“Then London is the much cooler, much older sister.”
“I think New York would be happy as the hipper, younger sister,” she said.
“Ha! As far as I can tell, New York’s never happy about anything,” Tyler joked, recalling a particular visit that involved an angry Mets fan and a dislocated jaw.
“It should sample a grim London winter and thank its lucky stars and stripes.”
“You seem to like New York,” he remarked. “Why did you move across the ocean? You could have been a three hour flight from your family instead of a transatlantic one.”
Alexis shrugged. “Opportunity knocked and I answered.” She didn’t want to get into details, especially not with someone who never moved off the island. She doubted he would understand her need to escape.
“Do you like being a lawyer?” he asked. “I can’t imagine myself at a desk all day. Too constraining.” His broad shoulders twitched uncomfortably at the thought.
“It has its advantages,” Alexis admitted.
“Like what, a fat paycheck to cover an inflated mortgage and a pricey foreign car?” Tyler scoffed. “No thanks, I live in paradise without signing my life away. The cost of living is decent. I own my home. I surf, kayak, and play music every chance I get. It’s a damn good life.”
“Don’t you want to make it big, though? Is playing in bars on Mangrove Island enough for you?” Alexis asked.
“There was a time when I thought I wanted to be signed to a label, but times have changed. I don’t need to play to make a living. I play because it’s my passion and I’d do it whether I had two listeners or two million.”
“Okay, then what about the limited dating pool? Haven’t you dated every eligible female on the island by now?”
“What makes you think I’m in the dating pool?” he asked.
Alexis grew flushed. She assumed that he was single. “Aren’t you?”
He took a brief moment to enjoy her discomfort. “Between tending bar, playing music, and hanging out at the beach, meeting women isn’t exactly a problem. Finding one I want to spend the rest of my life with, well, that’s another story.” A story that featured his eternal flame for her, although Tyler thought it best to keep that part to himself for now.
“I think it’s great that you haven’t settled,” she said sincerely. “You’ve stayed true to yourself. Few people manage that.”
“I guess you work such long hours, you probably don’t have time to meet anyone.”
“I definitely work long hours,” she said, ignoring the latter part of his statement.
Her mood shifted and Tyler sensed that she was retreating. He desperately wanted to reel her back in. “So, in all your travels, have you been anywhere quite like here?” he asked.
“Ask me again in daylight,” she said.
Alexis felt the light breeze tickle her neck and gazed up at the barely visible stars, blanketed by the dark sky. She had to admit, the island had a certain charm that she’d forgotten, or maybe never chose to acknowledge. She sighed deeply.
“Listen Ty, it’s been great catching up, but I should get back. I’m staying with my parents and I feel like I have a curfew again.”
Tyler didn’t know what he’d said wrong, but he didn’t dare object. “Okay. Well, I’m playing tomorrow night at a place called Gatsby’s. I’d love it if you were there. Slap me with some of that urban truth and tell me how much I suck.”
Alexis gave him a faint smile. “Maybe. I’ll see.”
They walked back in silence to where she’d parked her mother’s golf cart.
“It’s been a good night, despite my tips,” he told her. “Thanks for catching up with me.”
“It was fun,” Alexis said with a note of mild surprise. She hadn’t expected to actually enjoy her evening out. She figured she would sit at the bar and stare into a glass of whiskey until she was sure her parents were asleep. This was much better.
Tyler couldn’t believe his good fortune. The girl he’d pined for in high school, the one he wrote soppy love songs about, his mythical muse, was back on Mangrove Island. He was so elated to see her again, to have the longest conversation with her that he’d ever had in his life, that her failure to remember him didn’t faze him in the least.
“Have a good night, Ty,” she said.
He longed to touch her before she climbed into the cart, a peck on the cheek, an arm squeeze, anything, but his nerve failed him. He realized that he still felt the way he felt about her in high school, that he’d never really stopped.
