Chapter 24
The funeral was small.
Gregory had outlived most of his friends and all of his family except the nephew in Ohio, who flew down for the service but had to leave immediately after.
He stood at the front of the small chapel at the funeral home, looking uncomfortable in his suit, and spoke briefly about an uncle he'd barely known.
He mentioned the bungalow, the birds, the wife who had died twelve years before.
He said Gregory had been a good man, and that he would be missed.
It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. But Merritt supposed it never was.
She sat in the second row with Paula on one side and Justin on the other.
Crocker sat at the end of their pew, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance.
A handful of staff from Seaside Gardens filled the rows behind them, nurses and aides who had cared for Gregory in his final months.
The chapel felt too big for such a small gathering, the empty pews stretching back like an accusation.
The minister spoke about eternal rest and the promise of reunion.
Merritt listened without hearing. She was thinking about Gregory's voice, thin and papery, asking her to tell him about the birds.
She was thinking about his hand tightening on hers as she described the ospreys and the pelicans and the painted bunting that came every morning.
She was thinking about all the stories she'd told him, and all the stories she would never get to tell.
When the service ended, they filed out into the Florida sunshine.
The day was bright and warm, mockingly beautiful, the kind of day Gregory would have spent at his window watching Harold and Mildred at the feeder.
Merritt stood on the sidewalk, blinking in the light, feeling untethered from her own body.
The nephew approached her, his hand extended. “You're Merritt, right? The one who's been living in the bungalow?”
“Yes.”
“Uncle Greg talked about you. Said you told him stories about the birds.” The nephew's smile was thin, polite. “He appreciated that. He really did.”
“He was a wonderful man.”
“He was.” The nephew glanced at his watch. “I have a flight to catch. The lawyer will be in touch about the sale. Your father and I have been in contact. Should be finalized in the next few weeks.”
And then he was gone, climbing into a rental car and driving away, leaving Gregory's entire life to be sorted out by strangers and paperwork.
Paula touched her arm. “You okay?”
“I don't know.”
“That's fair.” Paula looked tired, her face drawn, her eyes shadowed. She hadn't found Ray yet. They both knew it, and neither of them mentioned it. “I have to get back to work. Will you be all right?”
“I'll be fine.”
Paula didn't look convinced, but she nodded and walked to her car. Justin lingered for a moment, his hand warm on Merritt's shoulder.
“I can stay,” he said. “If you need me to.”
“Go. I know you have to open the bar.”
“Crocker can handle it for a while.”
“Go,” she said again, more firmly. “I'll be okay.”
He studied her face, then leaned in and kissed her forehead, a brief, gentle pressure that made her chest ache. “Call me if you need anything. I mean it.”
Then he was gone too, and Merritt was alone on the sidewalk, watching the last of the mourners drift away. The funeral home staff began folding chairs inside. The minister shook her hand and murmured something about God's plan. She nodded and said thank you and didn't believe a word of it.
“Walk with me.”
She turned. Crocker stood a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
“What?”
“I said walk with me. There's a park around the corner. I need some air, and so do you.”
She didn't have the energy to argue. She fell into step beside him, and they walked in silence past the parking lot, past a strip mall, past a row of palm trees swaying in the breeze.
The park was small, just a patch of grass with a few benches and a fountain that had seen better days.
Crocker lowered himself onto one of the benches and patted the space beside him.
Merritt sat.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fountain gurgled. A mockingbird sang from somewhere nearby, cycling through its repertoire of stolen songs.
“Your father told me about you,” Crocker said finally.
Merritt looked at him. “What?”
“That night at the bar. While you were playing. He told me about your mother, the years you spent taking care of her. The way you gave up everything trying to save her.” Crocker's voice was matter-of-fact, but not unkind. “He told me about the boyfriend, the wedding you ran away from, all of it.”
She didn't know what to say. She hadn't known Richard had shared so much.
“He wasn't gossiping,” Crocker continued. “He was worried about you. And he was right to be.” He turned to look at her, his blue eyes sharp. “You're doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to save someone who isn't ready to be saved.”
The words hit her like cold water. She opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out.
“I watched my daughter do the same thing,” Crocker said.
“Annette. Justin's mother. When June got sick, Annette dropped everything. Moved back here, gave up her career, her friends, her whole life. She was convinced that if she just tried hard enough, loved hard enough, June would get better.” He shook his head slowly.
“She didn't. June died anyway. And Annette spent the rest of her life carrying that weight around like a stone in her chest.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be sorry. Just listen.” Crocker leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “You can't save people, Merritt. You can love them. You can be there for them. You can leave the door open and hope they walk through it. But you can't save them. That's their job, not yours.”
“I wasn't trying to save Ray. I just wanted to help.”
“Same thing. Same impulse.” He looked at her sideways. “Your father said you spent a long time sacrificing everything for your mother. Gave up your music, your friends, your own happiness. And at the end of it, she died anyway. All that sacrifice, and you couldn't change the outcome.”
Merritt felt tears prick at her eyes. She blinked them back.
“So now you're here, and you've found this broken man sitting in the corner of my bar, and some part of you thinks, 'Maybe this time.
Maybe if I just reach out, just say the right thing, I can make a difference.
'” Crocker straightened up. “But Ray's been broken for too many years.
Whatever's wrong with him, it's not going to be fixed by a pretty girl with a guitar and good intentions.”
“Then what am I supposed to do? Just ignore him? Pretend he doesn't exist?”
“No. You keep playing. You keep being kind. You keep leaving the door open.” Crocker's voice softened.
“Your music isn't medicine, Merritt. It's not going to heal anyone.
But it matters. It reaches people. Ray hears something when you play, something he hasn't heard in a long time.
And maybe, someday, he'll be ready to follow that sound back to himself.”
“And if he isn't?”
“Then he isn't. And that's not your failure. It's just his path.” Crocker stood up, brushing off his pants. “You did what you could. You reached out. He pushed back. Now you give him space and you wait. That's all any of us can do.”
Merritt stayed on the bench, looking up at him. The mockingbird had moved to a closer tree, still singing its borrowed songs.
“How do you know all this?” she asked.
“Because I've lived it. Because I watched June die and Annette waste away and Justin show up on my doorstep two years ago looking just as lost as you do right now.” He almost smiled. “I'm old, Merritt. I've seen a lot of people try to save each other. It never works the way they think it will.”
“So what does work?”
“Time. Patience. Showing up, day after day, without expecting anything in return.” He held out his hand to help her up.
“You're not responsible for Ray. You're not responsible for Gregory.
You're only responsible for yourself. For living your life, playing your music, being the person you want to be. Everything else is out of your hands.”
She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. They stood there for a moment, two people who barely knew each other, connected by grief and circumstance and the strange ways life brings people together.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Don't thank me. Just remember what I said.” He released her hand. “Now I have to get back to the bar before Justin burns the place down. You should go home. Rest. Take care of yourself for once.”
He walked away, his boots crunching on the gravel path, leaving Merritt alone with the fountain and the mockingbird and the warm Florida sun.
She sat back down on the bench and stayed there for a long time.
Crocker was right. She knew he was right. She couldn't save Ray, couldn't save anyone. She could only love them, be there for them, leave the door open and hope they walked through it.
But knowing and feeling were two different things. And right now, all she felt was the weight of her own helplessness, pressing down on her like a stone.
Gregory was gone. Ray was missing. And she was sitting on a bench in a run-down park, trying to figure out how to live in a world where love wasn't enough to fix anything.
The mockingbird sang. The fountain gurgled. And Merritt sat in the sunshine, learning to let go.