Island Girl (Sanibel Lighthouse #1)

Chapter 1

Merritt Ryan rolled down the windows and let the warm air fill her car. The Sanibel Causeway stretched ahead of her, and on either side, the water sparkled under the afternoon sun. She'd forgotten how blue it was here. How the color seemed to shift from turquoise to green depending on the light.

A pelican dove into the shallows, came up with something silver in its bill, and rested on the rail. She smiled and kept driving.

Her guitar case sat in the back seat, wedged between a duffel bag and a box of her mother's books. She couldn't bring herself to donate them. Anne Tyler novels dog-eared and soft from years of reading. A quilt her grandmother made. The small wooden box that held her mother's wedding ring.

She'd driven more than twenty-four hours over two days, stopping once in Virginia at a motel that smelled like bleach.

She'd laid on the stiff mattress staring at the ceiling, wondering if she was making a mistake.

By morning, she had her answer. The only mistake would be staying in Kennebunk, rattling around in her parents' empty house, teaching music to children who reminded her of the life she'd planned and lost.

The causeway started to descend, and Sanibel rose to meet her.

Palm trees lined the road, their fronds swaying in the breeze.

A family on bicycles pedaled along the shoulder, a little girl with curly, red hair bringing up the rear.

The speed limit dropped to twenty-five, and Merritt eased off the gas.

Nobody hurried here. That was the point.

She passed a sign for Ding Darling Wildlife Refuge and thought about her father.

He'd love this place. He'd probably already written about it.

Richard Ryan had spent thirty years writing books about nature and conservation, everything from Maine's tidal pools to the migration patterns of monarch butterflies.

His work took him all over the country, and he had friends and colleagues scattered from coast to coast. She reminded herself of that whenever the guilt crept in.

He wasn't alone. He had his work, his friends, his purpose.

But still. Leaving him so soon after losing her mother felt like abandonment.

She thought about the Zoom call that started all of this. Three weeks after her mother's funeral, she'd called Maggie Moretti at the Key Lime Garden Inn on Captiva. Maggie answered on the second ring.

“Merritt Ryan. I've thought about you so many times. How are you, sweetheart? How's your mother?”

The silence that followed was answer enough.

“Oh, honey. I'm so sorry.”

They'd talked for an hour that night. Merritt curled on her childhood bed, telling Maggie things she hadn't told anyone.

How her mother's final weeks had been peaceful but brutal.

How her father walked through the house like a ghost, picking things up and setting them down without seeing them.

How she felt unmoored, like someone had cut the rope tying her to the dock and now she was drifting.

“Come back,” Maggie said. “Not to run away. To find solid ground. The islands gave you something last time. Maybe they have more to give.”

Merritt thought about it for weeks. She went through the motions at school, teaching third graders to play recorder, but her heart wasn't in it.

She'd come home to her childhood bedroom and stared at the ceiling, wondering what she was supposed to do now.

Her whole adult life had been shaped by two things: teaching and taking care of her mother.

One felt hollow now, and the other was over.

She started researching jobs on Sanibel.

Told herself she was just curious, just exploring.

She found a listing for a bartender at a place called Shorebirds.

The photo showed a weathered building with a wide deck overlooking the water and pottery displayed in the windows. Something about it felt right.

She scheduled a Zoom interview for a Thursday evening. The man who appeared on her screen had an easy smile and warm eyes. He was maybe a few years older than her, with the kind of face that looked like it laughed often.

“I'm Justin Landry. Thanks for taking the time.”

“Thanks for considering me. I know I'm not exactly local.”

“Nobody's local at first. Tell me about yourself.”

The question hit her harder than she expected. Who was she now? Not a music teacher anymore. Not a caregiver. Not Weston's fiancée. She'd shed those identities like old skin and hadn't grown into anything new.

“I'm starting over,” she finally said. “I’ve taught elementary school music in Maine for seven years.

My mother was sick for a long time, and I took care of her.

She passed a few months ago. I visited Captiva last year and felt something I haven't felt anywhere else.

