Long Way Home

by Neve Cottrell

  “I’m four. I’ll be five in August. Supposedly, that’s not a good month to be born if you’re a boy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you have to start school right after your birthday and most of the other boys will be bigger and play sports better.”

  Alexis glanced at Betsy for confirmation. “He’s worried about sports?”

  “I’m not,” he interjected. “I don’t like sports.”

  Alexis immediately warmed to him. “What do you like?”

  “Space. Dinosaurs. All kinds of books, but I can’t read yet.”

  “He goes to preschool on the days I work,” Betsy said.

  “They have story time. And lots of toys,” Owen said brightly.

  “Sounds like a great place,” Alexis told him.

  Betsy turned the conversation back to her sister. “So Mom says you’re here for the holidays. No skiing in the Alps or yachting in France?”

  “I’m not James Bond.”

  “Just as secretive though,” Betsy mumbled, then more audibly. “I’ll go get some muffins.”

  “I’m surprised you find time to bake.”

  “You can always find time for the important things,” Betsy said, never failing to miss an opportunity to remind Alexis of her failures as a sister and MacAdams family member.

  Betsy returned to the kitchen and Owen sat on the couch, his dark brown eyes fixated on Alexis. She smiled as he continued to stare at her without blinking.

  “How do you know when you’re dead?” he asked.

  Alexis’s job often required her to think on her feet, especially when dealing with clients, but she found herself completely unprepared for this four-year-old.

  “Well, uh, I think that depends on your religious or philosophical viewpoint.”

  “What’s yours?”

  Alexis shifted from foot to foot. “Um, I think you don’t know when you’re dead. You die and your brain switches off and you’re gone.”

  “Like a computer.”

  “Something like that.”

  “My mommy says you go to a place called haven.”

  “I think you mean Heaven.”

  “Why don’t you think you go to Heaven?”

  “I certainly like the idea,” Alexis said quietly. “I hope your mom is right.”

  Owen leaped onto the floor and picked up a plastic T-Rex. “Do you wanna play dinosaurs? They’re extinct, you know. That means they all died and there are none left. Not one single one!”

  Betsy returned with muffins in a basket and paper plates. “Owen, Aunt Alexis doesn’t want to play dinosaurs. She wants to have her muffin and then I’m sure she has important work to check on.”

  Alexis shook her head as she bit into her muffin. “You’ve gotten even better,” she said, still chewing. “This is delicious.”

  “Mommy, she’s talking with her mouth full.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Owen.”

  “But it’s against the rules.”

  “Aunt Alexis has her own rules.” Betsy handed Owen his own, smaller muffin.

  “I want my own rules too,” he demanded.

  “When you’re older, you get to be in charge. Make your own decisions. That’s one of the advantages of being a grown-up,” said Alexis.

  “Yes, that and all the responsibility that flows from those decisions,” her sister added meaningfully. Alexis ignored the jibe; she figured she deserved it.

  “Will you come to my play?” Owen abruptly asked.

  Alexis looked to Betsy, her child translator, again.

  “His preschool is run by the church and they’re putting on a Christmas play. Owen has a speaking part.”

  “I’m a Wise Man,” Owen said proudly.

  “I’ll bet you are,” Alexis said.

  “Don’t feel obligated…” Betsy began.

  “I would love to come,” Alexis said truthfully. She was charmed by her nephew and wanted to show her support, no matter how uncomfortable she felt.

  Owen smiled happily and sang to himself as he chewed his muffin.

  “Great,” Betsy said and Alexis could tell she was pleased.

  “So three boys, your own salon, Joe’s in the union. Anything else I should know to be all caught up?” Alexis asked.

  “If I didn’t have little pitchers with big ears, I’d give you the local gossip.”

  “Another time,” Alexis said.

  “Will there be another time?” asked Betsy, without her usual ire.

  “I have it on good authority that there will be.”

  “When are you going back?”

  “Sometime after the first,” Alexis said vaguely and left it there. She had no desire to get into details.

