Long Way Home (Chapter Seven, page 2 of 6)

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The waiter brought two whiskeys and set one in front of Alexis and the other in front of Tyler.

"You got one for yourself?" she queried.

"Why not? I could use a little more hair on my chest."

At the mention of his chest, Alexis's eyes inadvertently moved to admire his physique. When she caught herself staring, she immediately straightened in her chair and cleared her throat awkwardly.

"So have you had any other jobs aside from The Blue Heron and your music?" she asked. She hoped to distract herself from the hint of muscles lurking underneath his


"A couple, not too many."

"What's been the worst one?" she asked.

"Easy. Counting furniture in an insane asylum."

She threw her head back and laughed. "What? Is that even a job?"

"Paid eight dollars and fifty cents an hour, off the island naturally."

"Are you sure you weren't in the asylum?" she teased.

"I composed lyrics to one of my best songs in that place, so it was worth it. What about you?"

"I've never composed lyrics anywhere." She downed her whiskey and relished the burn as it spread through her body.

"Ha, ha. Your worst job, smart ass."

"Easy. Being a corporate lawyer."

"But that's what you do now."

"I've never had another job."

"Why would you do it for so long if you hate it?"

Alexis shrugged. "Lots of reasons."

"Is this the type of evidence you give at work?" he asked with a grin. "If so, I can see why the job might not suit you."

Alexis laughed despite herself. She didn't have the heart to tell him that corporate work did not involve giving evidence. "It offered me disposable income, respect, intellectual challenges. Lots of things I didn't have growing up."

"You know, most kids rebel by smoking dope or shoplifting. Not by becoming a lawyer."

"I wouldn't describe it as rebellion. The rebellion was cutting them off."

"What then?"

Alexis tried to decide how to explain her family to him. She couldn't even explain them to herself. They had always seemed so alien to her.

"I don't know. I just never felt like they were proud of me, like the things I did well weren't of interest to them."

"So what about Betsy? Why is she in the catbird seat?"

"She didn't reach above her station, for starters. Law is for superior people, or people who think they're superior."

"Doesn't your mother work for a lawyer?" he asked.

"The key phrase is works for. Truth be told, I think my mom is fine with it. My dad's the one who equated lawyers with politicians and criminals."

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