Chapter 4
Merritt made it back from Captiva with enough time to shower, change, and call her father before her shift.
He answered on the second ring. “Two calls in three days. I'm starting to feel spoiled.”
“Don't get used to it. I'm about to start work.”
“How's the job?”
Merritt sat on the edge of her bed, looking out the window at the water. “Good, I think. I'm still learning. There's a lot to remember.”
“You taught music to eight-year-olds. You can handle a bar.”
“Third graders are more forgiving than adults are when you mess up their drink order.”
He laughed. “Fair point. How's everything else? You settling in?”
“I went to see Maggie this morning. At the inn.”
“And?”
“It was good. Really good.” She paused. “She asked about you.”
“Tell her I said hello. And that I'm still waiting for her to send me that key lime pie recipe.”
“I don't think she's going to give that up, Dad.”
“A man can dream.” He was quiet for a moment. “I'm glad you went to see her. She's good for you.”
“I know.”
“And Merritt? I'm proud of you. For doing this. I know it wasn't easy to leave.”
She felt the familiar tightness in her chest. “It wasn't easy to leave you.”
“I'm fine. I've got Tom coming over tomorrow to help me fix that loose board on the deck. And Margaret brought another casserole. I'm going to have to start freezing them.”
“You could learn to cook.”
“Let's not get carried away.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Go to work. Call me when you can. And send more pictures.”
“I will. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
She hung up and sat for a moment, letting the quiet settle around her. Then she pulled her hair back, put on her black T-shirt and jeans, and headed downstairs.
The bar was already starting to fill up when she walked in. Late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting golden light across the tables. Justin was behind the bar, setting out fresh napkins.
“How was Captiva?” he asked.
Merritt stopped. “How did you know I went to Captiva?”
“Captiva Island is where you first found a home away from home. I just assumed you’d go back there just as soon as you had free time.”
“I went to see a friend. At the Key Lime Garden Inn.”
“Maggie Moretti?”
“You know her?”
“Everyone knows Maggie. Or knows of her, at least.” He slid a glass of water across the bar to her. “Drink. Then we're going to work on your bartending skills.”
“I thought I was just running food and clearing tables.”
“You are. But I need you to be able to cover the bar if I have to step away. Nothing complicated. Just beer, wine, and a few basic drinks.” He pointed to the row of bottles behind him. “Today we're going to learn the classics. Rum and Coke. Vodka tonic. Whiskey sour. Margarita.”
“That's a lot.”
“It's four drinks. You'll be fine.” He grabbed two bottles and set them on the bar. “First rule of bartending. Confidence. Even if you don't know what you're doing, act like you do. Customers can smell fear.”
Merritt laughed. “That's reassuring.”
“Second rule. The pour.” He picked up a bottle of rum and held it over an empty glass.
“Watch.” In one smooth motion, he tipped the bottle and counted under his breath.
A perfect measure of rum landed in the glass.
“See? Count to three, then stop. That's roughly a shot and a half. Enough to make the drink taste like something without getting anyone too drunk too fast.”
He handed her the bottle. “Your turn.”
Merritt took it and held it over another glass. Her first pour was tentative, and she stopped too soon.
“That's barely a splash. Again.”
She tried again. Too much this time.
“Better. You'll get the feel for it.” He took the bottle back. “Now, rum and Coke. Simplest drink in the world. Ice, rum, Coke, lime wedge. Done.”
They worked through the basics for the next twenty minutes, Justin patient and encouraging, Merritt slowly gaining confidence. The whiskey sour gave her trouble, something about the proportions of lemon and simple syrup, but by the end she could make a passable margarita.
“Not bad,” Justin said. “A few more practice sessions and you might actually be useful back here.”
“High praise.”
“I'm a generous man.” He nodded toward the dining room. “Now go wipe down tables. Happy hour starts in ten.”
Merritt grabbed a towel and headed out to the deck. The sun was lower now, the light softening. A pelican sat on the railing, watching her with one suspicious eye.
“Don't judge me,” she told it. “I'm new.”
The pelican didn't move.
She wiped down the tables, straightened the chairs, and checked that each one had a menu and a little card advertising the drink specials. By the time she finished, the first customers were starting to arrive.
Ed and Margie came in right at five-thirty, just like Justin said they would. They took their usual table by the window, and Merritt brought them their drinks without being asked.
