Take the long way home, p.1

Take the Long Way Home, page 1

 

Take the Long Way Home
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Take the Long Way Home


  Other Books by Rochelle Alers

  ALONG THE SHORE

  BREAKFAST IN BED

  HAPPILY EVER AFTER

  HEAVEN SENT

  HIDDEN AGENDA

  HIDEAWAY

  HOME SWEET HOME

  THE INHERITANCE

  ROOM SERVICE

  THE BEACH HOUSE

  THE SEASIDE CAFÉ

  VOWS

  ROCHELLE ALERS

  TAKE THE LONG WAY HOME

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  PART TWO

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  PART THREE

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  PART FOUR

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  PART FIVE

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions to spark conversation and enhance your reading of Take the Long Way Home by Rochelle Alers

  DAFINA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2023 by Rochelle Alers

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  The Dafina logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-3547-8

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-3549-2 (e-book)

  First Electronic Edition:

  Prologue

  It takes a long time to grow an old friend.

  —John Leonard in Friends and Friends of Friends by Bernard Pierre Wolff

  Present day, New York City

  Claudia Fortenza had just closed her eyes when the telephone on the bedside table rang. Reaching over, she picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “What’s up, roomie?”

  She was suddenly alert. “Yvonne?”

  “Yes. I’m downstairs in the lobby. They wouldn’t give me your room number.”

  “It’s 1215. Come on up.”

  Claudia hung up and slipped off the bed. She had taken a car service from the Hudson River pier and checked into a Midtown hotel after disembarking from her transatlantic trip from Le Havre, France, to New York. She’d sent Yvonne Chapman-Jones an email of her itinerary, informing her best friend that she’d planned to spend two days in New York City, then fly down to Mississippi to visit her parents’ graves, before going on to Raleigh, North Carolina. It was there she would stay with her daughter and grandchildren for the next two months.

  Claudia had nearly lost count of the number of years since she had last stepped foot on US soil. Once she went through customs and presented her Italian passport, the impact that she was no longer an American citizen caused her heart to sink like a stone in her chest. At the time when she’d decided to give up her United States citizenship, Claudia had felt no remorse because she’d believed the country of her birth had continually betrayed her race.

  Her people were denied rights given to them at birth by the Constitution, and many of the militants, radicals, and leaders championing equal and civil rights for all Americans had either been assassinated or imprisoned. And if it hadn’t been for her daughter and grandchildren, Claudia knew she never would’ve come back. Her grandparents, parents, and aunt were dead, while her last surviving relative, at the age of 109, was living in Paris as an expatriate.

  She heard three rapid knocks on the door followed by another two. Claudia smiled. Yvonne hadn’t forgotten their signal. She opened the door and was rendered motionless once she realized her former college roommate hadn’t come alone. She hardly recognized the man standing behind her. “Ashley?”

  Within seconds, her past and present merged as she found herself enveloped in a tangle of arms, she attempting to escape the kisses on her face and hair. Seeing her friends filled her with an indescribable joy she hadn’t felt in weeks. If anyone could be called her rock, it was Yvonne. Her college roommate was her witness when she’d married Robert. She’d also been by her side when she’d buried him. Yvonne had also sat with her the night before she boarded the plane that would take her from the country of her birth.

  Although Claudia had extended invitations for Yvonne and her family to come to Italy for vacations, her friend always declined because of her fear of flying. Holding Yvonne at arm’s length, she took in everything about her in one sweeping glance. She’d put on weight, but who didn’t as they aged, and her hair was completely gray. A profusion of twists pulled into a bun and rimless bifocals made her look professorial. Her deep brown skin was clear and virtually wrinkle-free, giving credence to the adage that good black don’t crack.

  “You look beautiful, my friend. Y’all come in and sit down.” She directed them into the sitting area of the bedroom suite. The y’all had slipped out unconsciously. Despite speaking fluent French and Italian, Claudia still spoke English with a cadence that identified her as someone from the American South.

  “You’re the beautiful one,” Yvonne countered as she sat on a club chair. “Isn’t she, Ashley?”

  Her gaze shifted to Ashley Booth. He was one of four men in her life who’d been responsible for her maturing from an innocent girl into a worldly woman. If she and Yvonne hadn’t changed much, Ashley had. At the age of eighty-seven he was four years their senior yet looked much older. He was a mere shadow of his former self. It wasn’t only the drastic weight loss, but it was as if his once vibrant personality had faded. She still could remember the exact moment she had been introduced to the tall, sophisticated investment banker. Most people who met Ashley for the first time found themselves drawn in by his charismatic persona.

