filed this lawsuit. Son of a bitch! I’m going to have to pull myself off this case as a conflict of interest. My address is listed with the firm. They’ll see the connection immediately and investigate it. Abby’s attorney will have me thrown off the case as soon as it comes out that I live there. It will look like I’m hiding information if I press on. There’s no way I’ll be humiliated like that. I have to disclose everything and give this case to someone else. Brandon was more than angry. He pounded his fist on the desk, realizing that Abby had been fishing for information the other night at dinner when she asked questions about the case. She doesn’t care one way or another about me or my job. She only wanted to see how much I knew, the bitch. She’s been playing me all along, and she has more money than I’ll ever earn in my lifetime.

  Furious, Brandon headed back to Charleston to have a discussion with the other partners at Andrews, Moore, and Luck. Right then, he wasn’t feeling all that lucky. He was embarrassed to present the situation to his partners, making himself look incompetent by working on the case for over a week without realizing it was a conflict of interest.

  He sat at the conference table, a pitcher of water in the center and both partners facing him. He poured a glass of water for himself, knowing he would need it. His mouth already felt parched, and his stomach was doing somersaults. He had to admit to his partners that he’d messed up on the very first case he’d been given. Brandon opened his briefcase and pulled out the folder containing all of the documents up to that point about the Melrose wrongful death lawsuit. He handed it to Bob Andrews, who was officially taking over the case. The expressions of regret on the men’s faces were evident as Brandon backpedaled, explaining to his doubtful-looking partners that an error like that would never happen again.

  ***

  Brandon drove home with an agenda. He wasn’t about to let Abby get away with her deception, acting as if she were nothing more than a property manager at the Melrose Mansion. He laughed at the thought of her saying every project around the house needed to be cleared with the owners before she could have Erik do the work. She’s making a fool out of him, too. I bet he won’t be too happy when he hears that. The poor handyman thinking he has a chance with this rich bitch? That’s hysterical, and I’m going to let him know it at dinner tonight. Blindsiding her is going to be a real treat.

  ***

  Abby sat in her room, staring at the clock. In an hour, at dinner, she would come clean with everyone about who she really was. Her life and predicament weren’t anyone else’s business, but getting that secret out into the open would be like removing a heavy weight from her chest. Nobody had a right to judge her. She owned the house, and they were tenants. No harm, no foul. Erik’s opinion was the only one that mattered to her anyway, and with the explanation she had prepared in her head, she assumed the end result would be okay. Still, she felt agitated and nervous about going downstairs, sitting at the table, and telling her story.

  A hot shower would help calm her anxieties, but first, she needed to tell Betsy what to expect at dinner. Betsy could pass the information on to Melanie as soon as she got home from work. Abby called the house phone from her cell.

  “Hello.”

  “Betsy, it’s me. Is anyone home yet?”

  “Just Lisa. Her summer classes are over with. Why?”

  “Okay, can you come to my room for a few minutes?”

  “Sure, I’ll be right up. I just have to turn off the stove. Give me a few minutes.” Betsy turned the burner off and covered the kettle with a lid. The spaghetti sauce would be fine. She washed her hands, then she dried them with the towel hanging over the oven door.

  Abby heard footsteps from the second-floor hallway. The door latch turned, then footsteps sounded again, coming up the last flight of stairs. There was a
knock on her door, then Betsy called out, “Abby, can I come in?”

  Abby opened the door and allowed Betsy in.

  “What’s up?” Betsy asked. A concerned look crossed her face, accentuating the small crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes.

  “Sit down with me for a few minutes. I have something to tell you.”

  Abby led the way to the table by the window. They both sat as she explained to Betsy what to expect during the dinner conversation.

  “Are you sure you want to spill your guts to everyone? I mean, why is your life anybody’s business?”

  “I don’t trust Brandon. He’s the attorney handling the lawsuit I filed against City Waste and Recycling.” Abby tapped her fingers nervously on the tabletop.

  “Right… so what?”

  “I’d rather say something before he does. Even though I haven’t really done anything wrong except lie to everyone, I can at least soften the blow by admitting my mistakes. I think I know my life and my reasons far better than he does.”