Alexis gave him a slight wave as she disappeared into the night. He stood there in the shadow of the street, wondering if, once again, he’d missed his chance.
Chapter Four
Alexis couldn’t sleep…again. She rolled as much as the twin bed allowed, narrowly avoiding a tumble onto the floor. Spending the evening with Ty triggered memories from high school, of loneliness on the island and feeling apart from everyone else. She’d eventually moved to London thinking that a large, international city would offer the opportunity to find her place, her people. Instead, she’d found herself experiencing the same sense of isolation that she had growing up. Although she’d felt accepted in her law firm, it never felt quite right.
She stared at the magnolia ceiling, willing herself to sleep. As much as she tried to pretend otherwise, Ty Barnes unnerved her more than she cared to admit. She did her best to block out images of his strong jaw and the slight dimple in his right cheek. And those eyes. She didn’t want to notice those things about him. And there had been definite flirting. It felt wrong. Alexis was disgusted with herself.
She threw back the covers and slid to the floor. Slowly, she opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and pulled out the velvet box. She held the box tenderly for a moment before slowly opening it. A wedding ring sparkled inside. Fighting back tears, she slid the ring onto her finger, remembering how lovely it looked there.
Her wedding day seemed like only yesterday. Six and a half years ago Alexis had walked down the proverbial aisle as her husband-to-be awaited her, his trademark grin plastered across his face. Mark had looked unassumingly handsome in his classic tux. She’d worn a simple, elegant white dress with capped sleeves and a floral headpiece. No veil. About thirty people had attended, including Mark’s parents, Donald and Moira Steamer. They were older than her parents by about five years. She’d had no desire to include her own family. At that point, she’d had very little contact with them and she knew they wouldn’t travel all the way to England for a wedding. After all, they hadn’t come to New York to visit her in college, or even when she graduated from law school and she’d still been in contact with them then. Granted, it had been sporadic and awkward contact, but contact all the same. They’d missed her college graduation because it was the same day as Betsy’s wedding and no one seemed to feel that Alexis’s presence was required so she, the first person in her family to attend college, gained a Bachelor’s degree while Betsy gained a husband and a new last name.
For Alexis, the fact that her family was absent from her own wedding was a non-issue because they’d already been missing from her life for so long. It was difficult to explain to Mark’s family; they expected a full-scale falling out that divided an otherwise close-knit family rather than a tale of gradual silence that began with weeks, grew into months, and eventually stretched into years.
Nevertheless, their wedding had been a wonderfully happy day. Alexis had hoped it would be the first of many more and, for a while, it had been.
Even in darkness, the ring sparkled as brightly as the day she received it and Alexis couldn’t bear its beauty a second longer. She returned the ring to its box and snapped the lid shut, placing it back in the drawer. Then she retrieved a cell phone from the top drawer and dialed.
“You have one saved message,” the automated voice told her.
Mark’s voice. “Alexis, I do hope you’re about finished. Not to be a nag, but I am sitting in an airport waiting for you on our anniversary. Greece awai
ts us. Come soon.”
Alexis turned off the phone and quickly dropped it into the drawer as though it had burned her fingers. Leaning against the dresser, she took a steadying breath. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t listen to the message again. She wanted to delete it so that she would stop tormenting herself, but she couldn’t bear to part with the sound of his voice.
Unwilling to think anymore after such a long night, she climbed back into bed. Why did she think coming back to Mangrove Island would help her heal? Everywhere she turned, memories lurked. Maybe that was why she felt more relaxed when she was with Ty. She had no specific memories of him and the things he remembered about her didn’t make her feel guilty or misunderstood. It was a welcome change. When she finally drifted off to sleep, she dreamed that a tsunami overpowered the island and washed away all evidence of its inhabitants except Alexis. She stood amidst the destruction, injured and terrified, and wondered how she got there.
The next morning, Tilly knocked once before entering the bedroom where Alexis still slept. Alexis stirred at the sound.
