Page 40 of Island Girl

“Whenever you're ready.”

She glanced at Paula. “You staying for this?”

“That's why I'm here.”

Merritt climbed the stairs to get her guitar. Her hands were steady now when she lifted it from the case. The nerves had faded over the past few weeks, replaced by something that felt almost like belonging. This was her place. Her music. Her small corner of the world.

When she came back down, the bar had settled into that particular hush that preceded her sets. People finished their conversations, turned their chairs, made room for the music. Merritt settled onto the stool and adjusted the guitar in her lap.

She found Ray in his corner. He was already watching her.

She began to play.

The first song was one she'd written years ago, back when her mother was still well enough to sit on the porch and listen. It was about the ocean, about tides and time, about things that went out and came back again. She'd never played it for anyone but her mother. But tonight, it felt right.

Her voice filled the room, soft and clear. The words came easily, carried on a melody that felt as natural as breathing. She let herself disappear into the music, the way she always did, trusting it to do whatever it needed to do.

When she finished, the applause was warm and immediate. But Merritt wasn't looking at the crowd. She was looking at Ray.

He hadn't moved. His Jameson sat untouched, his hands rested on the table. But his face had changed. The tight lines around his jaw had softened, just slightly. His eyes, usually so flat and distant, held something that looked almost like recognition.

Like he remembered something he'd forgotten. Like the music had unlocked a door he'd sealed shut years ago.

Merritt played two more songs, then took a break. She needed water, needed air, needed a moment to process what she'd seen on Ray's face.

Paula was waiting for her at the bar.

“That song,” Paula said quietly. “The first one. Did you write that?”

“A long time ago. For my mother.”

Paula nodded slowly, her eyes still on Ray's corner. “It's beautiful. And it reached him. I could see it from here.”

“I saw it too.”

They stood together, watching Ray sit in his stillness. He hadn't left early tonight. Hadn't retreated into that vacant stare. He was present in a way Merritt hadn't seen before, his attention focused somewhere beyond the walls of the bar.

“Can I ask you something?” Paula said.

“Of course.”

“How are you sleeping? In that apartment above the bar?”

The question caught Merritt off guard. She'd gotten used to deflecting conversations about herself, turning the focus back to work or music or whoever she was talking to. But something in Paula's voice made her answer honestly.

“Not great, actually. The noise carries.” She shrugged. “I'm managing. It's fine.”

“It's not fine. You look tired.” Paula took a sip of her wine, her expression thoughtful. “I work at an assisted living facility near the causeway. One of my patients, Gregory, owns a little bungalow on the beach. He's been at the facility for almost a year now, and the place has been sitting empty.”

Merritt frowned. “I don't understand.”

“He's mentioned wanting to rent it out. Nothing formal, just someone to keep an eye on the place, maybe cover the utilities. I think he'd like knowing someone was there, taking care of it.”Paula paused, her eyes meeting Merritt's. “It's quiet. Right on the water. French doors that open to the beach.”

The image rose unbidden in Merritt's mind. A bungalow. French doors. The sound of waves instead of bar noise. A place that was hers, truly hers, not just a room above someone else's business.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you've been good for my brother. Whether you meant to be or not.” Paula set down her wine glass. “And because I think you need a place where you can breathe. Where you can play your guitar without worrying about noise complaints. Where you can figure out who you are now that you're not taking care of anyone else.”