A Flash from the Past

By Yvonne M Remington

A window into the past, that you wish would stay closed, but no coaching can make it so. You know you can’t change what happened, but the dye has been cast, and every day consists of how you deal with the consequences of that chapter. That chapter formed who you are today and how you perceive the world around you.
The three women in this book and their three separate lives come together despite baggage that clouds their individual lives because of past episodes that haunt them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yvonne M Remington
• Release date: Jul 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215565551

Yvonne M Remington

Born and raised in Michigan post World War II, she moved to New Orleans in her early twenties to gain life experiences. She moved to Florida twelve years later to be closer to her retired parents. She has had many careers but being an artist and a writer has been her passion. She has put much of her life experiences into her stories and has decided to put the short fiction aside and try novel writing. If you enjoyed these stories look for more stories from her in the future.

Book preview

A Flash From The Past

by: Yvonne M Remington

Copyright 2023

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FORWARD

A window into the past, that you wish would stay closed, but no coaching can make it so. You know you can’t change what happened, but the dye has been cast, and every day consists of how you deal with the consequences of that chapter. That chapter formed who you are today and how you perceive the world around you.

The three women in this book and their three separate lives come together despite baggage that clouds their individual lives because of past episodes that haunt them.

Chapter One

A curtain of stifling, soupy humidity hung in the air of the Florida Gulf Coast as usual this Saturday afternoon in late September. 

I took full advantage of the day off from my job at the Boutique on the Beach with a double martini, extra dry, pitifully dripping beads of sweat on the glass tabletop in my duplex furnished by The Salvation Army. The ill-fitting screen door stood wide open to the salty beach breeze streaming in from a block away. The nosey neighbors could hear me shouting obscenities at the roller derby marathon on cable TV and yes, I knew it was phony, but I was taking out my pent-up hostilities, which was good for my overactive libido.

My life had become stagnant with my not-so-great meager sales job, my some-time boyfriend Jason and my recently exposed backstabbing girlfriend Mary Lynn, who wanted my worthless boyfriend. It was one of those excruciating, hair-pulling days when I was doing my best to remain in the zone. I wasn't doing well, even with all my lessons in meditation.

My cell phone rang. An unidentified phone number appeared on the phone's display. After a brief pause, while I contemplated whether I should answer or not--I answered.

Miss Abigail Winter? A professional-sounding adult male voice questioned from the other end of the line. Silence. Nobody calls me Abigail. Since the tenth grade, I have always been called Gabby. If someone called me Abigail, they were either an authority figure or a rival schoolmate looking to pick a fight.

Speaking. This was not a joke. It was not an aberration. I turned off the TV and gave the caller my undivided attention.

A soft professional tone crept into the man's voice as he continued: My name is Cecil Martin. I am the attorney representing the estate of Eula Mae Perkins, he paused and my mind swirled with not-so-friendly flashbacks. Thoughts of my turmoil-filled childhood ran through the old memory banks. Now, there was a name from years ago. Being paralyzed in a past I did not care to relive. Since I was unable to respond, the caller continued.

Mr. Martin explained that my aunt Eula Mae passed on to her great reward quietly in her sleep at the ripe old age of 95. My aunt listed me as her next of kin. She had never been my favorite aunt, far from it. She had a religious fervor that I did not share. But being my last living relative in Michigan and in my father's memory, I agreed to make an appearance at her funeral. Besides, I was curious about this Cecil person, and what Eula Mae had done with her life, since I last saw her.

This all comes as quite a surprise. I am overwhelmed with this whole conversation. I am trying to figure out how to handle all this. I guess the best thing for me to say is, okay. I’ll be there to sort things out, though I’m not the best traveler, but I’m up for an adventure.

I would ask you to stop by my office as soon as you can after you arrive in Michigan. There are some details I would rather discuss in person, and I have some papers for you to sign.

I'll make the necessary arrangements, and call you for an appointment as soon as I arrive. That will probably be Monday morning. I hung up the phone and sat transfixed in place.

There was a lot to assimilate. The attorney’s voice had me puzzled. It was so smooth and hypnotizing. In that short conversation, he made me feel as if he could seduce me without opposition. I felt like Deja vu. Maybe in another life there had been a connection. I did everything I could to concentrate and plan, something that was not my strong point,

My father's family immigrated to Michigan during the Depression of '29 from the fields of Georgia, to find work. My father and several of his sisters, including Eula Mae, moved to Florida after retirement for a simpler life. After her husband died, she moved back to Michigan. Heaven only knows why. They had no children. She moved to an east coast town on Lake Huron called Portsmouth. I grew up north of Detroit in Royston, a rural township where little happened and boredom was rampant. High school graduates leaped from its boundaries as soon as their caps hit the air.

When the scene played out and reality set in, I opened my laptop, and searched the internet for specially priced airfares to Detroit. Travel was not in my budget, so it was time to bring the credit card out of mothballs. I had a special talent for finding deals, and after a thorough search, I found a flight that pleased my budget.

I planned to take bereavement time from my job. I intended to exploit the situation by adding some well-deserved vacation. There wasn't anything or anyone I wanted to see during my stay in Michigan. I left there in my early twenties, twenty years ago and the few friends I had then, were now scattered out of my life.

As Fate would have it, the schedule for the funeral took place the first week in October, which meant Indian summer. Autumn was always my favorite time of the year. It was probably the best part of this whole trip back in time.

The tiny three-star boutique where I worked was still open, so I picked up my cell and called my boss.

Emily, is Brenda there? Brenda was also the owner, and a pain in my butt!

She just left for the day.

How can I reach her? It's important. I wasn't looking forward to this conversation one bit, and was anxious to get it done.

Hold on, I'll get her cell number. Emily was only gone for a moment. What's up?

I just got a call about a death in the family, and I have to fly to Michigan. My sincerity sounded real, or at least I thought it did.

Gees, I'm sorry. Anybody close? Emily's condolences were sincere. She was just that kind of person. Everybody was her friend.

Not really, an aunt from my father's side. I thought she was already dead. I have some family business to take care of because of her death. I've already made my flight plans. I just need to let Brenda know. I didn't care whether Brenda liked it or not. My position at the boutique was precarious at best. Brenda only tolerated me because she had a difficult time finding someone who would work for the wages she paid. Losing that job would not be a hardship, except to my bank account. Maybe then, I would get out of my funk, and do something with the rest of my life.

I dialed Brenda's number, she answered immediately. Brenda, it's Gabby. My tone remained soft and friendly.

What are you doing calling me on your day off? I was confused over the tone in her voice. Either she was upset that I called, or was on the defensive, knowing I wanted something. I decided to be on the offensive, and just tell her what I wanted.

I just got off the phone with an attorney in Michigan. It appears that my last remaining aunt has died and left me in charge of her estate; whatever that may be. Anyway, I need to make a trip to Michigan, silence. I will need some time off, silence. I would like to take at least a week off to settle the family affairs up there. Is that all right with you? It was difficult to keep my tone neutral and pleasant. This woman knew how to push my buttons.

Go ahead. Until the northerners come back, we will continue to be slow. I guess a week will be okay. That was it. No condolences, no questions, just okay. I took it, thanked her, and hung up.

There was a lot to do. Laundry, cleaning, packing, and oh yeah, I guess I'd better call Jason, the cheating, cheapskate boyfriend and let him know I wouldn't be around for a week. Not that it really mattered. Our relationship was deeply on the down slide. It was all but over. I would like to remain friends with him, but even that was a constant challenge.

"Would you