Long Way Home

Long Way Home

A Mangrove Island Novel, Book One

By: Neve Cottrell

Cover Design by: Cheeky Covers

Formatting by: Polgarus Studio

ISBN 978-0-9908516-0-8 (ebook)

ISBN 978-0-9908516-1-5 (print)

Copyright © 2014 by Neve Cottrell. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Chapter One

Heathrow Airport was not where Alexis wanted to be two weeks before Christmas. As she wheeled her Louis Vuitton suitcases behind her, she failed to appreciate the festive decorations and smiling travelers. Instead, she scowled at the perky and chatty students who were undoubtedly pleased to be returning home for a few weeks of parental attention and a much-needed cash infusion. Alexis was grateful that her student days were far behind her.

She wore what she considered to be appropriate travel clothes, a crisp, navy blue suit with sensible heels. For her, suits were like armor that she donned before going into battle. They also boosted her efficiency because she didn’t waste time thinking about what to wear in the mornings. Every minute counted when you billed clients in six-minute blocks. Alexis had a specific suit for each day of the working week and even the hangers were labeled and arranged by day. Since this was not a business trip, however, she’d only brought the suit on her back for the initial battle that, right now, she didn’t want to contemplate.

Alexis stepped up to the first class counter with her American passport ready and was greeted by a plucky young airline representative.

“Good afternoon,” the young woman said with a broad smile. “Would you like to place your bags on the scale, please?”

Alexis didn’t return the smile. She placed her bags one after the other on the conveyer while the young woman busily typed Alexis’s information into the system.

“And did you pack your bags yourself?”

“I’m a woman, aren’t I?” Alexis drummed her nails impatiently on the counter.

The young woman smiled tolerantly. Sadly, she was accustomed to much worse behavior from some of her first class passengers.

“And did anyone ask you to transport any items for them?”

Alexis gave an exaggerated sigh. “Does anyone ever say yes?”

Although the young woman’s smile had faded, she ignored Alexis’s question and soldiered on with the customary questions. “Are you transporting any sharp objects?”

“Just my rapier wit.”

“Indeed. And have your bags been left unattended at any time?”

“No.”

The young woman gently exhaled, grateful for the simple answer. “You’ll be in seat 3A today.”

She handed over the ticket and Alexis snatched it out of her hand. Without so much as a thank you, Alexis stalked off.

“Enjoy your flight,” the young woman called after her, her cheerful exterior fully restored.

Alexis strode through the long passages of the airport, her straight and steady gaze never wavering from the next few steps in front of her. Nothing caught her attention, not the man who tripped as she passed him. Not the crying family as they hugged goodbye. Alexis was the epitome of focused.

Once the flight was airborne, Alexis watched multiple episodes of a television show she’d never heard of. It was listed as a comedy, but Alexis didn’t laugh once. During her meal, the neighboring passenger made an effort at conversation.

“Going to see family for Christmas?” the older gentleman asked her.

“Yes,” she said curtly. She offered no details and she didn’t ask about him. He quickly returned his attention to the small screen in front of him.

Even though her chair could recline and she had plenty of legroom, Alexis retained perfect posture for the duration of the flight. When the sound of a crying baby was heard from elsewhere on the plane, a few passengers exchanged sympathetic smiles. Alexis didn’t smile. Instead, she placed in her ear buds and pretended not to hear.

At JFK Airport, Alexis endured the long wait in line at immigration before continuing on to her connecting flight to Sarasota. Even after the eight-hour leg, she looked poised and together. Good Kate Middleton-style hair. Fresh lipstick. Wrinkle-free clothes. To anyone who noticed her, Alexis seemed calm, cool and collected. The kind of person who would be handy in a crisis, not because she seemed compassionate, but because she didn’t.

With the flick of his hand, the immigration officer ushered her up. Alexis stepped across the line and handed over her passport. He took a minute to page through it and looked up at her in mild surprise.

“Been a long time since you’ve been here.”

“Yes, it has.”

“Welcome home,” he said pleasantly as he stamped her passport.

“We’ll see.”

Alexis took her passport and continued on to her connecting flight. Three more hours to Sarasota, then a ninety-minute drive to the marina. The trip was already exhausting and she hadn’t interacted with family members yet.

The Sarasota flight seemed no longer than a wink. Alexis nodded off briefly, but couldn’t get comfortable enough to truly relax. Not that she ever relaxed. Efforts at relaxation made her uncomfortable. It gave her too much time with her own thoughts.

Upon arrival, she followed the flow of traffic to the baggage claim area. After another lengthy wait, Alexis finally wheeled her large and small suitcases past all of the reuniting families and past the cab rank, to where a town car awaited her. The driver wordlessly opened the door for her and took her bags. She didn’t thank him either; she’d lost her ability to be thankful eighteen months ago.

On the drive, Alexis watched the Florida scenery whiz by. It seemed more developed than she remembered. Strip malls and colorful signage dotted the landscape. Yes, she was certainly back on American soil.

The car eventually turned off an exit ramp with a sign for the marina and Alexis felt her stomach clench. Part of her wanted to ask the driver to turn around and take her back to the airport. She bit her lip and kept silent as he eased the car to the drop-off point. No more cars now. Mangrove Island was car-free and Alexis wondered whether it was part of the reason she’d decided to come here.

