Page 29 of Island Girl

Maybe she was right. Maybe kindness without expectation wasn't dangerous. Maybe it was exactly what Ray needed, even if he didn't know it yet.

Or maybe Paula was right, and this could end badly for everyone.

Either way, Justin couldn't stop it now. All he could do was watch and wait, and hope.

The bar began to fill. The night stretched ahead of them. And somewhere out there, Ray Maguire was getting ready to walk through the door.

CHAPTER 9

Three days passed before Merritt stopped thinking about Paula Maguire.

Or rather, three days passed before she stopped thinking about her constantly. The conversation replayed in her head during quiet moments, while she wiped down tables, while she stocked the bar, while she lay in bed watching the ceiling fan turn slow circles above her.

Some burdens can only be set down by the person carrying them.

Paula wasn't wrong. Merritt knew that. She'd learned it the hard way, sitting beside her mother's bed for years, watching a disease she couldn't cure slowly steal everything. There had been moments, especially near the end, when she'd wanted so badly to take her mother's pain and carry it herself. To lift that weight off her shoulders, even for a day.

But she couldn't. No one could. All she could do was sit there, hold her mother's hand, and bear witness.

Maybe that's what Paula was trying to tell her. That bearing witness was enough. That sometimes the kindest thing you could do for someone was simply to see them, without trying to fix what couldn't be fixed.

Merritt understood that. She did.

But understanding and accepting were different things.

On Thursday evening, a week after Paula's visit, the bar was quieter than usual. A summer storm had rolled in around five, darkening the sky and sending most of the tourists scurrying back to their hotels. Rain drummed against the windows in steady sheets, and the air smelled like wet sand and ozone.

Ed and Margie had come in anyway, because nothing kept them from their usual table. The fishermen were absent, probably riding out the storm at home. Dottie Hutchins sat at the bar nursing a glass of red wine, chatting with Crocker about something that made him almost smile.

And Ray was in his corner. Same as always.

Merritt watched him from across the room while she polished glasses. He'd arrived later than usual tonight, around nine instead of eight. His clothes were damp from the rain, his hair slicked back from his face. He sat with his hands wrapped around his untouched Jameson, staring at something no one else could see.

He's a person, not a ghost.

That's what she'd told Justin. And she meant it. But the truth was, Ray made it hard to remember. He moved through the world like he was already gone, already faded into the background. If you didn't know to look for him, you might not see him at all.

But Merritt saw him. Every night, she saw him.

The storm picked up outside, thunder rolling across the sky like distant drums. A flash of lightning lit the windows, and for just a moment, the whole bar went silver. Merritt blinked, her eyes adjusting back to the warm glow of the string lights.

“Slow night,” Justin said, appearing beside her. He grabbed a towel and started drying the glasses she'd washed. “Storm's keeping everyone home.”

“I don't mind. It's peaceful.”

“If you like this now, wait until tourist season really kicks in. You'll be dreaming about slow nights.”

Merritt smiled but didn't respond. Her eyes drifted back to Ray's corner.

Justin followed her gaze. He didn't say anything, but she felt his attention sharpen. They hadn't talked about Paula since that afternoon. An unspoken agreement to let the subject rest.

“Hey,” Justin said quietly. “I've been meaning to ask you something.”

“What?”

“That guitar case in your apartment. I noticed it the other day when I went up to check the air conditioner.”

Merritt's hands stilled on the glass she was holding. “What about it?”