Page 56 of Island Girl

“I already have.” Paula met his eyes. “I'm the one who brought her to Gregory. I'm the one who's been helping her navigate all of this. She's not alone, Richard. She has people looking out for her.”

Merritt watched this exchange, something tightening in her chest. Two adults, two parents in their own way, talking about her with the seriousness of people who understood that safety wasn't guaranteed, that the world could be hard, that someone needed to be watching.

Richard nodded slowly. “I'd like to see the bar. Meet these people.”

“Of course,” Merritt said. “I was planning to take you tonight anyway. I have a set at seven-thirty.”

Paula looked at Merritt. “Have you told Justin and Crocker about the bungalow yet?”

The question caught her off guard. “Not yet. I was waiting until things were more certain.”

Richard's head turned. “You haven't told them? Why not?”

“I don't know. I just…” She fumbled for the right words. “They've done so much for me already. Given me a job, a place to live, a chance to play. I didn't want to seem ungrateful, like I was just using them as a stepping stone to something better.”

“That's not what this is,” Paula said gently. “And they wouldn't see it that way.”

“I know, but…” Merritt trailed off. The truth was harder to explain. She wasn't used to announcing her own good news, making herself the center of attention. For years, she'd organized her life around her mother's needs. Her own plans, her own dreams, had always felt like afterthoughts. Something to be whispered about, not celebrated.

“Merritt.” Her father's voice was firm. “These people took you in. They gave you a place to land when you had nowhere else to go. They deserve to hear this from you before they hear it from anyone else.”

“I was going to tell them. I just wanted to wait until?—”

“Until what? Until it was so far along that you could present it as a done deal?” Richard shook his head. “That's not fair to them. And it's not fair to you.”

“He's right,” Paula said. “Good news isn't something you have to apologize for. These people care about you. They'd want to know.”

“I'm not apologizing. I'm just…” She didn't know how to finish the sentence.

Richard reached over and took her hand. “You need to stop acting like your happiness is an inconvenience to other people.”

The words landed hard. Merritt felt them settle into her chest, pressing against something old and tender. It was the kind of thing her mother would have said. Gentle but unflinching. The truth she didn't want to hear.

“Tell them tonight,” Paula said. “After your set. They deserve to hear it from you.”

Merritt nodded slowly. “Okay. I will.”

After touring the bungalow, the three of them drove to Shorebirds, Paula in her own car, Merritt and her father in hers. The late afternoon light was golden, the kind of light that made everything on the island look like a postcard.

“I like her,” Richard said as they pulled out of the sandy drive. “Paula.”

“She's been wonderful. I don't know what I would have done without her.”

“She's practical. Direct. Doesn't sugarcoat things.” He glanced at Merritt. “Reminds me a little of your mother, actually. That same steadiness.”

“She's a nurse. I think it comes with the territory.”

“Maybe so.”

At Shorebirds, the evening crowd was just starting to filter in. Merritt led her father through the door, watching his face as he took in the string lights, the black and white fishing photos, the pottery displayed on every shelf.

“This is it,” she said. “This is where I work. Where I play.”

Crocker was behind the bar, and he looked up when they entered. His sharp eyes moved from Merritt to Richard and back again.

“The father,” he said. Not a question.

“Richard Ryan.” Richard extended his hand. “I've heard a lot about you.”