Page 2 of Island Girl

“You're thinking about taking a job in Florida,” he said.

“How did you know?”

He sat down beside her. “Because you've been somewhere else for days, and besides, you made it clear that you’d return to Captiva and Sanibel just as soon as you could find a way. And that's okay.” He took her hand. “Your mother would want you to do this. Go find your life, sweetheart. I'll be fine.”

“I can't leave you alone, Dad.”

“I'm not alone. I've got Tom and Roger coming over for poker on Fridays. Margaret brings me casseroles I don't need. And I've got a book deadline in September that's going to keep me plenty busy.” He squeezed her hand. “You spent years putting everything on hold because of your mother’s illness. It's time for you to get out there and live your life.”

She didn't believe he was fine. But she also knew he was right.

The school year was just about over so she gave notice at the school the next day. Packed her car over the following week. Hugged her father on the front porch, both of them crying. He held her face in his hands the way he used to when she was little.

“Call me when you get there.” He shook his head, “No, call meall the way down to Florida. Don’t make me wait. You know I’ll go crazy with worry.”

She laughed. “I will, I promise.”

“And send pictures. I want to see those spoonbills everyone talks about.”

She smiled thinking about the spoonbills. Since she was a little girl her father spent hours helping her identify various birds and wildlife. Merritt used to complain that none of her friends cared about birds or the migration of the monarch butterfly so why did she.

Her father explained that if any of her friends understood such things, they’d be more popular. He said her explaining to them that a bat wasn’t a bird but rather a flying mammal would impress them all and that she shouldn’t worry about being popular. She was ten at the time and thought everything her father told her must be true, so she continued to pay attention during these lessons.

Now, turning onto Periwinkle Way, she promised herself to seek out a spoonbill the first chance she got.

She continued along the road and briefly noticed the shops and restaurants tucked among the trees, their signs hand-painted and welcoming. A woman walked a golden retriever on a shell path. A man in a faded baseball cap waved from the porch of a bait shop. The air smelled like salt and coconut sunscreen and something blooming she couldn't name.

Her phone buzzed in the cup holder. It was a text from Justin Landry.

Almost here?

She typed back.Five minutes.

Perfect. I'll have a cold drink waiting. You're going to love it here.

She set the phone down and turned onto a smaller road. The trees grew thicker, the light filtering through in patches of gold. A great blue heron stood motionless in a drainage ditch, watching her pass.

She thought about her mother, about the last words she'd whispered in the hospice room. “Go live, baby. Stop waiting.”

Merritt hadn't known what she was waiting for. She'd spent so many years taking care of her mother that she'd forgotten how to take care of herself.

Now, pulling into the crushed shell parking lot of Shorebirds, seeing the weathered wood and the wide deck and the water sparkling beyond, she thought maybe she understood.

She had been waiting for this. A place to begin her life in earnest.

She turned off the engine and stepped out into the warm island air.

Shorebirds looked exactly like the photo on the website, only better. The building was weathered gray wood with a wide deck that wrapped around two sides. Ceiling fans turned lazily overhead, and a few people sat at tables with drinks in their hands, watching the water. In the windows, she could see pottery displayed on shelves. Pitchers and vases in ocean blues and sandy browns.

Merritt grabbed her purse and walked toward the entrance. A hand-painted sign hung above the door with a sandpiper on it. She pushed the screen door open and stepped inside.

The interior was cool and dim after the bright sun. Her eyes adjusted, and she took in the space. A long wooden bar stretched across the back wall. Tables and chairs filled the middle of the room, and more seating lined the windows. The pottery she'd seen from outside was everywhere. A pitcher held wildflowers on the bar. Bowls sat on shelves near the register. Even the lamp bases looked handmade.

“Merritt?”

She turned toward the voice. A man walked toward her frombehind the bar, wiping his hands on a towel. He was taller than she expected, with dark hair and an easy smile. The same warm eyes she remembered from the Zoom call.

“Justin?”