Chapter 16
The bungalow had been on Merritt's mind all week.
She'd visited twice more since that first afternoon, each time finding something new to love.
The way the light came through the bedroom windows in the morning, soft and golden.
The sound of the waves at night, steady and endless.
The small touches left behind by Gregory's wife, a seashell collection on the windowsill, faded curtains printed with hibiscus flowers, a wind chime made of driftwood that sang in the breeze.
It was perfect. It was everything she'd dreamed of without knowing she was dreaming it.
But it was also temporary.
Gregory was ninety-one years old. He was sharp, still lucid, still full of stories about birds and his wife and the way the beach used to look before the developers came.
But he was also frail. His hands shook when he lifted his coffee cup.
His voice grew tired after an hour of talking. He napped more than he was awake.
Paula didn't say it outright, but Merritt could read between the lines. Gregory didn't have much time left. Months, maybe. A year at most.
And when he was gone, what would happen to the bungalow?
He had no children. No spouse. He'd mentioned distant relatives once, a nephew in Ohio who never called, a cousin somewhere in the Midwest who'd sent a Christmas card in 1987 and nothing since.
People who didn't know him, didn't care about him, but who might very well show up when there was beachfront property to claim.
Merritt tried not to think about it. Tried to focus on the present, on the gift Gregory was giving her now. But the uncertainty gnawed at her, a low hum of anxiety beneath everything else.
On Thursday night, after her set at the bar, she called her father.
“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice was warm, slightly sleepy. “Everything okay?”
“Everything's fine. I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was.”
“Don't apologize. I was just reading.” She heard the creak of his chair, the sound of a book being set aside. “What's on your mind?”
Merritt sat on her bed, the phone pressed to her ear, trying to find the right words. She'd told him about the bungalow already, about Gregory and Paula and the offer that seemed too good to be true. But she hadn't told him about the fear.
“I've been thinking about the bungalow,” she said slowly. “About what happens when Gregory dies.”
Her father was quiet for a moment. “That's a heavy thought.”
“I know. But I can't stop thinking about it.
He's given me this incredible gift, this place that feels like home, and I'm terrified it's going to disappear.” She pulled her knees to her chest. “He has no one, Dad.
No kids, no close family. Just distant relatives who've never even visited him.
And when he's gone, they'll swoop in and sell the place to the highest bidder, and I'll be back where I started.”
“Have you talked to him about it? About his plans?”
“A little. He says he doesn't care what happens after he's gone.
He just wants to know someone's taking care of it now.” Merritt sighed.
“But I care. I care what happens. And I feel terrible for even thinking about it, because he's still alive, he's still here, and I'm already worried about losing something that was never really mine.”
“It's not terrible,” her father said gently. “It's practical. You're protecting yourself, thinking ahead. That's not a bad thing.”
“It feels selfish.”
“It's not selfish to want stability. To want a home.” He paused, and she could hear him thinking, the way he always did before he said something important. “Tell me more about this bungalow. What's the property like?”
Merritt described it, the pale blue paint, the tin roof, the French doors opening onto the beach.
She told him about the wind chime and the seashell collection and the way the sunset turned the whole place gold.
She told him about the small kitchen and the worn hardwood floors and the fireplace that probably hadn't been used in decades.
“It sounds beautiful,” her father said. “It sounds like you.”
“It feels like me. That's the thing. I've never had a place that felt this right. This feels like it could actually be mine.”
“What if it was?”
“What do you mean?”
Her father was quiet again. When he spoke, his voice was careful, measured. “What if I bought it?”
Merritt sat up straight. “Dad, what?”
“Hear me out.” She could picture him leaning forward in his chair, the way he did when he was working through an idea. “Gregory wants to sell, or at least ensure the place goes to someone who'll care for it. You need stability. And I've been thinking about my own future lately.”
“What do you mean?”
“I'm tired, Merritt. Tired of these winters, tired of shoveling snow, tired of watching the ice creep across the harbor every November and not thaw until April.” He laughed softly. “Margaret's casseroles are wonderful, but they're not enough to keep me warm anymore.”
“Dad.”
“I'm serious. I've been rattling around this house ever since your mother passed. It's too big, too empty, too full of memories. And you're down there, building a life, finding your place. Why am I up here alone?”
Merritt felt tears prick at her eyes. “I didn't know you felt that way.”