“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to still be asleep. You were always such an early riser,” Tilly commented.
Alexis opened her eyes and tried to focus. “Getting up,” she mumbled.
“I didn’t hear you come in last night. You must have been out late.”
Alexis sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I ran into an old friend.”
“Anyone I would know?”
“Probably not.” Her parents had been even less interested in Mangrove Island’s teenagers than Alexis had.
Tilly approached the bed cautiously, like Alexis was stricken with a highly contagious disease. “Your father has already eaten, but there are blueberry pancakes downstairs.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“Are they not your favorite anymore?”
“I’m not a child. I don’t have favorite foods.”
“Bacon and fried eggs are my favorite,” Tilly sniffed.
“Well, blueberry pancakes aren’t such a thing in England, Mom.”
“Don’t they have blueberries?” she asked innocently.
Alexis was too tired to mock. “Of course they do. It’s just not a common breakfast. They tend to have more savory foods than sweet. Cooked breakfasts with black pudding, and bacon that requires a knife and fork.”
Tilly walked over to the windows and pulled open the curtains. “Well, as much as I like a cooked breakfast, I don’t know how you could live anywhere that doesn’t have blueberry pancakes. It’s un-American.”
Alexis smirked but resisted pointing out the obvious.
“I’ll leave you to your own devices then,” Tilly said and hesitated before adding, “I thought you could help me make the Good Housekeeping holiday cake while you’re here.”
“You still do that?”
Tilly looked mildly surprised. “Why wouldn’t I?” Shaking her head, she said, “What am I thinking? You don’t bake. Too domestic for you. That’s Betsy’s domain.”
Alexis refused to engage in an argument over her culinary skills. It didn’t seem the right time. Instead, she said, “I had one of her muffins. It was delicious. She should have a bakery instead of a salon. That’s what she used to talk about.”
“The salon was the more sensible choice,” Tilly said firmly. “People need to get haircuts. They don’t need baked goods.”
Alexis thought it was disappointing that her sister hadn’t been able to combine her talent with her career, but she didn’t argue.
Tilly sighed. “She does have a knack for baking, though. Such a shame she has those three boys.”
Alexis’s eyebrows drew together until her mother’s meaning dawned on her. She gave an exasperated huff, which her mother duly ignored.
“She can certainly teach the boys how to bake,” Alexis insisted. “I bet Owen would love it.”
“Oh, Alexis. I don’t know where you get your ideas. Joe would blow a gasket if he saw his son baking.”
“Do you know how prehistoric that sounds?”
“We can’t all be cosmopolitan.” Tilly headed for the door. “I’ll be downstairs for another half an hour if you need me. Then I’m going to work.”
Alexis waited for her mother to leave the room before pulling the covers back over her head. She was not ready to face the day. In fact, she was beginning to regret her decision to come at all.
Chapter Five
Betsy wasted no time arranging a brunch at the weekend so that Alexis could meet the rest of her family. The house was in absolute chaos. Owen set up a puppet show in the corner of the family room, quietly practicing with his puppets while Joey stood in front of the Christmas tree periodically reaching out to touch the ornaments and then repeating to himself, “No touching.” Joe, Betsy’s burly husband, sat in his usual spot, the easy chair. Whether consciously or not, Betsy managed to marry a version of her father. No small wonder the two men were close.
Brian, the seven-year-old, bounced a ball around the room and peppered Alexis with Brian-centric questions.
“Do you know what I want for Christmas?” he asked in a rapid-fire clip. To Alexis, Brian seemed to be on a perpetual sugar high.
“No, I can’t say that I do.”
“Guess.”
“She doesn’t want to guess, Brian.” Joe listened to his son with one ear and the television with the other.
“No, I’ll guess.” She pretended to think. “A pony.”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Do I look like a girl to you?”
“Okay then. A GI Joe.”
“What’s a GI Joe?” He continued to bounce the ball, unwilling or unable to stop moving. “You suck at this.”