  “Yes, she is. It’s as if time has stood still for you,” he said to Claudia.

  Claudia smiled at her former lover. “Hush up, Ashley Booth. You’re still a silver-tongued devil,” she said teasingly.

  * * *

  Ashley Booth hadn’t realized his knees were shaky until he had to grope for the arms of the chair to assist him as he folded his body down to the cushioned seat. When Yvonne had called to let him know Claudia was returning to the States, he’d thought she was playing a joke on him, yet she’d managed to reassure him their friend was coming back, but she wouldn’t be staying long. He’d asked Yvonne if he could accompany her for the reunion, while extracting a promise from Yvonne not to tell Claudia he was coming along.

  The only thing that had changed about Claudia was the color of her hair. There was still a trace of gold in her fashionably styled short, curly, silver hair. Their eyes met and held as a hint of a smile tilted the corners of her mouth, a mouth he’d kissed many times when they had shared their lives together.

  It’d been more than fifty years and he still thought of himself as a king of fools for not asking Claudia to marry him. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t given him an out when she told him if he loved her, she wouldn’t leave the States to accept an overseas position with a Rome-based bank.

  Claudia had remarried; it was then Ashley realized he’d lost her forever. And if he had it to do all over again, he would have gotten down on his knees to tell her that he loved her, and that he wanted them to spend the rest of their lives together.

  “I hope y’all haven’t eaten, because I ordered room service.”

  Claudia’s drawling cadence broke into Ashley’s musings. “I don’t eat much nowadays. I have a sensitive stomach,” he admitted. “It probably comes from dousing my food with hot sauce back in the day.”

  Yvonne gave Ashley a level look. “What’s the expression? A hard head makes for a soft behind. In your case it’s an ulcer. I used to warn—”

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  “What can’t you eat, Ashley?” Claudia asked him, interrupting Yvonne.

  “I stay away from fatty fried foods and anything with acidity.”

  “What are you eating now?” Yvonne asked him.

  “Foods high in fiber.”

  Claudia stood up. “I probably ordered everything on the lunch menu, so you can select whatever you want to eat.”

  Ashley stared at the tips of his shoes. He hadn’t noticed the scuff marks when he’d put them on earlier that morning. There had been a time when he never left the house unless his shoes were shiny enough for him to almost see his reflection. But that was then, and this was now.

  So many things had happened in the world and in his life since the day she’d left the States for Europe. Ashley Thaddeus Booth saw other women after Claudia, slept with them, but refused to commit to a relationship that would lead to marriage. He wined and dined women, while earning the reputation as a love-and-leave-them confirmed bachelor, willing to show a woman a good time while enjoying whatever they were willing to offer him.

  However, it had been different with Claudia. She’d been special, a standout among all the women he’d known, but somehow, he wouldn’t permit himself to love her because he feared it would make him not only weak but vulnerable. He’d witnessed firsthand how his father had ignored his wife’s infidelity, which made him a weak man in Ashley’s judgment.

  There came a knock on the door, and he stood up when Claudia walked over to answer it. A young man pushed a cart into the dining area and set the table with bottles of water and wine, plates, glasses, serving pieces, and covered dishes. Reaching into the pocket of his slacks, Ashley removed a monogrammed money clip and slipped the man a bill.

  “Thank you, sir. Just call room service when you’re finished, and someone will come and clean up everything.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Claudia said, once the man left. “I was planning to leave the gratuity on the check.”

  Ashley waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I don’t get to tip folks much anymore because I rarely eat out, so please indulge me, Claudia.”

  Smiling, she nodded. “Okay.”

  * * *

  It was like old times for Claudia when she, Yvonne, and Ashley got together to eat, drink, listen to music, or discuss current events. She’d noticed Ashley opted to drink bottled water while she and Yvonne drank wine. He’d eaten a green salad, a small portion of skinless chicken breast, and steamed carrots.

  “Where are you living now, Ashley?” she asked him.

  “I’m renting an apartment in a Harlem brownstone.”