  “That’s true. So in forty-five minutes, you’re going to explain all this over dinner?”

  “That’s the plan. I’m going to shower, take a few cleansing breaths, and come down for dinner. If you catch Mel before I come downstairs, let her in on it.”

  “Got it. Everything is going to be fine. Mel and I will always have your back.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  One by one, the nine housemates congregated in the dining room, each at their usual spot around the dinner table. Betsy was always the last to sit, and on the closest chair to the kitchen. She placed some tongs and a pot of spaghetti noodles in the center of the table, a heaping bowl of sauce and meatballs next to it, and a salad and a loaf of warm French bread off to the side. The dinnerware and crystal water glasses glistened like new. Betsy had been taught years ago to take pride in her work, and she kept everything in pristine condition. After plates were filled and bread was passed around, Abby took a gulp of water, ready to begin.

  With his eyes on her, Brandon studied Abby’s gestures, noticing she seemed a little tense. Here’s my chance to expose her for the liar she really is. “So, I had an interesting day,” he said before she had a chance to speak up.

  Lucille, always engaging, welcomed dinner conversation and loved to join in. “Oh, please, Brandon, tell us all about it.”

  “Thanks, that’s just what I intend to do. I’m sure everyone is well aware of the wrongful death lawsuit I’ve taken on. Proving my worth in this new law firm is important to me, and winning this case would show my partners they could trust in my abilities. Don’t you agree, Abby?”

  “Oh… of course, that makes sense.” Abby glanced at each person sitting across the table, then at Erik. Everyone was staring at her. She felt the heat climb up the back of her neck. She took another gulp of water and filled her glass one more time.

  “Anyway, I’ve encountered a few speed bumps these last few days. First, it turns out that Charles works at City Waste and Recycling. That isn’t good for me since it creates a conflict of interest. Charles, were you aware that the position you filled was originally Mr. Hanson’s job?”

  “Sorry, Brandon, but I don’t know who Mr. Hanson is,” he replied, apparently as confused as everyone else at the table except Abby, Melanie, and Betsy.

  Abby was beginning to feel lightheaded as Brandon continued. “Oh… let me explain it to all of you then. Mr. Hanson is the poor soul who died of a heart attack while he was on his garbage route. Because Mr. Hanson died instantly, his truck crashed into another poor soul’s car and killed her, too.”

  “Oh no, that’s terrible,” Lisa said.

  Abby’s back stiffened in her chair. She felt waves of nausea coming while beads of sweat popped up on her forehead.

  “Right… it turns out that the poor lady who passed away was named Charlotte Melrose, as in Melrose Mansion, the very home we all live in. What a horrible day that was for her only child, the sole heir to the Melrose fortune. Isn’t that right, Abby?”

  “Huh… what?” Abby wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

  “Abigail Melrose, I asked you a question.”

  “Brandon, leave her alone,” Melanie hissed.

  The chatter began, and everyone was talking at the same time, asking questions and making comments. They stared at Abby.

  “Not on your life, Mel. See, this woman, this imposter that calls herself Abby Taylor, is actually Abigail Melrose, a very well-off young lady and owner, not manager, of this enormous mansion. The funny thing is, I had to excuse myself from this case since I live in the very same home as the person who’s suing the company I represent. What a great way to impress my partners, especially on my very first case. That little tidbit of missing information just made me look like a horse’s ass in their eyes. This bitch sitting among us has lied since day one, pretending to be a common person just like us, laughing behind our backs, even acting like she has to pinch pennies and exchange room and board for the handyman’s work. What a joke, right, Erik? The Melrose fortune is worth multimillions, yet she filed a wrongful death lawsuit that could very well go after Mr. Hanson’s family. I’ll tell you one thing, Abigail Melrose, you aren’t going to see a cent from City Waste and Recycling’s insurance company. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Abby, is all of this true?” Erik asked, anguish on his face.

  She couldn’t face Erik or anyone else. Abby pushed her chair back and ran out of the dining room.

