Page 55 of Island Girl

“Hardwood floors,” he said. “Original?”

“I think so. Gregory's wife kept them polished.”

He walked to the wall and pressed his palm against it, testing something she couldn't see. “Solid construction. No give.” He looked up at the ceiling. “No water stains. That's good. Means the roof has held.”

“It's old, though. The roof.”

“Old isn't bad if it's been maintained.” He moved to the kitchen, running his hand along the counters, opening a cabinet, checking under the sink. “Plumbing looks updated. Probably done in the last twenty years.”

“You can tell that just by looking?”

“You learn things when you own a house for thirty-five years.” He straightened and looked at her. “Your mother and I replaced half the pipes in that old place. I know what new work looks like.”

He continued through the bungalow, checking windows, testing door frames, looking at things Merritt had never thought to examine. She followed him, nervous, watching his face for signs of concern.

In the bedroom, he stood at the French doors and looked out at the beach. The turquoise water stretched to the horizon, the waves rolling in soft and steady. Palm fronds swayed overhead.

“Your mother would have loved this,” he said quietly.

“I know. I think about her every time I stand here.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he turned back to the room, his practical eye returning.

“Three walls of windows. Good light, good ventilation. But hurricane season could be a concern. Do these have storm shutters?”

“I don't know. I didn't think to ask.”

“We'll find out.” He walked back through the main room, out onto the deck. He tested the railing, looked at the support beams underneath. “Deck's solid. Been rebuilt at some point. The wood's not original.”

Paula had been waiting by the car, giving them space. Now she walked up the path to join them.

“What do you think?” she asked Richard.

“I think it's well-built. Well-maintained. Someone loved this place.” He looked at Paula directly. “But I'm not just here to look at a house. I'm here to understand my daughter's situation.”

Paula nodded, unsurprised. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.” He sat down on the deck steps, and Paula and Merritt joined him. “Where does she work? Who are these people she's surrounded herself with? Is this community safe for a young woman on her own?”

Merritt felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Dad, I'm thirty years old.”

“You're still my daughter.” His voice was gentle but firm. “And you've been through a lot in the past few years. You helped take care of your mother, you broke off an engagement, you drove a thousand miles to start over. Those are big things. I just want to make sure you've landed somewhere solid.”

“She has,” Paula said. “I wouldn't have connected her with Gregory if I didn't believe that.”

Richard turned to face her fully. “Tell me about these people at the bar. This Crocker and his grandson.”

“Crocker Rawlings has been on this island for almost eighty years. He built Shorebirds with his wife June. They're an institution here. Everyone knows them, everyone respects them.” Paula's voice was steady, matter-of-fact. “His grandson Justin came down from Boston after his mother died. Left a financejob to help his grandfather. They're good people, Richard. Solid.”

“And they've been good to Merritt?”

“They gave her a job when she needed one. They gave her a place to live. And when they heard her play guitar, they gave her a stage.” Paula glanced at Merritt with something like warmth. “They see what she is. They're protective of her.”

“And the community? The people who come to the bar?”

“Regulars, mostly. Locals. People who've been coming to Shorebirds for years.” Paula paused. “This island takes care of its own. We're small enough that everyone watches out for everyone else. If something were wrong, if someone were bothering Merritt, people would notice. People would step in.”

“Would you?”