Page 5 of Tangled Up

Only… she’s always been this way, so that’s no excuse.

Shaking my head, I gaze out the window at the stunning, blood-orange sunset over the bay. The truck windows are down, and my old radio plays classic rock. I let the cool, fall air sweep away my tension.

The bridge rises, and I catch a glimpse of the crystal-blue water stretching as far as the eye can see.

I lift my chin and belt out the chorus, “You’re going to make me lonesome when you go!”

It’s hard to resist the pull of my hometown. It awakens a familiarity deep in my soul, like it’s imprinted on my consciousness. Being in Eden is effortless, intuitive. I know what to say and what to do. I know how people think. I know what to expect.

It’s October. Halloween is coming, and a surge of warmth rises in my chest. I decide to reframe my “exile” into a sort of unplanned, paid vacation.

A toll booth is at the entrance to the bridge leading out to the island, and I smile at the young woman inside as I slow to a stop.

“Well, hey, there! That’ll be one dollar or…” She leans out, studying my windshield. “You don’t have a resident sticker, so—”

She leaves the statement hanging, and I briefly consider telling her I grew up here. What’s left of my little family still lives here. Instead, I flip down the sun visor and a five-dollar-bill falls into my lap.

“Here you go.” I pass it over, and she gives me my change.

“Finally got a break from the heat. Looks like it’s going to be a great week at the beach.” Her pale blue eyes sparkle, and her stringy blonde hair is tied up in a high ponytail with whisps swirling around her face.

“I’ll have to get out there, then.”

“You’re not a tourist?”

Nobody is behind me, and I take a minute to chat. Socializing is a way of life along the coast. “I’m actually visiting my aunt. Vivienne Dennison? She lives over on Pine Run.”

“Miss Viv?” The girl’s brow rises, and she almost looks horrified. She recovers fast. “She’s an interesting lady.”

I swallow a laugh. My aunt is a grumpy old crone, especially when it comes to anyone under twenty. “She’s newsy, I guess.”Badnewsy.

Her face brightens. “Are you from Eden?”

“I was for about twenty-one years. I’m up in Pensacola now.”

“Well, welcome home! I’m Sadie Frost. If you need anything, just let me know!” She’s a sweet teenager, and I nod.

“Thank you, Sadie. I’m Carly Dennison. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

A truck pulls up behind me and honks, and I shift into drive, giving him a wave.

“Oh, keep your shirt on!” Sadie grouses. “Nice to meet you, Carly!”

I wave as I pull away, and I’m officially home.

It takes less than two minutes to cross the pass connecting the two miles of island to the mainland. The southern half of the island is pristine Eden by the Sea, while the northern half is Pleasure Island, where most of the worker bees live. It’s a bit spicier, less expensive.

The tourists are all segregated to the middle of the island, closest to the bridge, while the permanent residents are farther apart on each end.

I take a left, heading south, and when my tires hit the red-brick road, I drop my speed to a crawl. Ancient palm trees stretch over the median, and white picket fences line the yards.

A group of bikers are in front of me, and I slow even more. A family walks from the beach, and I pause to let them cross the street.

The first house to greet me when I reach the residential portion of Eden is an enormous mansion. It’s dark and closed, and “Ocean Pearl” is painted in pale blue script on the white, wooden sign attached to the white picket fence surrounding the yard.

My stomach tightens at the sight of it. Memories rush back, hitting me so hard, it’s like the storm surge ahead of a hurricane. Ocean Pearl is the old Munroe place, the most expensive estate in Eden and property of the family who used to own the whole island.

They’re all in Tampa now, and only one member of that family ever came here—a boy with brilliant blue eyes and wavy dark hair. A boy whose smile lit up my insides before I even knew what that meant.

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