Chapter 20
T he inn's garden was quiet except for Paolo and Lexie walking up and down the winding path passing the vegetable plants. Most guests were still asleep or just beginning to stir. One, in particular was Merritt Ryan, who was due to check out today. Maggie felt sad to see her go and couldn’t tell if Merritt was happy or sad about it.
Like Sarah’s best friend, Emma, Maggie felt a maternal connection with Merritt, and no matter what the young woman was going through, Maggie wanted their last interaction to be a pleasant one.
A platter with coffee and scones sat on the table under the gazebo, and Maggie sat waiting for Merritt to find her. She didn’t have to wait long.
Merritt approached slowly, her backpack slung over one shoulder and her guitar case in hand.
She'd already loaded her suitcase into her car, the blue Subaru now pointed toward the mainland, toward the long journey north.
Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and the dark circles under her eyes suggested she hadn't slept much, if at all.
"I thought we might have one more coffee before you go," Maggie said, gesturing to the empty chair across from her. "Unless you're in a hurry to get on the road?"
Merritt shook her head and set her guitar case carefully against the gazebo railing before taking the offered seat.
"No, I...thank you. Coffee would be nice. I’m sorry I’m not staying the full two weeks.
” She wrapped her hands around the warm mug, her eyes fixed on the steam rising from its surface.
"I feel like apologizing for leaving. You’ve got a wonderful community here, and they’ve sort of adopted me. "
"No need for apologies," Maggie assured her, adding a splash of cream to her own coffee. "Life happens, plans change. It's the nature of things, and yes, you’re right, we certainly have an interesting cast of characters on this island. They all mean well, though. I hope you know that."
Merritt nodded, sipped her coffee.
For a moment, neither woman spoke. A monarch butterfly drifted lazily through the gazebo, its orange wings vivid against the white paint, before continuing on its journey through the garden.
"I need to go home," Merritt said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "My mother is dying."
The words hung in the air between them, raw and unvarnished. Maggie nodded silently, giving Merritt the space to continue at her own pace.
"She's been sick for a long time," Merritt continued, finally looking up to meet Maggie's eyes.
"Fourteen years. I was sixteen when she was first diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.
It started with little things—dropping a glass, stumbling on stairs she'd climbed thousands of times.
By the time I graduated high school, she needed a cane.
By my sophomore year of college, it was a wheelchair. "
"That's a heavy burden for a young person to carry," Maggie said gently.
Merritt gave a small, humorless laugh. "Everyone said that—my teachers, my friends' parents.
How brave I was, how strong. But I never felt brave.
I felt...trapped." She took a sip of her coffee, as if gathering strength from its warmth.
"I chose the local college instead of the music program I'd been accepted to in Boston. Lived at home to help my dad care for her. Scheduled my classes around her doctors’ appointments. It just seemed...expected."
"And no one questioned this arrangement?" Maggie asked.
"My father tried, once or twice. Said I should go live my life, that they'd manage.
But you should have seen the look on my mother's face when he said it.
Not angry or manipulative, just...hurt. So deeply hurt that I couldn't bear it.
" Merritt traced a finger around the rim of her mug.
"And truthfully, I don't think they would have managed without me.
Dad was working full-time, and the care she needed was becoming more intensive each year. "
Maggie nodded, understanding in her eyes. She'd witnessed similar situations among friends and family—the way illness could reorganize entire family systems, creating roles that became increasingly difficult to step out of.
“I take it you’re an only child?” Maggie asked.
Merritt nodded. “Yes. I’m sure things would be different if I’d had a brother or sister.”
Maggie thought of her own children and how they leaned on each other in difficult times.
"So that's what I did," Merritt continued. "I built my life in a ten-mile radius around her needs. Became an elementary school music teacher because the hours were predictable and the summers were free. Made friends who understood that my availability was always conditional. And then I met Weston."
She paused, a mixture of emotions crossing her face at the mention of his name—regret, fondness, guilt.
