Page 66 of Island Girl

“Have you heard from your father?” Paula asked.

“He called when he landed. And again this morning, just to check in.” Merritt smiled. “He's already talking to a realtor about listing the Maine house.”

“That was fast.”

“He doesn't waste time once he makes up his mind. Never has.” She took a sip of wine. “He said to thank you again, by the way. For driving him to the airport.”

“It was nothing. I was happy to do it.” Paula watched the pelican surface, its pouch bulging. “We had a nice talk on the drive. He told me a little about his work, the books he's written.”

“He's proud of those books. They're his life's work, really. Nature and conservation writing.”

“He mentioned a book about the Everglades. Said he spent a week photographing roseate spoonbills.” Paula smiled slightly. “The way he described it, I could picture the whole scene. The dawn light, the birds feeding in the shallows.”

“That's Dad. He sees the world differently. Everything is a story to him.”

“He talked about you, too.” Paula glanced at her. “How proud he is of you. How worried he was when you first drove down here, and how relieved he is now that he's seen the life you're building.”

Merritt felt warmth spread through her chest. “He worries too much.”

“That's what fathers do.” Paula was quiet for a moment, turning her wine glass slowly in her hands. “He seems like a good man. Solid.”

“He is. The best.”

“It must have been hard for him. Losing your mother, watching you struggle, being alone in that house.” Paula's voice was thoughtful. “He mentioned his friends in Maine. Pokernights, neighbors who check on him. But it's not the same, is it? After you've shared your life with someone for that long.”

“No. It's not the same.” Merritt studied Paula's profile. There was something careful in the way she was asking these questions, something Merritt couldn't quite name. “He's lonely. He doesn't say it, but I can tell. The house feels different without her.”

“I imagine it does.”

“That's part of why he wants to sell it. Too many memories, maybe. Or maybe he just needs a fresh start.” Merritt paused. “He talked about eventually moving down here. Once things are settled.”

Paula nodded slowly, her eyes on the horizon. “This would be a good place for a fresh start. The weather alone would be worth it. No more Maine winters.”

“That's exactly what he said.”

The conversation drifted into comfortable silence. Merritt noticed that Paula hadn't asked any more questions about Richard, but something about the way she'd listened, the way she'd lingered on certain details, stayed with her. She filed it away without examining it too closely.

“How are you doing?” Paula asked, shifting the subject. “Really?”

“I'm good. Better than good.” Merritt settled back into her chair. “It's strange, being here alone. But strange in a good way. I keep waiting for someone to need something from me, and then I remember that no one does.”

“That's a big shift.”

“It is.” She watched the pelican dive again. “For so long, my whole life was organized around someone else's needs. My mother's illness, the schedule of medications and appointments. Even after she died, I felt like I was still waiting for the next crisis.”

Paula nodded slowly. “And now?”

“Now I wake up and the day is just…mine. I can do whatever I want with it.” She laughed softly. “I'm still learning what that means.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the waves roll in. The sun was starting its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the clouds pink at the edges.

“Can I ask you something?” Paula said.

“Of course.”

“Your music. How long had you stopped playing before you came here?”

Merritt thought about it. “Years. I played a little for my mother, toward the end. Old songs she loved. But performing, playing for myself? I gave that up when she got sick.”