  Although Betsy generally erred on the side of brash and brutal, she took the hint. “Well, it was nice of you to come and see us. I’d like you to meet the rest of the family soon. And maybe you could come by the salon one day so I can show off my place.”

  “I may be in need of an eyebrow wax soon,” Alexis said, tracing her finger over a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

  “I can think of better ways to cause you pain,” Betsy joked. “So did Dad nearly lose his liver when you showed up?”

  Alexis laughed. “They were both pretty shocked.”

  “You’re so lucky. Nothing I do shocks them.”

  “Not even the tattoos,” Alexis remarked.

  Betsy waved her off. “Oh please. It takes more than body art to annoy them.”

  “No, I guess the things you do don’t annoy them.” Her smile soured.

  “I want to live in Antarctica,” Owen said.

  “Do you like the cold?” asked Alexis.

  “No, but I like that no one else lives there.”

  Alexis contemplated this. “A lonely, old soul, huh?”

  “He also likes penguins,” Betsy said.

  “I love penguins,” he declared, jumping up and waddling around the room.

  “I’ve heard lesser reasons to move somewhere.”

  “I’ll bet you have,” Betsy said.

  Alexis held her hand out to Owen. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Owen.”

  He gripped her hand and shook it. “Same here.”

  “I’ll see you soon,” Alexis promised. It was a promise she intended to keep.

  That evening, Alexis joined her parents for dinner and shared the day’s events. Alexis talked more than she ate, which didn’t escape her mother’s notice. In light of her daughter’s previous declaration, she’d deliberately cooked chicken parmigiana instead of the beef lasagna she’d originally planned.

  “You’ll get to meet the other boys this weekend,” her mother said. “They’re very jealous that Owen met you first.”

  “What’s Joey like?” she asked. She knew very little about autism and wasn’t sure what to expect when she met him.

  Her father stopped eating and Alexis immediately sensed this was not a welcome topic of conversation.

  “He’s a wonderful little boy,” her mother told her. “A lot of work, but wonderful.”

  “It’s a damn shame,” her father grumbled.

  “Now, Greg…”

  “What a waste. The kid is built like a brick house. Would have made a helluva defensive tackle.”

  “Do the other boys understand that Joey is different?” asked Alexis.

  “Of course, especially Owen. He’s clever.” Tilly chuckled. “Well, you met him.”

  “Too clever for his own good,” Greg said.

  Alexis bristled. “He’s four. How can he be too clever for his own good?”

  “Oh, I forget who I’m talking to here.” Greg dug back into his dinner.

  Alexis pushed back her chair. “Thanks for dinner, Mom. I’m going to head out for a bit, if you don’t mind.”

  Greg eyed her. “Really? You’re asking permission to run out the door? That’s new.”

  Tilly glanced at her husband with a sigh. “It’s fine, dear.”

  Alexis moved quickly through the hal
l to reclaim her jacket. She felt the familiar tightness in her chest and knew that she needed some time to decompress.

  “She’s got a helluva nerve,” she heard her father say. A statement she’d heard many times as a child. Her expression went flat as she grabbed her handbag and escaped into the crisp, night air.

  A short golf cart ride later, Alexis found herself heading toward the south end of the island, admiring the festive lights and welcoming wreaths that adorned the pretty houses in the Costa Azul neighborhood. She’d always liked Costa Azul. Unlike Castaway Cove, where she’d grown up, Costa Azul was blessed with the older, larger Spanish-style houses. The island had been settled by the Spanish in the late eighteenth century, with the southern end being favored by its inhabitants. As a result, Costa Azul and Flamingo Key had the lion’s share of character properties.

  The area was eerily familiar and yet completely foreign to her. She saw movement as she passed by the various windows, evidence of life carrying on within the four walls of those houses, and Alexis felt a sharp pang of jealousy. A small, inviting restaurant caught her attention. The Blue Heron. The recommendation from Marty, the water taxi operator, came back to her and she allowed herself to be enticed inside.