“Whiskey sour for you,” she said, setting the glass in front of Ed. “And chardonnay for you.”
Margie beamed. “She remembered.”
“Of course I did. You're my favorite customers.”
“Don't let anyone else hear you say that,” Ed said, but he was smiling.
The fishermen arrived around six, loud and sunburned as always. They took over their corner of the bar, and Justin poured their beers without missing a beat in whatever story he was telling.
Then a woman walked in.
She was maybe sixty, with silver hair cut short and stylish, wearing white linen pants and a turquoise blouse. She moved with the kind of easy confidence that came from years of knowing exactly who she was. She scanned the room, spotted someone, and smiled.
Merritt followed her gaze. She was looking at Crocker.
He'd emerged from the back a few minutes earlier and was adjusting some of his pottery on the shelf near the register. A large bowl glazed in deep blues and greens, the color of the Gulf at sunset.
The woman walked over and leaned against the bar. “William Rawlings. Is that new?”
Crocker looked up. His face didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes. “Evening, Dottie.”
“You didn't answer my question.”
“Finished it last week.”
She studied the bowl, tilting her head. “It's beautiful. You should sell these, you know. You could make a fortune.”
“Don't need a fortune.”
“Everyone needs a fortune.” She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “When are you going to let me take you to dinner? There's a new place in Fort Myers. French. Very romantic.”
“I don't eat French food.”
“You've never tried French food.”
“Don't need to. I know what I like.”
Dottie laughed, a warm sound that carried across the bar. “You're impossible, you know that?”
“So I've been told.”
She shook her head, still smiling. “One of these days, you're going to say yes. And I'm going to faint from the shock.”
Crocker almost smiled. Almost. “Don't hold your breath, Dottie.”
“I never do.” She patted his arm and headed for a table near the window, where another woman was already waiting for her. They greeted each other with the easy familiarity of old friends.
Merritt watched the exchange with fascination. She walked over to Justin, who was drying glasses.
“Who's Dottie?”
“Dorothy Hutchins. Lives over on the east side of the island. Retired lawyer from Chicago. She's been coming in here for years.” He lowered his voice. “She's been trying to get my grandfather to go out with her for at least three of those years.”
“And he won't?”
“Nope.” Justin set down the glass. “My grandmother was the love of his life. He still talks to her, you know. Every evening, he walks out to the deck and tells her about his day. What he's working on, what's happening at the bar. It's been twelve years, and he's never missed a day.”
Merritt felt something catch in her throat. “That's beautiful.”
“That's my grandfather.” Justin shrugged. “Dottie's nice. She's not pushy about it, and she respects his boundaries. I think she just likes making him uncomfortable.”
“He didn't look uncomfortable.”
“That's because you don't know him yet. For Crocker, that was practically blushing.”
Merritt laughed and shook her head. She grabbed her towel and headed back out to check on her tables.
The evening settled into a rhythm. Food came out of the kitchen, drinks flowed from the bar, and the noise level rose as more people filled the room.
Merritt ran, just like she had the night before.
But tonight it felt a little easier. She knew where things were.
She remembered names. She was starting to understand the flow.
Around eight, she noticed him.
Ray.
He'd slipped in without her seeing, and now he sat in his corner, same table as before. Same drink in front of him, Jameson, neat. He stared at nothing, his eyes fixed on that middle distance that didn't exist.
She watched him for a moment. He hadn't touched his drink.
“Don't,” Justin said quietly, appearing beside her.
“I wasn't going to do anything.”
“You were thinking about it.” He handed her a tray of food. “Table four. Then take a ten-minute break.”
Merritt delivered the food, checked on Ed and Margie, and then slipped out the back door to the deck. The sun was setting now, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. She leaned against the railing and breathed.
Ray Maguire. The man who came every night and spoke to no one. The veteran who'd come back different.
She thought about what Justin said. Don't push. Don't try to save him.
But she couldn't stop wondering. What had happened to him? What was he seeing when he stared at nothing? What would it take to bring him back?
She didn't have answers. She wasn't sure there were any.
But standing on that deck, watching the sun sink into the Gulf, she made herself a promise.
She would be patient. She would be kind. And when he was ready, if he was ever ready, she would be there.
The screen door opened behind her. “Break's over,” Justin called.
Merritt took one last look at the sunset and headed back inside.