Despite the hour, the sun was bright and Alexis stepped out of the car wearing her oversized sunglasses while the driver brought around her bags. Unsmiling, she examined the marina, thinking it actually looked less downtrodden than she remembered it.

“Spending time with family for the holidays?” the driver asked.

“Yes.”

“Good luck,” he said and tipped his hat before returning to the car and driving off.

The water taxi was waiting to take her across Mangrove Pass to the island where she grew up and fled the moment she graduated from high school. When she told people she grew up on an island off the Florida coast, most of them wondered why she would ever leave. From Alexis’s point of view, she could only remember years spent staring across the water, itching to get out. She’d felt claustrophobic on the island. Castaway Cove, the neighborhood where she grew up and where her parents still lived, seemed too confining. Alexis had never felt like she belonged there.

“You here on vacation?” asked the operator of the water taxi.

Alexis had barely registered his presence other than the fact that the boat was moving. “Sort of,” she replied vaguely.

“Be careful, you might not want to leave,” he said jovially.

“I doubt that,” she said and tried to control the fine hairs whipping around her face in the wind.

“If you’re looking for a night out, there’s a great little place on the south end of the island. The wife and I like to go there on occasion.”

Alexis asked, “What’s the name?”

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “The Blue Heron.”

Alexis blinked back surprise. She hadn’t thought of The Blue Heron in years. She’d passed it on bike rides to the southern end of the island many times, but there weren’t many nights out in her family, for a meal or anything else. Tilly MacAdams cooked what her husband ate and everyone else fell in line.

“They have live music there a couple nights a week,” the man said. “If you’re on your own, it’s a good place to meet people. Nice bar crowd.”

Alexis snorted, but the man didn’t hear her over the wind. Nice bar crowd sounded like an oxymoron to her.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” she replied. The dock came into view and Alexis felt her heart skip a beat. Not long now.

“Do you need a ride to your rental? I could call you a golf cart. I guess you know there are no cars on the island.”

“I’ve made arrangements,” she said.

“Then you’re more organized than most of my customers,” he said.

Alexis didn’t doubt it. She prided herself on her organizational skills.

“Here we are,” he said, pulling up to the dock. He helped her out first, then turned back to retrieve her luggage. “Hey Don.” He waved to the man sitting in the bright blue golf cart with white shells painted on the side. “Guess that’s your transport.”

“It is.” She took her bags and paid the man.

Don climbed out of the golf cart and came to assist her. “See ya, Marty.”

The water taxi operator gave a backhanded wave before returning to the boat. Alexis climbed into the passenger seat. Since Mangrove Island was a car-free zone, most people got around on foot, bicycle, boat or golf cart. Even at thirty-five years old, Alexis still didn’t drive a car. Life in big cities made certain of that.

“So what’s your destination?” asked Don, lifting her luggage into the back of the cart. He wore a long-sleeved blue and white floral shirt, khaki shorts and sandals. Alexis wondered if he dressed like that to get tourists in the right frame of mind.

“Rumrunner Road,” she answered and he gave her a sideways glance.

“Which number?”

“Three.”

He whistled. “I thought you looked familiar. You’re one of Tilly and Greg’s girls, aren’t you? The younger one.”

The observation made her oddly uncomfortable. She’d been living in anonymity for so long, she’d forgotten what it was like to be recognized.

“Alexis,” she said stiffly.

“Alexis,” he repeated. “You went to school with my daughter, Charlotte.”

Alexis didn’t have strong memories of high school. She’d made new ones at every opportunity, shaking off the grains of island sand and moving on as quickly as possible. “What’s the last name?”

He chuckled. “I’m pretty sure there was only one Charlotte back then. Collins was the name. She’s Burke now.”

Alexis feigned a smile. “Charlotte Collins, of course. How is she?” Alexis still didn’t have a clue, but her island manners began to creep back into her essence involuntarily.

By the time the cart pulled up in front of her parents’ house, the sunlight had faded. Alexis squinted to better examine the front. It looked the same as it had during her childhood; tidy and well-kept save the cartoon-colored Christmas lights and oversized plastic reindeer on the modest front lawn. An inflatable Santa completed the look. Alexis shook her head. Unfortunately, those garish decorations she remembered well.

Inside the house, Tilly MacAdams was busy in the kitchen, preparing a pot roast dinner for her husband just as she had a thousand times before. Greg MacAdams loved pot roast almost as much as meatloaf and chicken parmigiana, so they were staples in the MacAdams house. As Tilly was about to drop the carrots into the boiling pot of water, the sound of the doorbell rang out and carrots scattered across the countertops. Tilly chuckled to herself and left the carrots where they fell. She hurried to open the door to a very unexpected sight. Her younger daughter.

“Hello, Mom.”

Tilly realized that her mouth was hanging open so she snapped it shut. “Jesus Christ,” she whispered. Recovered from her momentary shock, she absently wiped her hands on her apron.

“No, it’s Alexis, remember? You named me Alexis.”

Tilly raised a bushy eyebrow. “Both been raised from the dead, apparently.”

She gestured for her daughter to come in and Alexis stepped toward her, unsure whether to hug or kiss or neither. Tilly made the first move and gave her an awkward half-hug and feathery kiss on the cheek.

“My Lord, what will your father say? You could have called, you know.”

“I’ve been here two seconds. Let’s not march straight in with the guilt parade.”

“I meant call to say that you were coming today, that’s all. You have to admit, it’s a bit of a shock.”