Page 98 of Island Girl

And then, at seven fifteen, Ray walked in.

Merritt watched him from across the room. He looked better than he had in months. His shoulders were straighter, his eyes clearer. He nodded at Justin as he took his usual stool at the bar.

“Coke and a cheeseburger,” she heard him say. The same thing he ordered every night now. The same small victory repeated over and over.

Heather had gone very still beside her.

“That's him,” she whispered. “That's my father.”

“Don't look too long. We don't want him to notice you yet.”

“He looks so different. From the pictures, I mean. He looks…” She searched for the word. “Tired. But also, I don't know. Alive?”

“He's working on it. One day at a time.”

Merritt's set started at eight. She took the small stage with her guitar, settling onto the stool, adjusting the microphone. The familiar routine calmed her nerves. This part she knew. This part she could do.

She played her usual songs. The ones about the ocean and the sunset and finding your way home. She watched Ray out of the corner of her eye. He was eating his cheeseburger, his attention half on the food and half on the music. Every now and then, his eyes would drift closed, and she could see something moving behind his face. Not pain, exactly. More like remembering.

After an hour, she took a short break. She walked to Heather's table, her heart pounding.

“You still want to do this?”

“Yes.” Heather's voice was steady now. Whatever fear she'd been feeling had settled into something harder, more determined. “I've been waiting all this time. I'm not backing out now.”

“Okay. When I go back up, I'll do two more songs. Then I'll introduce you as a friend who wants to share something. Just come up, take the guitar, and sing. Don't look at him until you're done. Just focus on the song.”

“And if he runs?”

“Then we'll deal with that. But I don't think he will.” Merritt squeezed her hand. “I think he's been waiting for this too. He just doesn't know it yet.”

She went back to the stage. Two more songs. Her fingers moved automatically over the strings, but her mind was elsewhere, watching the clock, counting down the moments until everything changed.

When she finished the second song, she leaned into the microphone.

“I've got a special guest tonight,” she said. “A friend who came a long way to be here. She's got a song she wants to share with you all. Please welcome Heather.”

A smattering of applause. Ray looked up from his empty plate, curious but unsuspecting.

Heather walked to the stage. She moved carefully, like someone walking a tightrope, her eyes fixed on Merritt's guitar as Merritt handed it over. She sat down on the stool, adjusted the strap, and took a breath.

“This is a song I've known my whole life,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “I didn't know where it came from until a few years ago. But it's always been with me. Like a piece of home I didn't know I was carrying.”

She began to play.

The melody was simple. A lullaby, soft and gentle, the kind of song you'd sing to a baby in the quiet hours of the night. Hervoice was sweet and clear, nothing like Ray's gravel-and-honey sound, but beautiful in its own way.

The words were about stars and dreams and a father's love. About watching over someone while they slept, about promising to always be there, about the way a child could hold your whole heart in their tiny hands.

Merritt watched Ray.

For the first few bars, he didn't react. He sat very still, his Coke untouched, his eyes on the young woman on the stage. And then something shifted. A flicker of recognition. A crack in the wall he'd built around himself.

His face went pale. His hands gripped the edge of the bar like he was holding on for dear life.

Heather kept singing. Her eyes were closed now, the words coming from somewhere deep inside her, from that place where she'd carried this song for years without knowing why.

Ray stood up.