Rum Punch Regrets Read Free Page A

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