Page 11 of Island Girl

“And you're happy?”

Merritt considered the question. Happy felt like too big a word for what she was feeling. She wasn't unhappy. She wasn't lost anymore. She was something in between, something that didn't have a name yet.

“I'm getting there,” she said. “I think I just need time.”

“Time is the one thing these islands have plenty of.” Maggie rocked the swing gently with her foot. “You know, when you came here last year, I could see how broken you were. You were carrying so much weight. Your mother's illness, your broken engagement, all of it. You needed somewhere to breathe.”

“I did.”

“And now you're back. But you're different this time. You're not running away. You're running toward something.”

Merritt smiled. “That's what Justin said.”

“Smart man.” Maggie picked up a scone and broke it in half. “The islands have a way of calling people back. Once they get into your blood, you can't stay away for long. I think they got into yours.”

“I think so too.”

The screen door creaked open, and a voice rang out across the porch.

“Well, well, well. Look what the tide dragged in.”

Merritt turned to see Grandma Sarah making her way toward them, a glass of what looked like orange juice in one hand and a wide smile on her face. She was a small woman, now in her eighties, with white hair and sharp eyes that missed nothing.

“Grandma Sarah,” Merritt said, standing to greet her. “It's so good to see you.”

“Sit down, sit down. Don't get up on my account.” Sarah waved her back to the swing and settled into a wicker chair across from them. “Maggie told me you might be coming back. I said, 'That girl's got too much sense to stay up in that frozen wasteland forever.'”

“Maine isn't exactly a wasteland.”

“It is in February. Don't argue with me, I'm too old to be wrong.” Sarah sipped her juice and looked Merritt up and down. “You changed your hair.”

Merritt touched her lighter locks. “I needed a change.”

“It suits you. I like it.” Sarah leaned back in her chair. “So, I overheard you say you're working at Crocker's place. You know he makes the most beautiful pottery. I've got three of his vases in my condo.”

“They are beautiful,” Merritt agreed.

“The man's got talent. Quiet as a church mouse, but talented.” Sarah's eyes twinkled. “His grandson's not bad looking either, from what I hear.”

“Mother, really?” Maggie said, a warning in her voice.

“What? I'm old, not dead. I can still appreciate a handsome face.” She winked at Merritt. “You let me know if he's as good looking as they say.”

Merritt laughed. “I'll keep you posted.”

“You do that.” Grandma Sarah finished her juice and set the glass down. “Now, I've got to go harass Paolo about his tomatoes. He thinks he's growing them for the inn, but really he's growing them for me. He just doesn't know it yet.”

She pushed herself up from the chair and patted Merritt on the shoulder as she passed.

“Welcome home, sweetheart. Don't be a stranger.”

Merritt watched her go, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. This place, these people. It felt like family in a way she hadn't expected.

“She's something else,” Merritt said.

“She's a force of nature.” Maggie smiled. “But she's not wrong. Your hair is lovely, and so are you.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, rocking gently on the swing. The breeze carried the smell of salt and jasmine. Somewhere in the garden, Paolo was laughing at something Grandma Sarah said.