  Chapter Three

  The moment she stepped into the bar, Tyler saw her and his entire world went silent. He no longer heard the chatter of bar patrons or the crunching of ice in glasses. The background music faded away. Even the beating of his heart stilled.

  It had been seventeen years since he’d last seen her, yet he recognized her instantly. She was as beautiful now as she’d been in high school. Her glossy, chocolate-colored hair was still shoulder-length and, although she was slightly fuller in the body now, Tyler thought the curves suited her. Tyler was not the kind of guy who objected to curves. Deep down, he was relieved. Alexis MacAdams had always been his ideal beauty, his artistic muse, and he couldn’t bear to think of her any other way. Now he didn’t have to.

  Alexis stood in the foyer and surveyed the inside. It was modern but cozy. Dark wooden tables of varying shapes and sizes contrasted nicely with creamy white walls. Not too tropical, but not trying too hard to be urban. The interior was tastefully decorated for the holidays with a few small, white lights and holly sprigs. Alexis decided this place would do for a temporary escape. She bypassed the restaurant area and headed straight for the bar.

  Dressed in a red, silk blouse and black trousers, she didn’t exactly blend into the casual crowd of flip-flops and floral dresses. She chose a tall chair at the end of the bar, next to a cluster of women enjoying a night out on the island in the run up to Christmas. Judging by the way they were throwing back shots, she guessed they were from the mainland.

  “I know you,” Tyler said with an easy smile, moving to her end of the bar.

  Alexis assumed it was a come-on. “Don’t think so.”

  “Oh, but I do. Alexis MacAdams, valedictorian of Woodrow Wilson High School. Class of…”

  Before he could remind her of her age, she jumped in. “Okay, I stand corrected. I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”

  “Ty Barnes. Former classmate.”

  Alexis studied him briefly, his well-defined build and sandy hair, and tried to trigger memories of high school. His eyes burned with an attractive intensity. Even in the dimly lit bar, his eyes were the bluest she’d ever seen. She was sure he wouldn’t have had those biceps in high school. Arms like those belonged to a man, not a boy. She’d worked hard to keep the past buried, though, and knew it was unlikely she’d churn up a name to go with those incredible blue eyes.

  “I’m really sorry,” she said with a small shake of her head.

  “No worries. I mean, I haven’t seen you since we graduated. You look amazing.” He knew he should probably reel in his enthusiasm, but he couldn’t help himself. He was still suffering from the shock of seeing her again.

  “Thank you. I’ll just say you haven’t changed a bit and call it even.”

  “Ah, but I have. More meat on the bones. I was so thin in high school, I was practically invisible.” He chuckled. “Apparently, I was invisible.”

  Despite her bleak mood, Alexis found herself warming to him. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t remember much from high school, except that I was desperate to leave. It seems like another lifetime.”

  “Join Facebook. Everybody’s there and there’s nowhere to hide. You can relive high school every day on your computer or phone or whatever device you’re permanently attached to.” He shook his head ruefully.

  “If I’m on my computer, it’s because I’m working,” she said. “No distractions allowed.”

  He brightened. “Are you a writer? That’s what you were into, wasn’t it?”

  Alexis registered disbelief. She wasn’t used to being caught off-guard. Between Owen and this guy, she felt completely unsettled.

  “I used to write poems,” she admitted reluctantly. “How do you remember that? Hell, I barely remember.”

  “I played guitar. I guess I paid attention to the people who seemed to have similar interests. I still write and play music. That’s how I started bartending, so I could stay flexible but pay the bills. Now I just enjoy doing both.” He leaned casually against the bar and Alexis suspected he passed many an evening like this, chatting to pretty women. “How about you?”

  “Well, I’m definitely not a poet.”

  He appeared so crestfallen that she almost felt sorry to disappoint him. “Oh, that’s too bad. I was sure you’d do it. Fire in the belly and all.”

