Page 23 of Island Girl

He picked up his phone again and looked at Paula's number.

Not yet, he decided. But soon.

He put the phone away and went back to work.

The bar closed at eleven on weeknights.

By eleven-thirty, the last customers were gone and Merritt had headed upstairs. Justin finished wiping down the bar while Crocker counted out the register, his reading glasses perched on his nose.

They worked in easy silence, the way they always did. No need to fill the quiet with words. That was one of the things Justin appreciated most about his grandfather. The man knew when to talk and when to just be.

“Good night tonight,” Crocker said finally, closing the register. “Busy but not crazy.”

“Merritt's getting the hang of it.”

“She is.” Crocker took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “She's got good instincts. She reads people well.”

Justin thought about the way she watched Ray. “Maybe too well.”

Crocker looked at him. “You worried about something?”

“Not yet.” Justin hung up his towel. “Just keeping an eye on things.”

Crocker nodded slowly. He didn't push. That wasn't his way. If Justin wanted to say more, he would. If he didn't, that was fine too.

“You heading out?” Justin asked.

“In a minute. Thought I'd sit on the deck for a bit. Clear my head.”

Justin knew what that meant. Crocker would sit in his usual chair, the one facing the water, and he'd talk to June. Tell her about the day. The customers, the food, whatever was on his mind. He'd been doing it every day for twelve years, ever since she died.

“I'll lock up,” Justin said.

“Appreciate it.” Crocker put a hand on his shoulder as he passed. “You're doing good, son. Your mother would be proud.”

The words hit Justin harder than he expected. He swallowed and nodded. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

Crocker headed out to the deck, and Justin watched him go. Eighty years old and still going strong. Still running this place, still making pottery, still talking to his dead wife like she could hear him.

Maybe she could. Justin didn't know. But he envied the certainty Crocker seemed to have. The faith that love didn't end just because someone was gone.

He finished locking up and stepped outside. The night was warm and quiet, the moon hanging low over the water. He could see Crocker on the deck, silhouetted against the silver light, his lips moving in a conversation only he could hear.

Justin walked to his truck, parked at the far end of the lot. He'd bought it when he moved here, trading in the sleek sedan he'd driven in Boston. The sedan had been his father's idea. “You need to look the part,” Glen had said. “People judge you by what you drive.”

People judge you. That was Glen's whole philosophy. What people thought, what people saw, what people expected. It had governed every decision he'd ever made, including the decision to take Annette away from this island and build a life she never wanted.

Justin climbed into the truck and sat for a moment, not starting the engine.

He thought about his father. They hadn't spoken in six months. Not since the funeral, really. They'd exchanged a few texts, awkward and formal, but nothing real. Glen had made it clear he thought Justin was wasting his life down here. “Running a bar,” he'd said, the disappointment sharp in his voice. “After everything we gave you. After all the opportunities.”

Jared was still in Boston, still doing what Glen wanted. Working at the same firm, wearing the same suits, driving the same kind of car. The good son. The one who stayed on the path.

Justin had been that son once. For years, he'd done everything right. The right schools, the right job, the right apartment. He'd even dated the right women, women his father approved of. Women who fit the image.

And he'd been miserable.

It wasn't until his mother got sick that he started to question it. Sitting by her bed in those final months, watching her slip away, he'd had too much time to think. She'd never said it outright, but he knew she'd been unhappy. She'd missed the island, missed the life she'd left behind. She'd loved Glen, in her way, but she'd given up too much to be with him.