Chapter 5 #2
"You just love me," Grandma Sarah finished for her. "And I love you too. Now, tell me about your new guest. The one from Maine who came because of my video. Is she settling in?"
Maggie smiled, allowing the subject change. "She is. Her name is Merritt Ryan. She's a teacher—or was. I think she's figuring things out right now."
"Ah." Grandma Sarah's voice held understanding.
"Captiva is good for that. That's why I made sure I featured the inn so prominently in my video.
The inn is a special place and people need to know about it.
I might have mentioned Captiva is almost like a retreat. I think that must have done the trick."
"You did that on purpose?" Maggie raised an eyebrow, though her mother couldn't see it.
"Of course I did," Grandma Sarah replied matter-of-factly. "Some people need a little nudge toward where they need to be. If I can help someone overcome their problems by suggesting they come to Captiva, then so be it."
"How could you possibly know how things will turn out in the end? Not every problem is solved by spending a day on the beach."
"Intuition," her mother said simply. "The same way I knew that Paolo was right for you the first time I met him. Some things you just know."
Before Maggie could respond, she heard the sound of footsteps on the inn's front stairs. Early risers heading out for a beach walk most likely.
"I need to go, Mom. Guests are stirring."
"Go feed your flock," Grandma Sarah said warmly. "And Maggie? Don't worry so much. Life's too short for that, especially at my age."
"I'll try," Maggie promised. "Love you, Mom."
"Love you too, sweetheart."
As Maggie ended the call, she found herself smiling despite her lingering concerns.
Her mother had always lived life on her own terms, but the van life adventure had unleashed a new level of fearlessness in her.
Perhaps there was something to be learned from her mother's approach—embracing each day as an adventure rather than a series of potential disasters to be managed.
The aroma of freshly baked scones had begun to fill the inn, a silent invitation to early risers. Maggie rose and headed to the kitchen to prepare the rest of breakfast, her mind still on her mother's words about Merritt Ryan.
Some people need a little nudge toward where they need to be.
She wondered what nudge Captiva might have in store for their newest guest.
Outside on the beach, Merritt Ryan walked alone along the water's edge.
She'd woken before dawn, the unfamiliar bed and lingering travel fatigue disrupting her sleep.
Rather than lie awake listening to the inn's quiet breathing, she'd slipped out with just her phone and a light jacket against the morning chill.
The beach was empty at this hour, the sand cool beneath her bare feet.
Tiny sandpipers darted along the shoreline, probing the wet sand with their beaks, unconcerned by her presence.
She walked slowly, stopping occasionally to pick up shells or watch the pelicans dive into the Gulf waters with surprising grace for such ungainly-looking birds.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She knew without looking that it would be another message from her mother.
There had been three since yesterday—increasingly concerned texts asking about her plans, her job, when she was coming home.
Merritt had responded to the first with a brief "I'm fine, just need some time," but had let the others sit unanswered.
Guilt tugged at her, a familiar companion. Marion Ryan had always been an anxious mother, her love expressed through worry and careful planning. Merritt's unexpected departure had undoubtedly thrown her into a tailspin of concern.
But for once, Merritt couldn't bring herself to offer the reassurances that would smooth things over. She needed this space, this distance, this chance to hear her own thoughts without her mother's well-meaning voice drowning them out.
She pulled out her phone, intending to at least check the messages, when movement farther down the beach caught her eye.
A figure was emerging from a path between the dunes, headed toward the water.
Even from a distance, Merritt recognized Maggie from the inn, her blonde hair catching the early light.
Merritt hesitated, unsure whether to continue her solitary walk or acknowledge her host. Before she could decide, Maggie spotted her and raised a hand in greeting. Decision made, Merritt waved back and began walking in her direction.
"Early riser?" Maggie asked as they met halfway.
"New place," Merritt explained. "I always sleep badly the first few nights somewhere unfamiliar."
