Chapter 18
They arrived at Seaside Gardens just after ten the next morning.
Paula had arranged everything. She'd called Gregory the night before, made sure he was feeling up to visitors, scheduled the meeting for when he'd be sharpest. “He's best earlier in the day,” she'd explained. “By late afternoon, he tires out. But catch him early, and he's as quick as anyone.”
Merritt barely slept the night before, her mind spinning with everything that was happening. Her father was here. He'd seen the bungalow, met Justin and Crocker, watched her play. And now he was about to meet Gregory and talk about buying a house.
It still didn't feel real.
Merritt parked in the visitor lot and cut the engine. For a moment, they sat in silence, looking at the low, sprawling building with its wide verandas and rocking chairs and bird feeders hanging from every available branch.
Paula pulled up next to their car and joined them.
“Nice place,” Richard said. “Looks more like a resort than a nursing home.”
“That's the idea,” Paula said. “Gregory was resistant at first. Didn't want to leave the bungalow. But once he saw the bird feeders, he started to come around.”
“Birds matter to him.”
“More than almost anything.” Paula opened her door. “Come on. He's waiting.”
They walked through the lobby together, past the reception desk and down a long hallway lined with photographs of the island. Merritt had been here before, but it felt different today. More significant. Like everything that happened in the next hour would shape the rest of her life.
Paula stopped outside a familiar door. The small wooden sign still read: “Gregory Harrison, Birdwatcher Extraordinaire.”
She knocked twice and pushed it open.
Gregory was in his wheelchair by the window, dressed in a crisp button-down shirt and pressed slacks. He'd made an effort again, Merritt realized. Just like last time. He wanted to make a good impression.
But this time, his attention wasn't on her. His eyes went straight to Richard, studying him with the sharp, assessing gaze of a man who had spent ninety-one years learning to read people.
“You're the father,” Gregory said. “The nature writer.”
“Richard Ryan.” Richard crossed the room and extended his hand. “And you're the man who's been looking out for my daughter.”
“Someone had to.” Gregory shook his hand firmly, his grip stronger than his frail appearance suggested. “She showed up on this island with nothing but a guitar and a broken heart. Needed a place to land.”
“She found one. Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to Paula.” Gregory's eyes flicked to the doorway, where Paula stood watching. “She's the one who saw what Merritt needed. I just had the real estate.”
Richard smiled. “Well, I'm grateful to both of you.”
“Sit, sit.” Gregory gestured to the chairs arranged near the window. “Paula, stop hovering. You too, Merritt. Everyone sit. We have things to discuss.”
They arranged themselves around Gregory's wheelchair. Through the window, Merritt could see the bird feeders swaying gently in the breeze. A cardinal landed on the nearest one, bright red against the green foliage.
Gregory followed her gaze. “That's Harold. Comes every morning around this time. His wife shows up around noon. I call her Mildred.”
“You've named the birds?” Richard asked.
“Of course I've named the birds. What else am I going to do all day?” Gregory's eyes crinkled with amusement. “I've got a whole roster. Cardinals, finches, painted buntings when I'm lucky. Even had a roseate spoonbill once, though nobody believed me.”
“I believe you,” Richard said. “I've seen them in the Everglades. Spent a week photographing them for a book a few years back.”
Gregory's face lit up. “Is that so? Tell me about it.”
And just like that, they were off. Richard described the week he'd spent in the Everglades, wading through shallow water at dawn, waiting for the perfect light.
He talked about the spoonbills' feeding patterns, the way they swept their bills through the water in wide arcs.
He talked about the alligators he'd had to watch for, the mosquitoes that had nearly eaten him alive, the moment when he'd finally gotten the shot he wanted, a spoonbill silhouetted against a pink and orange sunrise.
Gregory listened with rapt attention, asking questions, sharing his own observations.
He talked about the birds he'd seen at the bungalow over the years, the ospreys that nested near the water, the pelicans that dove for fish at sunset.
He talked about his wife, who had kept a journal of every bird sighting for forty years.
“She was the real birdwatcher,” Gregory said, his voice softening. “I just tagged along. But after she passed, I kept the tradition going. Seemed wrong to let it die with her.”
“That's how it works,” Richard said quietly. “We carry their loves forward. Keep them alive in the things we do.”
Gregory studied him for a long moment. “You lost someone too.”
“My wife. Eighteen months ago. MS.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Thank you. She gave me a daughter who takes my breath away.” Richard glanced at Merritt. “I can't ask for more than that.”
Merritt felt tears prick at her eyes. She looked down at her hands, trying to compose herself.
Gregory nodded slowly, something shifting in his expression. Understanding. Recognition. Two men who had loved and lost, finding common ground.
“Paula tells me you want to buy my bungalow,” Gregory said.
“I do. If you're willing to sell.”
“I'm willing. More than willing.” Gregory turned his wheelchair slightly to face Richard more fully.
“That place has been in my family for sixty years. My wife and I bought it when we were first married. Lived our whole life there. Every sunset, every storm, every quiet morning with coffee on the deck.”
“It's beautiful,” Richard said. “I saw it yesterday. The bones are solid, the location is perfect. But more than that, I could feel what it meant. Places hold memories. That one holds sixty years of them.”
“They do. They hold everything.” Gregory's eyes drifted to the window.
“I haven't been back since I moved in here.
Can't manage the stairs anymore. Can't manage much of anything.” He paused.
“But I think about it every day. Wonder if the hibiscus is still blooming. Wonder if the wind chime still sings.”
“It does,” Merritt said softly. “I heard it yesterday.”
Gregory smiled. “Good. My wife made that wind chime. Collected the driftwood herself, strung it up on the deck. Said the sound reminded her of her grandmother's house in Maine.”
