Chapter 19 #2
They drove to the bungalow with the windows down, the boxes rattling gently in the back seat.
Merritt held Crocker's vase in her lap, her fingers tracing the swirls of blue and green.
She watched the familiar landmarks pass, the causeway, the wildlife refuge, the turn toward the beach, and felt something settle in her chest.
This was real. This was happening. She was moving into the bungalow, as a tenant for now, but with the promise of something more permanent once the sale went through.
They spent the afternoon unpacking, finding places for everything, making the bungalow feel like hers.
Richard hung a small mirror in the bathroom and fixed a loose hinge on one of the kitchen cabinets.
Merritt arranged her shells on the windowsill, next to the ones Gregory's wife had left behind.
And in the center of the kitchen table, she placed Crocker's vase, the blues and greens catching the light from the window.
By evening, the place felt different. Still Gregory's, still holding the memory of the life that had been lived here, but also hers now. The two histories layered on top of each other, making something new.
“Not bad,” Richard said, surveying their work. “Not bad at all.”
“It's perfect.”
“Nothing's perfect.” But he was smiling. “This is pretty close, though.”
They ate dinner on the deck, watching the sun sink toward the water.
The sky turned orange, then pink, then a deep bruised purple, the colors bleeding into the turquoise Gulf until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
Palm fronds rustled overhead, dark silhouettes against the fading light.
“I don't want you to go,” Merritt said quietly.
“I know. I don't want to go either.” Richard set down his wine glass. “But I have to get back. The house won't sell itself, and there are things I need to wrap up before I can think about leaving for good.”
“I understand.”
“I'll be back. As soon as I can.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “This isn't goodbye. This is just…see you later.”
“See you later,” she repeated. “I can live with that.”
On Friday morning, Paula drove Richard to the airport.
Merritt had offered to take him, but Richard had waved her off. “You've got the day off. Stay here. Enjoy your first morning in your new home.”
So she said goodbye at the bungalow instead, standing on the weathered deck in her pajamas, the morning light soft and golden around them.
“Call me when you land,” she said.
“I will.”
“And call me when you have news about the house.”
“I will.”
“And call me just because. Whenever you want. I'll always pick up.”
Richard pulled her into a hug, holding her tight. “I'm so proud of you,” he said into her hair. “Your mother would be too. She'd look at this place, at the life you're building, and she'd say 'I knew it. I always knew she'd find her way.'”
Merritt couldn't speak. She just held on, breathing in the familiar smell of him, memorizing the feeling of his arms around her.
When they finally pulled apart, his eyes were wet.
“See you later,” he said.
“See you later, Dad.”
Paula's car pulled into the sandy drive. Richard grabbed his suitcase, gave Merritt one last look, and walked away. He didn't look back, he never did, not when leaving was hard, but he raised one hand in a wave as he climbed into the passenger seat.
Merritt watched until the car disappeared down the narrow road. Then she stood there a while longer, listening to the waves, feeling the weight of the silence.
She was alone.
For the first time in her life, truly alone. Not caring for someone, not being cared for. Just herself, in this place, with nothing but time and space and the sound of the ocean.
She went inside and made coffee, moving slowly through the small kitchen. The bungalow was quiet around her, but not empty. She could feel the history in the walls, the love that had lived here for sixty years. Gregory and his wife. Now her.
She carried her coffee to the bedroom and stood looking at the French doors. They were painted a soft seafoam green, the color of sea glass, with brass handles gone soft with age. Through the glass panels, she could see the deck, the beach, the endless turquoise water beyond.
She set down her coffee and reached for the handles.
The doors swung open easily, letting in a rush of salt air and morning light. She stepped out onto the weathered gray deck, the wood warm and smooth beneath her bare feet.
Her pink flip-flops sat by the door where she'd kicked them off the night before. She didn't reach for them. She didn't need them.
The beach stretched out before her, white sand and turquoise water, palm fronds swaying overhead. The sky was enormous, blue and bright with scattered white clouds. The waves rolled in, soft and steady, a rhythm that felt like breathing.
Merritt walked to the edge of the deck, then kept walking. Down the steps, onto the sand. It was warm between her toes, soft and yielding. She walked toward the water, her arms lifting at her sides, her fingers trailing through the air like she was touching something invisible.
She didn't stop until the waves reached her feet. Cool water, salt foam, the endless pull of the tide. She stood there, her white sundress rippling in the breeze, and let herself feel it.
Home.
Not borrowed, not temporary. Hers, or it would be soon, once the paperwork went through. But already, standing here, she knew this was where she belonged.
She thought about her mother, who had dreamed of a place like this and never got to see it. She thought about her father, flying back to Maine with plans to return. She thought about Gregory, sitting in his wheelchair by the window, trusting her with sixty years of memories.
She thought about Ray, sitting in his corner at Shorebirds, slowly coming back to life.
She thought about the music, and the way it moved through her, connecting her to everyone she'd ever loved and everyone she was learning to love.
This was her life now. This beach, this bungalow, this island. These people who had become her family.
She stretched out her arm toward the water, reaching for nothing, reaching for everything.
The waves whispered against her feet. The palm fronds rustled overhead. The sun climbed higher in that enormous blue sky.
And Merritt Ryan, standing alone on the beach for the first time in her life, finally understood what it meant to be free.