“Brian!” Joe admonished him. “I told you before, don’t talk like that.”
“You talk like that,” Brian spat back.
“And when you work and pay the bills, you can talk like that, too.”
Brian remained unfazed by his father’s rough demeanor, while Alexis cringed.
“Did you buy me a present?” Brian pressed his aunt.
“I haven’t finished my shopping yet. What would you like?”
“A scooter, silver with black trim. No goofy characters.”
Alexis digested this onslaught of information with a vague smile. “Noted.”
“I asked Santa, but I don’t know if he’ll be able to bring it.”
“Oh, why not?”
“My mom said sometimes Santa has so much stuff for other kids, he can’t fit everything in his sleigh so he has to choose carefully.”
Alexis nodded silently. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Joey pull an ornament off the tree.
“Daddy, Joey pulled another ornament off the tree.” Brian ratted out his brother before Alexis could speak.
“No touching, Joey,” Joe said firmly, but without raising his voice. He eased out of his chair and gently guided Joey away from the tree. Alexis was surprised to hear him speak to his son in clear, calm tones, not at all the volcano that Alexis expected.
“Joey, why don’t you come over and talk to me?” Alexis suggested. “Brian was telling me about his wish list. What would you like from Santa?”
Looking blankly at his aunt, Joey dutifully sat beside Alexis on the floor.
“Elmo DVD,” he said.
Alexis smiled, pleased that he answered her. “Do you like Elmo?”
“Yes.”
“Elmo is for babies,” Brian said.
“Brian! Be quiet,” Joe scolded him.
“Do you like Elmo’s voice?” asked Alexis.
“Yes,” said Joey in his robotic tone.
“I don’t really know much about Elmo. What color is he?”
“Red.”
“You’re pretty smart,” Alexis told him.
Joey stared blankly ahead of him. Alexis wanted to give him some sort of affectionate pat, but instead she fumbled awkwardly.
“I’m ready to do my puppet show,” Owen announced.
“Can it wait five minutes, O? I’m trying to watch the game.” Joe didn’t even turn to look at Owen. His eyes were fixed back on the television. She had a flashback to her own childhood, of trying to show her father a poem she’d written about starfish. Greg MacAdams had been similarly disinterested.
Alexis inched closer to the cardboard puppet theatre. “I’ll watch,” she offered.
“Yippee!” Owen hopped excitedly behind the curtain. A dinosaur puppet emerged from between the curtains. “Once upon a time, ages ago, dinosaurs ruled the earth. Some had feathers. Some ate meat. Some ate grass.” Another dinosaur puppet popped into view. “I ate plants until a big meteor hit the earth and I died. Then all the dinosaurs died. Then there were mammoths and they died. Then there were humans and they all died. Then there was nothing. The end.”
Owen proudly popped up from behind the theatre. Alexis clapped, quickly realizing that she was the only one. No one else paid him attention.
Just then Betsy appeared in the doorway to announce brunch. Everyone jumped up at once.
“The cinnamon roll is mine!” Brian yelled, expertly elbowing his brothers out of the way.
“I would think there’s more than one,” Alexis said, but the point fell on deaf ears.
They crowded around Betsy’s small, round dining table where paper plates and plastic cutlery were set beside stacks of French toast, a plate of cinnamon rolls, bacon, sausages, and a pitcher of orange juice.
“I’ve got tea brewing,” Betsy said as Alexis glanced around for a mug.
“Thanks.” She wished she could pluck up the nerve to ask for coffee, but she knew it would only result in some barb about not knowing each other.
Alexis waited her turn as the men and boys loaded up their plates and disappeared back into the family room.
“Gee, nice of them to leave us a few crumbs,” Betsy said wryly. “Good thing I made more.” She carried more food to the table and stuffed a cinnamon roll between her teeth.
“I don’t want to think about the calories I’m ingesting,” Alexis said, piling her plate high with carbs and processed meat.
“God knows you can afford it,” her mother said.
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