Page 68 of Island Girl

“Then he enlisted,” Paula continued. “Right after 9/11. He was twenty-five, full of fire. He wanted to do something that mattered. Four deployments. Each one took a little more of him.”

“And the music?”

“Gone. All of it. He won't even listen to the radio. Turns off the jukebox at the VFW if someone puts on a song.” She looked at Merritt. “But he sits in that corner at Shorebirds and listens to you. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he's there. He doesn't leave when you play. He stays.”

The sun had slipped below the horizon now, leaving the sky streaked with purple and gold. The first stars were appearing.

“Why are you telling me this?” Merritt asked softly.

“Because I've watched you, too. The way you check on him without being obvious about it. The way you don't push, don't pry. You just play, and you let him be.” Paula reached over andsqueezed her hand. “You're the first person who's reached him in years, Merritt. And you did it just by being yourself.”

“I didn't do anything.”

“You played. You opened a door. Whether he walks through it is up to him.” Paula let go of her hand and stood up. “I should go. Early shift tomorrow.”

Merritt walked her to the door, her mind still processing everything Paula had shared.

“Paula,” she said as Paula stepped out onto the sandy path. “Thank you. For telling me.”

Paula nodded. “Just…be patient with him. Whatever happens. He's been lost for a long time. Finding his way back won't happen overnight.”

“I understand.”

Paula smiled, a little sadly. “I know you do. That's why I told you.”

Merritt watched her drive away, then went back to the deck. The stars were bright now, scattered across the dark sky like spilled salt. The waves kept their steady rhythm, in and out, in and out.

Ray used to play.

She thought about him sitting in that corner, night after night, listening to music he'd once made himself. What did he hear when she played? What memories surfaced? What pain?

She thought about her own years of silence, the music she'd given up because it felt like a betrayal of her mother's suffering. She'd found her way back. Was it possible for Ray to find his way back too?

It wasn't her job to save him. She knew that. Paula had said it herself—no one could fix him. But maybe she could keep playing. Keep leaving the door open. And maybe, someday, he'd be ready to walk through it.

She stayed on the deck until the night grew cool, thinkingabout music and loss and the strange ways people find each other.

When she finally went inside, she picked up her guitar and played softly in the dark, for no one but herself.

CHAPTER 21

Merritt couldn't stop thinking about Ray.

She went through her days as usual. Morning coffee on the deck, afternoon shifts at Shorebirds, evening sets on Tuesdays and Thursdays. But underneath it all, Paula's words played on a loop in her mind.

Ray used to play.

She found herself watching him differently now. When he came in each evening and took his seat in the corner, she noticed things she hadn't noticed before. The way his fingers sometimes moved against his thigh, almost imperceptibly, as if they remembered patterns his mind had tried to forget. The way his eyes closed during certain songs, not in sleep but in something that looked almost like prayer. The way he tilted his head when she shifted keys, like a musician listening for the change.

He heard everything. She understood that now. He wasn't just sitting there, tuning out the world. He was listening with the ears of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. Every chord progression, every vocal choice, every breath between phrases.

It made her self-conscious in a way she hadn't been before. And it made her want to reach him even more.

On Wednesday, she visited Gregory at Seaside Gardens. He was having a tired day, his voice thin and his eyes heavy, but he smiled when she came in.

“Tell me about the birds,” he said.

So she did. The osprey family that had taken up residence near the bungalow. The painted bunting that came to the feeder every morning, so bright it looked like something from a dream. The pelican that dove for fish while she drank her coffee, its prehistoric silhouette against the sunrise.