Receive Me Falling by Erika Robuck Read Free Book Online Page A

between a rusty door and a pile of her own luggage.   She noticed that a large, wet stain growing on
one of her bags had attracted several flies, and wondered which cosmetic had
exploded.
    Maybe
this was not a good idea .  
    Meg tried to imagine the surprise of the three
hundred guests upon opening the announcement calling off the wedding. Brian was
initially sensitive to Meghan’s distress, but when he came to understand that
Meg wished to cancel rather than postpone the wedding, his injury was
acute.  
    My God,
Meghan, of course we should call off the wedding—I never wanted all that to
begin with; but you can’t mean to call off our marriage.
    Meg no longer knew what she wanted.   Her parents’ deaths had sent her into shock,
her job and her wedding had become too much to bear, and after the episode with
the governor, Meg thought a trip would help clear her head.   The house in North Carolina was too close and too full of
memories. Meg needed to go somewhere new and far away—a place that her life and
her obligations couldn’t reach.   She
thought that removing herself from the physical setting of her life would allow
her to become an objective observer.   She
could make decisions without feeling the need to please anyone.   Brian had accused her of running away.
    “Where you going, again?” called the driver.
    Meg looked at her map. “Just past Gingerland.   The plantation’s called Eden.”
    The driver turned around and looked Meg as if she
were mad.
    “You going alone?   Ghosts in that place.”
    Drew Edmead, the historian to whom she had spoken
on the phone, reacted similarly when she told him of her destination.   She had called him before making the trip to
see if the Historical Society had any information on or claim to the
property.   He had assured her that it was
hers to do with as she pleased, but expressed his keen desire to accompany her
to visit the property if she would allow him access.   Meg said that she would think about it.  
    “How long you here?” asked the driver.
    “Two weeks.”
    “I don’t think that place is fit for visitors.”
    “I’m actually staying at a small villa just off
the property called Havilla,” said Meg.   “Drop me off there, and I’ll find the plantation house on foot after I
get settled.”
    “You not scared?”
    “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
    The driver made a clucking sound and shook his
head.
                In a short time the tires crunched
over a driveway of crushed shells leading to a modest, single-storied villa of
pure white; white shutters, white columns, white porch, white flowers.   It had a small plunge pool and sweeping views
of the island.    Meg thought it was
perfect.   She helped the driver remove
her luggage from the van, gave him a tip, and stepped into the villa.  
                The inside of Havilla was quaint and
smelled of coconuts and sea water.   The
purity of color and design extended throughout the dwelling.   It was simple, but comfortable.   The wood was dark, the curtains were filmy
and white, and the views   extended from
the side of Mount Nevis down to the Caribbean Sea.
                And the bar was fully stocked.  
                Directly across from the full wall
glass sliders leading to the covered back porch she discovered a wet bar
complete with refrigerator, wine cooler, and blender.   Meg ran her hands over a white binder resting
in front of an assortment of bottles of rum.
                Rum
Recipes.
                19 pages of rum recipes spread out
before her.   Beachcomber, Fog Cutter,
Pink Paradise, Rum Toddy, Van Vleet—delightful names to say.   Meg felt her mood lighten just thinking of
the playful drink titles.   She settled on Casa Blanca in honor of the villa,
and raised her glass to the white walls.  
    “Cheers.”

 

 
    Meg
reclined in a padded lounger by the pool and watched the sun set.   She had flown from