Maggie nodded in understanding. "I'm the same way. Hotels are torture for me—all those strange sounds and different pillows."
"Exactly," Merritt agreed, surprised by the immediate connection. "My mother never understands. She can sleep anywhere, anytime."
"Sounds like my daughter Lauren." Maggie laughed. "She once fell asleep standing up at a concert. Her brother had to prop her against a wall until the encore finished."
Merritt smiled, trying to imagine the family dynamics that would lead to such a scenario. Last night's dinner had given her glimpses of the connections between Maggie's family members, but it was clear there were years of shared history beneath every interaction.
"I'm heading back to start breakfast," Maggie said. "Orange cranberry scones just came out of the oven. You're welcome to continue your walk, of course, but if you're hungry..."
The mention of freshly baked scones made Merritt's stomach rumble audibly. She hadn't eaten much at dinner, too self-conscious among the family gathering.
"That sounds amazing," she admitted.
They turned and began walking together toward the inn, a dolphin's fin broke the surface of the water, then another, a mother and calf perhaps, navigating the morning tide together.
Merritt stole a glance at Maggie's profile—serene, confident, somehow both formidable and welcoming.
There was something about her that reminded Merritt of her favorite elementary school principal, Mrs. Harlow, who had always seemed to know exactly what each child needed before they knew it themselves.
"Can I ask you something?" Merritt said suddenly.
"Of course," Maggie replied.
"How did you know...that this was where you belonged? Captiva, I mean."
Maggie was quiet for a moment, considering the question.
"I didn't, at first," she said finally. "Our family visited the island for many summers.
When I came here after my first husband died, it was just supposed to be a temporary escape—somewhere to catch my breath before facing real life again. But the island had other ideas."
"What do you mean?"
"Places choose people sometimes, not the other way around," Maggie said, her eyes on the horizon. "I started to notice that I could breathe more easily here. I slept better. Colors seemed brighter. And one morning I woke up and realized I didn't want to leave, ever."
Merritt nodded slowly, absorbing this. "And your family? Were they already here?"
"No." Maggie laughed softly. "They thought I'd lost my mind when Paolo and I took over the inn. My kids were grown, but they were settled in Massachusetts, with their lives and careers. My mother was the only one who seemed to understand immediately."
"But now they're coming here too," Merritt observed, remembering the dinner conversation. "Lauren just moved, and Christopher might be next?"
"Life has a way of circling back," Maggie agreed. "Though Beth will probably never leave her New England roots. Some people know exactly where they belong from the start."
They reached the path leading back to the inn, shells crunching beneath their feet as they left the softer beach sand.
"And what about you, Merritt?" Maggie asked gently. "Are you running from something, or toward something?"
The question caught Merritt off guard with its directness. "I'm not sure," she admitted after a moment. "Maybe both?"
Maggie nodded, accepting this answer without pressing further. "Well, sometimes you have to get away from one thing before you can see clearly what you're moving toward. Captiva has a way of helping with that process."
As they approached the inn, the scent of freshly baked scones wafted through the open windows. Iris could be seen through the kitchen window, arranging fruit on a platter. The day was beginning in earnest now, the peaceful solitude of early morning giving way to activity and purpose.
"Thank you," Merritt said suddenly.
"For what?" Maggie looked at her, curious.
"For not asking all the questions I can see you want to ask." Merritt smiled faintly. "About why I'm here, what I'm doing, what my plans are."
Maggie returned the smile. "Oh, I'm definitely curious. But some journeys need to unfold at their own pace. And besides," she added, holding the door open for Merritt to enter, "scones taste better when they're not served with interrogation."
As they stepped into the warm kitchen, Merritt felt something inside her relax slightly.
She wasn't ready to share her story—the canceled wedding, the suffocating expectations, the growing realization that she'd been living someone else's version of her life.
But for the first time in months, she felt like she might eventually find the words to explain it, even to herself.
And that, perhaps, was a beginning.