Like I could breathe. I really loved the islands.

I want to come back and figure out what's next.”

She waited for him to say the position was filled or that she wasn't what they were looking for.

Instead, he laughed. Not at her. With her, somehow.

“You sound like exactly the kind of person who ends up on this island. Can you pour a drink without spilling it?”

“Most of the time.”

“Can you smile at tourists even when they ask where the nearest Starbucks is?”

“There's no Starbucks on Sanibel, is there?”

“Unfortunately, there is, but you're getting the idea. When can you start?”

Even then, she didn't say yes right away. She told him she needed a few days to think about it. She agonized for another two weeks. Her father found her one evening sitting on the back porch, staring at nothing.

“You're thinking about taking a job in Florida,” he said.

“How did you know?”

He sat down beside her. “Because you've been somewhere else for days, and besides, you made it clear that you’d return to Captiva and Sanibel just as soon as you could find a way.

And that's okay.” He took her hand. “Your mother would want you to do this.

Go find your life, sweetheart. I'll be fine.”

“I can't leave you alone, Dad.”

“I'm not alone. I've got Tom and Roger coming over for poker on Fridays.

Margaret brings me casseroles I don't need.

And I've got a book deadline in September that's going to keep me plenty busy.” He squeezed her hand.

“You spent years putting everything on hold because of your mother’s illness.

It's time for you to get out there and live your life.”

She didn't believe he was fine. But she also knew he was right.

The school year was just about over so she gave notice at the school the next day. Packed her car over the following week. Hugged her father on the front porch, both of them crying. He held her face in his hands the way he used to when she was little.

“Call me when you get there.” He shook his head, “No, call me all the way down to Florida. Don’t make me wait. You know I’ll go crazy with worry.”

She laughed. “I will, I promise.”

“And send pictures. I want to see those spoonbills everyone talks about.”

She smiled thinking about the spoonbills. Since she was a little girl her father spent hours helping her identify various birds and wildlife. Merritt used to complain that none of her friends cared about birds or the migration of the monarch butterfly so why did she.

Her father explained that if any of her friends understood such things, they’d be more popular.

He said her explaining to them that a bat wasn’t a bird but rather a flying mammal would impress them all and that she shouldn’t worry about being popular.

She was ten at the time and thought everything her father told her must be true, so she continued to pay attention during these lessons.

Now, turning onto Periwinkle Way, she promised herself to seek out a spoonbill the first chance she got.

She continued along the road and briefly noticed the shops and restaurants tucked among the trees, their signs hand-painted and welcoming.

A woman walked a golden retriever on a shell path.

A man in a faded baseball cap waved from the porch of a bait shop.

The air smelled like salt and coconut sunscreen and something blooming she couldn't name.

Her phone buzzed in the cup holder. It was a text from Justin Landry.

Almost here?

She typed back. Five minutes.

Perfect. I'll have a cold drink waiting. You're going to love it here.

She set the phone down and turned onto a smaller road. The trees grew thicker, the light filtering through in patches of gold. A great blue heron stood motionless in a drainage ditch, watching her pass.

She thought about her mother, about the last words she'd whispered in the hospice room. “Go live, baby. Stop waiting.”

Merritt hadn't known what she was waiting for. She'd spent so many years taking care of her mother that she'd forgotten how to take care of herself.

Now, pulling into the crushed shell parking lot of Shorebirds, seeing the weathered wood and the wide deck and the water sparkling beyond, she thought maybe she understood.

She had been waiting for this. A place to begin her life in earnest.

She turned off the engine and stepped out into the warm island air.

Shorebirds looked exactly like the photo on the website, only better.

The building was weathered gray wood with a wide deck that wrapped around two sides.

Ceiling fans turned lazily overhead, and a few people sat at tables with drinks in their hands, watching the water.

In the windows, she could see pottery displayed on shelves.

Pitchers and vases in ocean blues and sandy browns.

Merritt grabbed her purse and walked toward the entrance. A hand-painted sign hung above the door with a sandpiper on it. She pushed the screen door open and stepped inside.