“Maine?” Richard leaned forward. “We're from Maine. Kennebunk.”
“Is that so?” Gregory's eyes brightened. “My wife's grandmother lived in Camden. Little cottage near the harbor. That's where she got the idea for the wind chime.”
“Small world.”
“Smaller than you'd think.” Gregory studied Richard for a long moment. “You're a nature writer, you're from Maine, you lost your wife, and you want to buy my bungalow. It's like the universe is trying to tell me something.”
“What's it telling you?”
“That I've been waiting for the right person. And maybe you're it.”
Richard was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was careful.
“I want to be honest with you, Gregory. I'm not just buying this for investment purposes.
I'm buying it for my daughter. She needs a home, a place that's hers. And eventually, when I sell my house in Maine, I might come down here myself. Start a new chapter.”
“A new chapter.” Gregory nodded slowly. “I like that.
At my age, I don't have many chapters left. But you do. And so does she.” He looked at Merritt.
“That bungalow deserves someone who'll open those French doors every morning and appreciate the view.
Someone who'll sit on the deck at sunset and feel the world slow down.”
“She will,” Richard said. “I promise you that.”
“I believe you.” Gregory straightened in his wheelchair, his expression shifting to something more businesslike. “Now. Let's talk logistics.”
Paula, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, leaned forward. “Gregory's nephew has power of attorney. He handles all the legal affairs from Ohio.”
“Doesn't visit,” Gregory added with a dry smile. “Sends a card at Christmas. But he's good with paperwork. I called him last night, told him what we're planning. He's ready to move forward.”
“What's the timeline looking like?” Richard asked.
“These things take time. Title search, inspections, all the legal nonsense.” Gregory waved a hand dismissively. “A month, maybe six weeks. My nephew will coordinate with your lawyer, get everything sorted.”
“That's reasonable.”
“In the meantime,” Paula said, “Gregory has agreed to let Merritt move in as a tenant. First month's rent, utilities covered. That way she's not stuck in that apartment above the bar while the closing goes through.”
Richard nodded. “That makes sense. I'll cover the rent.”
“Already figured you would.” Gregory smiled. “Your daughter offered to pay, but I told her that's what fathers are for.”
“She's independent,” Richard said. “Gets that from her mother.”
“Independent is good. Stubborn is better.” Gregory's eyes found Merritt. “You remind me of my wife, you know. She was stubborn too. Knew what she wanted and didn't apologize for it.”
Merritt felt her cheeks warm. “I'm still learning that part.”
“You'll get there. Takes time.” Gregory reached out and patted her hand. “But you've got time. That's the gift of being young. You don't know it yet, but time is the most precious thing you have.”
They talked for another hour, working through details.
Richard asked questions about the property, the roof, the foundation, the hurricane shutters.
Gregory answered what he could and admitted what he didn't know.
Paula filled in gaps, offering to connect Richard with a local inspector who could do a thorough assessment before the closing.
By eleven-thirty, Gregory was starting to tire. His voice grew softer, his eyes less sharp. Paula noticed and stood up, signaling that the meeting was wrapping up.
“I think we've covered everything for today,” she said. “Gregory needs his rest.”
“Of course.” Richard stood and extended his hand to Gregory one more time. “Thank you. For the bungalow, for looking out for Merritt, for everything. I won't let you down.”
Gregory took his hand and held it. “I know you won't. I'm a good judge of character. Ninety-one years will do that to you.” He looked at Merritt. “Take care of that place. And come visit me. Tell me about the birds.”
“I will,” Merritt promised. “Every week.”
“Every week.” Gregory smiled. “I'll hold you to that.”
They said their goodbyes and walked back through the lobby, out into the warm Florida sunshine. The parking lot was quiet, the air thick with the smell of flowers and salt.
Richard stopped beside the car and looked at Paula. “Thank you. For everything. I know this has been above and beyond.”
“It hasn't,” Paula said simply. “It's just what you do for people. I think they call it paying it forward. I’ve had more than my share of people doing that for me.”
“Somehow, in the middle of all this, you've made everything work.” He paused. “I'm grateful.”
“I'm glad I could help.” Paula glanced at her watch. “I should get back to work. But call me if you need anything. Either of you.”
She gave Merritt a quick hug and smiled at Richard. “It was lovely to meet you. I hope we see you again, soon.”
“You couldn’t keep me away,” he said.
Merritt and Richard stood in silence for a moment, watching her walk away.
“She's a good person,” Richard said.
“The best.”
“And Gregory is exactly as you described. Sharp, funny, full of life.” He shook his head. “Ninety-one years old and still naming cardinals. That's something.”
“He's special.”
“He is.” Richard turned to face her. “And so is the bungalow. This island, these people. I understand now why you chose Sanibel.”
Merritt felt something loosen in her chest. “You do?”
“I do.” He pulled her into a hug. “You found something real here, Merritt. Something worth holding on to. I'm proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Now.” He released her and opened the car door. “Let's go back to that bungalow. I want to sit on the deck and watch the pelicans while I figure out how to tell my lawyer I'm buying a house in Florida.”
Merritt laughed. “He's going to think you've lost your mind.”
“Maybe I have.” Richard smiled. “But if this is losing my mind, I'm okay with it.”
They drove back to the bungalow with the windows down, the salt air rushing through the car. Merritt watched the familiar landmarks pass, the causeway, the wildlife refuge, the turn toward the beach, and felt something settle in her chest.
Her father was here. The bungalow was happening. Gregory had given his blessing.
For the first time in longer than she could remember, the future felt less like a question and more like an answer. She didn't know what came next, but she was ready to meet it all head-on.