"Weston was...stable. Reliable. A high school history teacher with a perfectly ordinary life.
His parents lived nearby. He had deep roots in the community.
On our third date, he mentioned that he'd never lived more than twenty miles from where he was born, and he said it with such pride.
" Merritt shook her head, a sad smile playing at her lips.
"I thought that was exactly what I needed—someone who wouldn't ask me to leave, who understood the concept of staying put no matter what. "
"And your mother liked him," Maggie guessed.
"She adored him," Merritt confirmed. "He was so kind to her, always patient with her increasing limitations.
She started referring to him as her son almost immediately after we began dating.
" She paused, her gaze drifting toward the ocean beyond the garden.
"When he proposed after two years, it felt like the natural next step. The expected one."
A blue jay landed on the gazebo railing, bold and curious, before deciding the women weren't interesting enough to investigate further and flew off toward the denser trees.
"The wedding planning took over everything," Merritt continued.
"My mother's condition had deteriorated significantly by then—she needed help with almost everything—but she threw herself into the details.
Flowers, dresses, invitations. It became her project, her joy.
How could I possibly object to any of it? "
Maggie studied Merritt's face, seeing the conflict that still lingered there. "But you did object, eventually."
Merritt nodded, her eyes filling with tears that she blinked away.
"I kept having these...moments. Sitting at the kitchen table with her, going through photographs of centerpieces, and suddenly feeling like I couldn't breathe.
Or lying awake beside Weston at night, listening to him sleep, and wondering if this quiet desperation was just.. .it. All there would ever be."
She took a shaky breath. "Three weeks before the wedding, Wes and I were meeting with the minister.
He asked us to share what we loved about each other, what made our relationship special.
And Wes talked about how responsible I was, how selfless, how devoted to family.
How I never complained, never put my own needs first."
"And you realized those weren't necessarily compliments," Maggie observed quietly.
"Exactly," Merritt whispered. "He was describing someone who had disappeared so completely into the needs of others that she had no self left.
And the worst part was, he admired that about me.
He wanted that version of me—the one who never asked for more, never dreamed beyond the boundaries we'd established. "
She set her coffee down, her hands trembling slightly.
"That night, I took out my guitar for the first time in months.
I hadn't been playing much—no time, no energy.
But that night, I played for hours. Songs I'd written years ago, new melodies that seemed to pour out of some hidden place inside me.
And when the sun came up, I knew I couldn't go through with the wedding. "
"That must have been incredibly difficult," Maggie said.
"It was the hardest conversation I've ever had," Merritt agreed. "Wes was...devastated. Confused. He kept saying he'd do anything, change anything, but he couldn't understand that it wasn't about him. It was about me—who I'd become, who I was afraid I'd remain if I didn't make a different choice."
"And your parents?" Maggie prompted gently.
Merritt's face crumpled slightly. "My father tried to understand.
He's always been the quiet one, the peacekeeper.
But my mother...she was heartbroken. Not just about the wedding being canceled, but about what it meant.
That I might leave. That the future she'd envisioned for all of us was dissolving. "
She brushed away a tear that had escaped despite her efforts.
"The day after I broke things off with Wes, she had a significant relapse.
The doctors said it was unrelated, just the progression of the disease, but the timing.
.." She shook her head. "She was hospitalized for two weeks.
And when she came home, she was noticeably weaker. She needed even more care than before."
"So you stayed," Maggie concluded.
"For another month." Merritt nodded. "Trying to make up for the disappointment, the disruption.
But something had broken open in me that couldn't be closed again.
I kept thinking about all the songs I hadn't written, the places I hadn't seen, the person I might have become if I'd chosen differently years ago. "
She looked up at Maggie, her eyes clear despite the tears. "So one morning, I packed my car, told my father I needed some time, and drove south. I didn't have a plan beyond 'as far from Maine as possible.' I stopped when I reached the ocean again."
"And found your way to Captiva," Maggie said with a small smile.