  “There’s your answer, Mr. Handyman. She played all of us but especially you and me. My job might be in the shitter, and I’ll have to pull myself back out, but I know one thing for sure. I’m leaving Ms. Crazy and Melrose Mansion first thing in the morning.”

  “Go to hell, Brandon, and don’t let the door hit you in the ass,” Betsy said as she pulled his plate away from him, took it to the kitchen, and scraped the spaghetti into the garbage disposal.

  ***

  The door to the roof was locked from her side. She couldn’t face anybody anyway. She had deliberately left her cell phone in her bedroom. Only silence and the view would give her peace right then. She thought back to the night she had brought Erik to the widow’s walk, showing him what she treasured most as a child. Drinking wine under the stars with him, making love in her bed, sleeping with him all night—it all might never be more than a memory. The evening sky faded into darkness, the tourists dispersed, and she fell asleep on the widow’s walk after tears rolled down her cheeks through most of the night.

  A familiar sound startled her awake. The sun lingered on her left cheek as it warmed her face. She squinted, knowing it was morning, but she needed to see the light for herself. She recognized the sound that woke her. It belonged to the wrought-iron entry gate below. Her eyes were on fire from lack of sleep and too many tears. With her curled fists, she gently rubbed her eyes and got up from the chaise. Standing at the edge of the decorative grillwork, she looked down, hoping to see Brandon leaving for the last time. Craning her neck to the left and right, she finally saw Erik, a block down the street with a suitcase in each hand. He threw the bags in the back of his van, made a U-turn, and sped away.

  Oh no… how am I ever going to fix this? I haven’t been able to explain anything to anyone. All they know is the garbage Brandon was spewing last night. Now I have to face everybody downstairs. Abby checked the time on her watch. Breakfast wasn’t for another hour. I guess Erik didn’t want to run into me this morning. I hope he just needs time to cool off. I’ve got to take a hot shower to clear my head.

  Abby quietly walked barefoot down the stairs to her third-floor bedroom. The flashing light on her phone indicated there were messages. She reached out and grabbed it off the Queen Anne dresser to see who had called. She had missed four text messages, all from Mel and Betsy late last night. Her feet felt like lead as she walked into the bathroom and turned the shower handle to the hottest setting. In that old house, it took a while for hot water to make its way from the basement through a
ll the pipework and give her a steamy, relaxing spray of water in the shower stall. Within a half hour, she was dressed and ready to present herself to anybody that had questions.

  Betsy sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee with Melanie. Nobody else had come downstairs yet. Abby entered, looking drained and with bloodshot eyes. She wore no makeup today, and she didn’t care. Whatever energy she had that morning wouldn’t be wasted on something as insignificant as makeup. Erik wasn’t there anyway, and he was the person she usually tried to look good for. Betsy pulled out a chair for her, poured an oversized mug of coffee, and placed it on the table before her.

  “How are you this morning, Abs?” Mel asked. “We were worried about you.”

  “I’m fine. I saw Erik leave earlier. Did he say anything to either of you?”

  “Yeah… he gave me a hug and said goodbye. It sounded like a real goodbye,” Betsy said sadly.

  “He didn’t say where he was going or if he was coming back?” She blew on her coffee and took a much-needed sip.

  “Sorry no, but he had suitcases with him.”

  “I know, I saw that, too. I slept on the widow’s walk last night and heard him leave. I looked over the railing and saw him walking down the street. He must think I’m some kind of a nutcase and a liar. He has to be humiliated, thinking I was playing him, but I wasn’t.”

  Betsy got up and started to make breakfast. She opened the lower cabinet next to the stove and pulled out a large cast-iron skillet. The morning’s meal consisted of an egg-and-cheese baked casserole, sausage, and fresh fruit. “I bet he went back to his folks’ house in Orangeburg.”

  “Just let him cool off for a while, Abs. I can see your wheels turning already. I’m sure he left stuff in his room. He’ll be back for it,” Mel said.

  Footsteps sounded coming down the staircase, and then several sets more. The breakfast clan usually came down a half hour early for coffee and conversation.