  “What happened to your place on Riverside Drive?” Claudia had spent countless nights in the spacious high-rise apartment overlooking the Hudson River. Although she and Ashley hadn’t officially lived together, she’d stayed at his place more than she did at her studio apartment.

  “Once the building went co-op, I bought the unit. After a few years, the board kept raising the maintenance fees and that’s when I decided to sell it.”

  “We used to have some good times at your place whenever you and Claudia threw a party,” Yvonne said to Ashley.

  Claudia nodded in agreement. She and Ashley had become a much sought-after couple among their social circle of elite Black peers.

  “My party days are behind me,” Ashley said, smiling. “I’m lucky if I can stay awake long enough to see the late news.”

  “Do you still go out to Sag Harbor?” Claudia asked. Ashley’s parents owned a beachfront home on Long Island, and as their only child she expected he would inherit the property.

  He shook his head. “No. My father sold it after my mother passed away a year after you left the States. He claimed he couldn’t live there without her. A few years later he was diagnosed with dementia, and I had him move in with me. I hired someone to look after him when I couldn’t be around, and after a while his doctor recommended he go into an assisted living facility. Although he was given the best medical care he quickly deteriorated, and within six months he was gone.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ashley,” Claudia said. “I really liked your folks.” The Booths were who she’d thought of as Black aristocracy.

  Ashley lowered his eyes. “They liked you, too.” He paused again, as if deep in thought. “Yvonne told me you lost your husband a couple of months ago.”

  Leaning back in her chair, Claudia exhaled an inaudible sigh. “Yes. Giancarlo died in his sleep.” It was the second time she’d buried a husband and thankfully Giancarlo’s death was peaceful, while she still believed the Ku Klux Klan were responsible for Robert Moore’s so-called accidental death.

  Yvonne’s cell phone pinged a ringtone and she pushed back her chair. “Excuse me. I must take this call.”

  Ashley half rose, but stopped when Claudia rested a hand on his arm. “Don’t get up, Ashley.”

  He smiled and a network of tiny lines fanned out around his eyes. “Old habits die hard. Speaking of husbands, Claudia. You know I should’ve asked you to marry me.”

  A slight lifting of an eyebrow was her only reaction to his pronouncement. “Really? And if you’d asked, I would’ve turned you down because you didn’t love me.”

  “But I did, Claudia.”

  She gave him a lingering stare. “When was that, Ashley? It couldn’t have been when we were sleeping together because you never uttered the word. Not even when we had sex.”

  A beat passed. “You’re right,” he admitted under his breath. “It was after you left, I realized that I did love you. And I’ve never stopped loving you. I suppose that’s the reason why I never married.”

  “You never married because you wanted to pick and choose who you dated or slept with,” Claudia said in a quiet tone. “You liked being called the Black Prince of Wall Street and having women at your beck and call.”

  Ashley sighed. “Maybe. But it wasn’t that way with you, Claudia. I gave up all those women once I met you.”

  “And should I assume you reverted back to the old Ashley once I left?”

  Ashley pressed a fist to his mouth as he closed his eyes. “Not really. I did see women but not as much or often.” He opened his eyes. “I’d changed. You’d changed me.”

  “Are you involved with a woman now?”

  “No. And it has been a while since I’ve entertained one. But things would be different if we were married.”

  Claudia curbed the urge to laugh in Ashley’s face. He’d waited more than a half century to ask her to marry him when he could’ve done it before she’d moved across an ocean to fall in love and marry a man who would make her his wife and the mother of their children.

  “I’m sorry, Ashley. Two husbands in my lifetime are enough. I don’t need a third.”

  “How about a friend, Claudia?”

  “I could always use a friend.” She paused. “Do you have a valid passport?”

  Ashley nodded. “I renewed it a couple of years ago, even though I hadn’t planned to go anywhere.”

  “I’m going to give you my daughter’s cell phone number in North Carolina. I’ll be staying with her family until the end of August. Then I’m sailing back to Europe. If you want to come with me, then call me before Labor Day so I can secure passage for you. If not, then this will be the last time we will see each other.”

  “To visit or to stay?”

  “That’s up to you, Ashley. The invitation is open-ended.”

  “What if I choose to stay?”

  “As I said. The choice is yours. And if you choose to stay, then you can live in the guesthouse on my property. And if you don’t call, then I’ll return alone.”

  Ashley ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, do I have time to make a decision?” he asked, before reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket and handing her his cell phone.

 

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