“I didn't either, for a while. But watching you leave, watching you take a chance on something new, it made me realize I've been standing still. Waiting for something, I don't know what. Permission, maybe. A reason to move forward.” He paused. “This could be that reason.”
“You want to move to Florida?”
“Eventually, yes. Not tomorrow, not next month.
But someday. And in the meantime, I could buy the bungalow, give Gregory his peace of mind, give you your stability.
You'd pay rent, help with the mortgage until I sell the Maine house.
And when I'm ready, maybe I'll come down and we'll figure out the rest together.”
Merritt's mind was spinning. It was too big, too generous, too much to process. “Dad, I can't ask you to do that.”
“You're not asking. I'm offering.” His voice softened. “This is what family does, sweetheart. We take care of each other. You spent far too much of your younger years taking care of your mother. We don’t have to have that talk again, but for now at least, let me take care of your needs.”
She was crying now, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. “I don't know what to say.”
“Say you'll think about it. And then let me come down there and see this bungalow for myself. If it's half as beautiful as you say, it'll be the easiest decision I've ever made.”
“You want to fly down?”
“Why not? I haven't been to Florida in years. And I'd like to meet this Gregory, thank him for looking out for my daughter.” He chuckled. “Plus, since you're playing guitar at a bar now. I'd like to see that too.”
Merritt laughed through her tears. “You would?”
“Are you kidding? My daughter, performing for a crowd? I wouldn't miss it for the world.”
They talked for another hour, working through the details.
Richard would fly down next week, stay for a few days.
Paula could help coordinate, she knew Gregory best, understood the situation, could help navigate the logistics.
They'd meet with Gregory, see the bungalow together, talk about what a sale might look like.
“This feels fast,” Merritt said. “Are you sure?”
“I've been thinking about leaving Maine for a while now. I just needed the right reason.” He paused. “You're the right reason, Merritt. You always have been. But it’s also time that I think about my future too.”
After they hung up, Merritt sat in the dark for a long time, trying to absorb what had just happened.
Her father was coming to Florida. He might buy the bungalow. She might actually get to keep this place that felt like home.
It was too good to be true. But maybe, for once, the good thing was actually happening.
She called Paula the next morning.
“I need to tell you something,” she said. “And I might need your help.”
Paula listened as Merritt explained: her father's offer, his plan to fly down, the possibility of a sale. When she finished, Paula was quiet for a moment.
“Your father sounds like a good man,” she said finally.
“He is. The best.”
“And he's serious about this? About buying the bungalow?”
“I think so. He wants to see it first, meet Gregory, understand what he's getting into. But yes, I think he's serious.”
“Well.” Paula's voice warmed. “That changes things, doesn't it?”
“Does it? I don't want to get my hopes up. I don't want Gregory to feel pressured, or for this to complicate things.”
“Gregory has been waiting for someone to care about that bungalow the way his wife did. If your father is that person, I think it'll make him happier than anything.” Paula paused. “When is he coming?”
“Next week, if that works. He's flexible.”
“I'll talk to Gregory, make sure he's up for a visitor. And I can help coordinate. I could pick your father up from the airport if he’d like, show him around, answer any questions.” She hesitated. “This is a big deal, Merritt. For you, for Gregory, for all of us.”
“I know. That's why I'm terrified.”
“Don't be. This feels right.” Paula's voice was firm. “Trust it.”
After she hung up, Merritt sat on the deck of Shorebirds, watching the morning light spread across the water. Justin was inside, prepping for lunch, and she had an hour before her shift started.
She thought about her father, alone in that big house in Maine, surrounded by memories of her mother. She thought about him shoveling snow, his breath fogging in the cold air, coming inside to an empty kitchen and a silence that used to be full of her mother's voice.
He deserved more than that. He deserved warmth and sunlight and the sound of waves.
Maybe they both did.
She pulled out her phone and texted him: Book your flight. I'll be here waiting.
His response came back almost immediately: Already done. See you Tuesday.
Merritt smiled and slipped her phone back into her pocket.
For the first time in a long time, the future felt less like something to fear and more like something to welcome. She didn't know exactly how it would unfold, didn't know what challenges lay ahead.
But she knew her father was coming. She knew the bungalow might actually be hers to keep. And she knew that whatever happened next, she wouldn't have to face it alone.