Page 1 of Island Girl

CHAPTER 1

Merritt Ryan rolled down the windows and let the warm air fill her car. The Sanibel Causeway stretched ahead of her, and on either side, the water sparkled under the afternoon sun. She'd forgotten how blue it was here. How the color seemed to shift from turquoise to green depending on the light.

A pelican dove into the shallows, came up with something silver in its bill, and rested on the rail. She smiled and kept driving.

Her guitar case sat in the back seat, wedged between a duffel bag and a box of her mother's books. She couldn't bring herself to donate them. Anne Tyler novels dog-eared and soft from years of reading. A quilt her grandmother made. The small wooden box that held her mother's wedding ring.

She'd driven more than twenty-four hours over two days, stopping once in Virginia at a motel that smelled like bleach. She'd laid on the stiff mattress staring at the ceiling, wondering if she was making a mistake. By morning, she had her answer. The only mistake would be staying in Kennebunk, rattling around inher parents' empty house, teaching music to children who reminded her of the life she'd planned and lost.

The causeway started to descend, and Sanibel rose to meet her. Palm trees lined the road, their fronds swaying in the breeze. A family on bicycles pedaled along the shoulder, a little girl with curly, red hair bringing up the rear. The speed limit dropped to twenty-five, and Merritt eased off the gas. Nobody hurried here. That was the point.

She passed a sign for Ding Darling Wildlife Refuge and thought about her father. He'd love this place. He'd probably already written about it. Richard Ryan had spent thirty years writing books about nature and conservation, everything from Maine's tidal pools to the migration patterns of monarch butterflies. His work took him all over the country, and he had friends and colleagues scattered from coast to coast. She reminded herself of that whenever the guilt crept in. He wasn't alone. He had his work, his friends, his purpose.

But still. Leaving him so soon after losing her mother felt like abandonment.

She thought about the Zoom call that started all of this. Three weeks after her mother's funeral, she'd called Maggie Moretti at the Key Lime Garden Inn on Captiva. Maggie answered on the second ring.

“Merritt Ryan. I've thought about you so many times. How are you, sweetheart? How's your mother?”

The silence that followed was answer enough.

“Oh, honey. I'm so sorry.”

They'd talked for an hour that night. Merritt curled on her childhood bed, telling Maggie things she hadn't told anyone. How her mother's final weeks had been peaceful but brutal. How her father walked through the house like a ghost, picking things up and setting them down without seeing them. How she felt unmoored, like someone had cut the rope tying her to the dock and now she was drifting.

“Come back,” Maggie said. “Not to run away. To find solid ground. The islands gave you something last time. Maybe they have more to give.”

Merritt thought about it for weeks. She went through the motions at school, teaching third graders to play recorder, but her heart wasn't in it. She'd come home to her childhood bedroom and stared at the ceiling, wondering what she was supposed to do now. Her whole adult life had been shaped by two things: teaching and taking care of her mother. One felt hollow now, and the other was over.

She started researching jobs on Sanibel. Told herself she was just curious, just exploring. She found a listing for a bartender at a place called Shorebirds. The photo showed a weathered building with a wide deck overlooking the water and pottery displayed in the windows. Something about it felt right.

She scheduled a Zoom interview for a Thursday evening. The man who appeared on her screen had an easy smile and warm eyes. He was maybe a few years older than her, with the kind of face that looked like it laughed often.

“I'm Justin Landry. Thanks for taking the time.”

“Thanks for considering me. I know I'm not exactly local.”

“Nobody's local at first. Tell me about yourself.”

The question hit her harder than she expected. Who was she now? Not a music teacher anymore. Not a caregiver. Not Weston's fiancée. She'd shed those identities like old skin and hadn't grown into anything new.

“I'm starting over,” she finally said. “I’ve taught elementary school music in Maine for seven years. My mother was sick for a long time, and I took care of her. She passed a few months ago. I visited Captiva last year and felt something I haven't felt anywhere else. Like I could breathe. I really loved the islands. I want to come back and figure out what's next.”

She waited for him to say the position was filled or that she wasn't what they were looking for.

Instead, he laughed. Not at her. With her, somehow.

“You sound like exactly the kind of person who ends up on this island. Can you pour a drink without spilling it?”

“Most of the time.”

“Can you smile at tourists even when they ask where the nearest Starbucks is?”

“There's no Starbucks on Sanibel, is there?”

“Unfortunately, there is, but you're getting the idea. When can you start?”

Even then, she didn't say yes right away. She told him she needed a few days to think about it. She agonized for another two weeks. Her father found her one evening sitting on the back porch, staring at nothing.