Page 39 of Island Girl

And Ray came every night just as he’d always done. He still sat in his corner. Still ordered his Jameson and let it sit untouched. But now, when she started to play, he turned toward her. Not all at once. It happened gradually, over the course of a song or two, like he was giving himself permission in small increments. By the time she finished her first set, he'd be watching her openly, his guarded expression cracked just enough to let something through.

He hadn't spoken to her again. Not since that night, those two words. But he nodded now when he left. A small acknowledgment,barely more than a dip of his chin. She nodded back, just as small, and that was enough.

It was a conversation without words. A bridge being built one plank at a time.

Merritt didn't push. She played her songs, watched him from the corner of her eye, and let the music do whatever it was doing. She thought about Paula's warning, about burdens that couldn't be lifted. But she also thought about what Justin had said: Whatever's happening with him, it started because of you.

She wasn't trying to save Ray. She was just playing guitar in a bar on Sanibel Island, and something about that had reached him. She didn't need to understand it. She just needed to keep showing up.

On the third Thursday, Paula walked through the door.

Merritt was behind the bar, filling a drink order, when she saw her. Paula wore jeans and a soft blue blouse instead of her usual scrubs, her silver-threaded hair loose around her shoulders. She looked different outside the context of their first meeting. Softer, somehow. More tired.

Their eyes met across the room. Paula nodded once, then found a seat at the end of the bar, away from the crowd.

Justin noticed her too. He walked over and set a glass of white wine in front of her without being asked.

“Didn't expect to see you tonight,” he said.

“I wanted to see it for myself.” Paula took a sip of wine, her eyes drifting toward Ray's corner. He was already there, settled in his usual spot, his Jameson untouched. “You weren't exaggerating.”

“I never exaggerate.”

“You always exaggerate.” But Paula smiled when she said it, a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Merritt finished her drink orders and made her way down the bar. “Hi, Paula.”

“Hi yourself.” Paula studied her face for a moment, the wayshe had that first day. “Justin tells me you've become quite the attraction around here.”

“I just play guitar. People seem to like it.”

“People do.” Paula's gaze shifted to the corner again. “Some more than others.”

Merritt didn't know what to say to that. She wiped down the bar, giving her hands something to do while she searched for words.

“I'm not pushing him,” she said finally. “I promised you I wouldn't, and I'm not.”

“I know. Justin keeps me updated.” Paula set down her wine glass and turned to face Merritt fully. “I didn't come here to check up on you. I came because I needed to see it with my own eyes. What you're doing. How he's responding.”

“And?”

Paula was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was careful. “I haven't seen him look at anyone like that in years. Not since before he went overseas. Not since he was still…” She stopped, shook her head. “He's been a ghost for so long, I'd started to forget he was ever anything else.”

Merritt felt something tighten in her chest. The weight of what Paula was saying, the years of loss behind it.

“I don't know what I'm doing,” she admitted. “I'm just playing music. I don't have a plan or a strategy. I'm just…being here.”

“Maybe that's exactly what he needs.” Paula picked up her wine again. “Someone who isn't trying to fix him. Someone who's just present, without expectations.”

“That's what Justin said.”

“Justin's smarter than he looks.” Paula almost smiled. “Don't tell him I said that.”

“Your secret's safe.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the bar fill up around them. The fishermen arrived, loud andsunburned. Ed and Margie took their usual table. Dottie swept in with two friends in tow, all of them dressed for a night out.

Around seven-thirty, Crocker appeared ready to hear Merritt play.