Page 76 of Island Girl

The nephew approached her, his hand extended. “You're Merritt, right? The one who's been living in the bungalow?”

“Yes.”

“Uncle Greg talked about you. Said you told him stories about the birds.” The nephew's smile was thin, polite. “He appreciated that. He really did.”

“He was a wonderful man.”

“He was.” The nephew glanced at his watch. “I have a flight to catch. The lawyer will be in touch about the sale. Your father and I have been in contact. Should be finalized in the next few weeks.”

And then he was gone, climbing into a rental car and driving away, leaving Gregory's entire life to be sorted out by strangers and paperwork.

Paula touched her arm. “You okay?”

“I don't know.”

“That's fair.” Paula looked tired, her face drawn, her eyes shadowed. She hadn't found Ray yet. They both knew it, and neither of them mentioned it. “I have to get back to work. Will you be all right?”

“I'll be fine.”

Paula didn't look convinced, but she nodded and walked toher car. Justin lingered for a moment, his hand warm on Merritt's shoulder.

“I can stay,” he said. “If you need me to.”

“Go. I know you have to open the bar.”

“Crocker can handle it for a while.”

“Go,” she said again, more firmly. “I'll be okay.”

He studied her face, then leaned in and kissed her forehead, a brief, gentle pressure that made her chest ache. “Call me if you need anything. I mean it.”

Then he was gone too, and Merritt was alone on the sidewalk, watching the last of the mourners drift away. The funeral home staff began folding chairs inside. The minister shook her hand and murmured something about God's plan. She nodded and said thank you and didn't believe a word of it.

“Walk with me.”

She turned. Crocker stood a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

“What?”

“I said walk with me. There's a park around the corner. I need some air, and so do you.”

She didn't have the energy to argue. She fell into step beside him, and they walked in silence past the parking lot, past a strip mall, past a row of palm trees swaying in the breeze. The park was small, just a patch of grass with a few benches and a fountain that had seen better days. Crocker lowered himself onto one of the benches and patted the space beside him.

Merritt sat.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fountain gurgled. A mockingbird sang from somewhere nearby, cycling through its repertoire of stolen songs.

“Your father told me about you,” Crocker said finally.

Merritt looked at him. “What?”

“That night at the bar. While you were playing. He told me about your mother, the years you spent taking care of her. Theway you gave up everything trying to save her.” Crocker's voice was matter-of-fact, but not unkind. “He told me about the boyfriend, the wedding you ran away from, all of it.”

She didn't know what to say. She hadn't known Richard had shared so much.

“He wasn't gossiping,” Crocker continued. “He was worried about you. And he was right to be.” He turned to look at her, his blue eyes sharp. “You're doing it again.”

“Doing what?”