Page 95 of Island Girl

Paula called on Saturday morning.

Merritt was on the deck, drinking coffee and watching birds at the feeder, when her phone buzzed. She almost didn't answer. The morning was too peaceful, the sun too warm, the birds too content. But something made her reach for it anyway.

“Can you come over?” Paula's voice was strange. Tight. Not quite worried, but close to it.

“Is everything okay? Is it Ray?”

“Ray's fine. He's at his place. This is something else.” A pause. “Someone's here. Someone I need you to meet.”

“Who?”

“Just come. Please. I'll explain when you get here.”

Merritt showered and dressed and drove to Paula's house, her mind turning over possibilities. A friend from out of town. A family member she hadn't mentioned. Something to do with work, maybe, or with the VA program Ray had started.

She parked in the driveway behind an unfamiliar car. A rental, from the looks of it. Florida plates. She walked up the porch stepsand knocked, and Paula opened the door almost immediately, as if she'd been waiting right there.

“Thank you for coming.” Paula stepped aside to let her in. “I know this is sudden.”

“What's going on?”

“There's someone in the living room. Someone who came a long way to be here.” Paula put a hand on Merritt's arm. “Just keep an open mind. Okay?”

Merritt followed her through the narrow hallway and into the living room. And stopped.

A young woman sat on Paula's couch. She was maybe twenty, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and sharp eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. She was pretty, in a quiet way, with a nervousness about her that showed in the way she kept folding and unfolding her hands in her lap.

But that wasn't what made Merritt stop.

It was the face. The shape of the jaw, the set of the shoulders, the way she held herself like she was bracing for something. Merritt had seen that face before. She saw it every night at Shorebirds, sitting at the bar, working on a Coke and a cheeseburger.

“Merritt,” Paula said, “this is Heather. Ray's daughter.”

Merritt felt the floor shift beneath her feet. “His daughter?”

The young woman stood up, extending her hand. “It's nice to meet you. Paula's told me a lot about you.”

Merritt shook her hand automatically, her mind struggling to catch up. Ray had a daughter. Ray, who sat alone every night, who had pushed everyone away, who had spent years running from something he couldn't name. Ray had a daughter, and she was standing right here in Paula's living room.

“I didn't know he had a daughter,” Merritt said, looking at Paula. “You never mentioned…”

“There's a lot I never mentioned.” Paula's voice was gentle. “Itwasn't my story to tell. But now Heather's here, and I think you need to hear it. All of it.”

They sat down, all three of them, Paula in the armchair and Merritt and Heather on opposite ends of the couch. The morning light came through the windows, making everything feel soft and slightly unreal.

“Ray was married,” Paula began. “A long time ago. To a woman named Julie. They got married young, had Heather, and for a few years, everything was good.”

“I was four when he left,” Heather said. “Four years, three months, and twelve days. Not that I was counting.” Her laugh was hollow. “I used to mark it on a calendar. Every year on the anniversary, I'd add another tally. I stopped when I turned thirteen. Seemed pointless after a while.”

“He left his family?” Merritt looked between them, trying to piece it together. “Why?”

“Because he thought he was protecting us.” Heather's voice was steady, but Merritt could hear the old pain underneath. “He came back from his last deployment and he was different. Quieter. Angrier. He'd wake up screaming in the middle of the night, and when Mom tried to comfort him, he'd push her away. He started drinking. Started disappearing for days at a time. The nightmares, the flashbacks, the rage that would come out of nowhere. He was terrified he'd hurt someone. So one morning, he just left.”

“He's been running ever since,” Paula added. “From Julie, from Heather, from himself. He convinced himself they were better off without him.”

“Sixteen years,” Merritt said softly. “He's been carrying that for sixteen years.”

“Longer than that. The war broke something in him before he ever came home.” Heather unfolded her hands and pressed them flat against her knees. “I spent years being angry. Years feelinglike I wasn't enough. Like if I'd been a better daughter, he would have stayed. It took a long time to understand that it had nothing to do with me. That he was fighting something I couldn't even imagine.”