  Tyler paused to let the memory in. Even as a teenager, he’d admired her focus. She’d had a fiery determination that other girls lacked. He’d found her sexy as a teenager and he definitely found her sexy now.

  “Fire in the belly?” she repeated.

  “You were always on the go. Could never tell whether you were running toward something or away from it.”

  She smiled wryly. “A bit of both, I would say.”

  “So what do you do now?”

  “I’m a whore,” she announced after a dramatic pause.

  Tyler raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. He was confident that Alexis MacAdams had not turned to prostitution.

  “Well, I screw people for money. Same thing.”

  He wagged a finger at her. “Ah, you must work for the government.”

  “Close. Greedy, fat cat lawyer at your service.” She tilted her chin thoughtfully. “Actually, I’m not at your service, unless you own some multi-million dollar conglomerate that I’m not aware of.”

  Tyler leaned forward and rested his elbows on the bar. “You had me at whore.”

  Alexis’s faint smile broadened, her first genuine smile in a long while, and Tyler was glad to see the scowl dissipate. God, he remembered that smile. It was all he could do not to lean that little bit further and close the gap between them.

  “So do you actually tend bar or are you here for window dressing?”

  He snapped back to reality, drawing himself up to his full six feet. “I’m sorry, I’m neglecting your alcohol-related needs. Let me guess,” he said, assessing her. “Some kind of ‘tini. Appletini?”

  “Isn’t that a risky way to ask for an order? Potentially insulting customers?”

  “Am I wrong?” he asked, with a crooked smile.

  “Whiskey, please.”

  He doubled over as if wounded. “Ouch. You’ve destroyed my average.”

  “I’ve heard that a lot in bars.” The lie slid from her lips with ease. The truth was that Alexis rarely spent time in bars, even in her twenties when she was flush with cash and single. It suddenly dawned on her that, not only was he flirting with her, but she was flirting with him. In a bar. In her hometown. The moment felt surreal.

  “No chaser?” he queried.

  She cocked an eyebrow, challenging him. “I like to feel the burn.”

  “An actual fire in the belly,” he mused. “I like it. Is Jameson all right?”

  “Per
fect.”

  He poured her drink, added a drop of water, and slid it across the bar to her. “I have to admit, I’m relieved. I hate making those cocktails. Thankfully, most people on the island have simpler taste.”

  “I’ve never been a cocktail girl. Too sweet.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you’re not sweet?” he teased.

  Alexis tasted the whiskey. It burned through her core and warmed her from the inside out. “I may be a lot of things, but I don’t think sweet has ever been on the list.”

  Tyler didn’t doubt it. For him, her aloofness had been part of her charm. She may have been the girl in the next neighborhood, but she was far from the girl next door. He’d walked around in awe of her, which is probably why he’d never gathered the courage to ask her out. She hadn’t been accessible, partly because she seemed to exist in her own reality, and partly because he’d built her up in his mind to mythic proportions. Back then, simply spotting Alexis from a distance had turned him on. Seeing her seated directly across from him now had Tyler’s entire body humming.

  “Listen, I can be finished in an hour. Do you want to hang around and take a walk after? Catch up. I’d love to hear about your life in the real world.”

  There was no way he was letting her walk out of the bar without trying to make an impression. He was older and wiser and had known enough women to realize that, for him, Alexis MacAdams remained the gold standard.

  Alexis took a deep swig of her whiskey and, to her own amazement, found herself agreeing. It wasn’t like her to participate in idle chit-chat, certainly not with a guy from high school she couldn’t remember. On the other hand, the more hours she spent here were fewer hours she’d have to spend feeling uncomfortable in her parents’ house. A win-win as far as she was concerned.

  Under a moonless sky, Alexis and Tyler strolled through Costa Azul, deep in conversation. Talking to him was easy and pleasant, a far cry from the type of conversations Alexis had with her family.

  “London sounds incredible,” he told her. “I’d like to go someday.”

  “If you like New York, then you’d definitely like it. Parts of it, anyway. New York and London are soul sisters, I think.”