Page 20 of Island Girl

“It is amazing. And most people who come to this island have no idea. They walk right past the museum on their way to the beach and never stop.” He tapped the bar with one finger. “You should go. Learn something. This island has history.”

“I will,” she said. “I promise.”

“Good.” He nodded once, satisfied, and headed back toward the kitchen.

Justin watched him go, then turned to Merritt with a grin. “Welcome to Crocker's Sanibel History Hour. That's just the first of about fifty stories he's got.”

“I liked it.”

“You say that now. Wait until you've heard the one about theCalusa Indians for the third time.” He grabbed a towel and started wiping down the bar. “He means well. He just loves this place. Knows everything about it.”

“That's not a bad thing.”

“No, it's not.” Justin paused, looking toward the kitchen. “He's been here his whole life. Watched it change, watched it stay the same. For him, the stories are how he keeps it alive.”

Merritt thought about that. She thought about her father, back in Maine, and all the stories he told about the birds and the tides and the lighthouses. The way he turned every walk into a lesson. Maybe that's what people did when they loved a place. They turned it into stories so it would never be lost.

She watched Justin move behind the bar, refilling drinks, chatting with the fishermen, checking on tables. He made it look effortless. Like he'd been doing this his whole life, even though she knew he hadn't.

He'd told her a little about himself that first day, while they were slicing limes. Boston. Investments. A job that paid well but made him miserable. His mother's death two years ago. The decision to leave everything behind and come here.

But that was just the outline. The facts. She found herself wondering about the rest of it. What had his life in Boston actually looked like? Did he have friends there who missed him? Had there been someone serious, someone he'd left behind? What did he do on his days off, when he wasn't running this place?

She realized she knew almost nothing about him, really. Just the broad strokes he'd offered in those first few minutes. And he hadn't asked much about her either. They'd been too busy learning how to work together, figuring out the rhythms of the job. There hadn't been time for the deeper stuff.

Maybe there would be, eventually. Maybe he'd feel comfortable enough to share more, and she'd feel comfortable enough to ask. Or maybe this was just how it worked when you were new somewhere. You learned people slowly, in pieces, the way youlearned a place. A story here, a detail there. Until one day you looked up and realized you knew them.

She wasn't in a hurry. She had time.

Justin caught her looking at him and tilted his head. “What?”

“Nothing.” She picked up her wine. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.” He grinned and moved down the bar to help another customer.

She was halfway through her second taco when the front door opened and a familiar figure walked in.

Ray.

He moved the same way he always did. Quiet, contained, like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. He didn't look at anyone. Just walked to his corner table and sat down.

Justin noticed her watching. “He's early tonight.”

“Does he ever talk to anyone?”

“Not really. Sometimes he'll nod at Crocker. Once in a while he'll say a word or two to me when I bring his drink.” Justin shrugged. “Mostly he just sits.”

“And drinks.”

“One drink. Same one every night. He nurses it for hours and then he leaves.”

Merritt watched Ray settle into his chair. He stared at the table in front of him, not at the menu, not at the room. Just stared at nothing.

“It's sad,” she said quietly.

“It is.” Justin set down the towel. “But it's his sad. Not ours to fix.”

She knew he was right. She'd heard him say it before. Don't push. Don't try to save him.