Page 90 of Island Girl

It wasn't a miracle. It wasn't a cure. But it was the first real progress she'd seen in years. And right now, that was enough.

Merritt was behind the bar when Ray walked in. Her heart skipped a beat seeing him. She tried not to show emotion but her insides were shaking with happiness.

It was late, almost closing time. The dinner crowd had thinned out, just a few stragglers nursing their drinks and a couple at a corner table sharing dessert. Justin was in the back, doing inventory. Crocker had gone home an hour ago.

She saw him in the doorway and froze, her hand still wrapped around the glass she'd been drying. He looked different. Not better, exactly, but different. Something in his posture had shifted, some invisible weight redistributed.

He walked to the bar instead of his usual corner. He sat down on one of the stools, right in front of her, and met her eyes.

“Coke, please,” he said.

Merritt blinked. “What?”

“A Coke. If you have it.”

She set down the glass and reached for the soda gun, her movements automatic. She filled a glass with ice and Coke and set it in front of him. He wrapped his hands around it like it was something precious.

“I owe you an apology,” he said.

“Ray, you don't have to.”

“Yes, I do.” He took a breath. “What I said to you that night. It was cruel. It was wrong. And you didn't deserve any of it.”

“I pushed too hard. Paula told me you used to play, and Ithought maybe if I mentioned it, something would open up. I should have minded my own business.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You were trying to help. I knew that, even when I was saying those things. But I've spent so long pushing people away that I don't know how to do anything else. When someone gets too close, I attack. It's what I do.” He looked down at his Coke. “It's what I've always done.”

“I'm sorry for what you've been through. I don't know the details, but I know it was bad. And I know it's not my place to try to fix it.”

“No one can fix it. That's what I'm starting to understand.” He took a sip of his Coke. “But maybe I don't have to fix it alone.”

Merritt leaned against the bar, watching him. He looked tired, bone-deep tired, but there was something else there too. Something that almost looked like hope.

“Paula found me,” he said. “We talked. Really talked, for the first time in years.” He set down the glass. “She wants me to go to the VA. Get some help.”

“Are you going to?”

“I'm considering it.” He almost smiled. “That's as far as I've gotten. Considering.”

“That's a start.”

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

They were quiet for a moment. The couple at the corner table got up and left, waving goodnight to Merritt as they went. The bar was almost empty now, just Ray and the silence and the soft music playing from the speakers.

“You're really good, you know,” Ray said. “Your music. I never told you that.”

“You said 'good music' a few times. I counted.”

He smiled and it was the first time Merritt had seen him show actual joy.

“I meant it. You remind me of someone I used to know.” He paused. “Someone I used to be.”

“Paula said you used to play. Piano, guitar, sang.”

“A long time ago. Before everything.” He looked at the glass in his hands. “I haven't touched an instrument in a long time. Haven't sung a note. I couldn't. It felt like that part of me died over there, along with everything else.”

“Maybe it's still there. Maybe it's just waiting.”