Page 60 of Captiva Café

Merritt smiled. “The strange thing is, I'm not afraid anymore," she said, a new steadiness in her voice. "I'm sad—heartbroken, really—but I'm not afraid of going back. I know now that I can leave again if I need to. That caring for her in her final weeks doesn't mean surrendering the rest of my life."

"That's an important distinction," Maggie agreed. "Loving someone and caring for them doesn't require erasing yourself in the process."

"I think I needed to come here to learn that," Merritt said. "To put enough distance between myself and everything I knew to see it clearly."

Maggie studied the young woman before her, seeing how much had changed since the hesitant, guarded person had arrived at the inn just two weeks ago. There was a new certainty in Merritt's posture, a groundedness that hadn't been there before.

"What will you do after?" Maggie asked gently. "After your mother passes?"

Merritt considered the question, her gaze drifting toward her guitar case propped against the railing. "I don't know exactly, but I think...I think I might come back here, if that's possible. Not just to visit, but to stay for a while. Longer than two weeks."

"The inn will always have a room for you," Maggie assured her. "And from what I hear, there might be a need for live music at a certain café opening soon."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Merritt's mouth. "I'd like that. To play again, properly. To see if I can build a different kind of life, one note at a time."

She glanced at her watch and sighed. "I should get on the road. It's a long drive back to Maine."

"Before you go," Maggie said, reaching into the pocket of her cardigan, "I have something for you." She withdrew a small shell—a perfect lightning whelk, its spiral precise and beautiful. "I found this on my morning walk yesterday. The islanders say that finding a whole spiral shell is good luck for a journey."

Merritt accepted the shell, turning it over in her palm, feeling its smooth, cool surface. "Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Not just for this, but for...for seeing me. For letting me find my way without pushing."

"The island has its own way of working on people," Maggie replied with a gentle smile. "I just provide the coffee and the quiet space for it to happen."

They both stood, and Merritt surprised Maggie by stepping forward to embrace her—a genuine hug, neither too brief nor too clinging, the contact of someone who had found a balance between connection and independence.

"I'll call when I get there," Merritt promised as she gathered her guitar case. "And I'll let you know how...how things progress."

"Please do," Maggie said. "We'll be thinking of you. All of us."

Merritt nodded, blinking back fresh tears, and turned toward the garden path that would lead her to the driveway where her car waited. After a few steps, she paused and looked back.

"I don't regret it, you know," she said. "Coming here. Even if it was running away, it was also running toward something. I just didn't know what until now."

"What's that?" Maggie asked.

Merritt smiled, a real smile that reached her eyes despite the sadness within them. "Myself, I guess. The person I'm supposed to be."

With that, she continued to her car, her guitar case swinging slightly at her side. Maggie watched until her car disappeared around the corner of the inn, feeling that peculiar mixture of sadness and satisfaction that came with goodbyes at the Key Lime Garden Inn—the knowledge that someone was leaving changed for the better by their time on the island.

She gathered the coffee mugs and returned to the kitchen, where the day's work awaited. There would be breakfast to serve, rooms to prepare, guests to welcome. The rhythm of inn life would continue as it always did, a constant tide of arrivals and departures.

But as she worked, Maggie found herself humming a melody she'd heard drifting from Merritt's room on quiet evenings—a song about bridges burning and waters rising. About finding solid ground in the most unexpected places. About the courage it takes to turn toward home, even when home has become a complicated destination.

And she knew, with the certainty that came from years of witnessing the island's effect on troubled souls, that this was not the last they would see of Merritt Ryan. Captiva had a way of keeping those who belonged to it, no matter how far they might wander in between.

CHAPTER 21

Merritt had already started her car toward off-island when she turned her car around and headed to the last parking lot on Captiva Drive. She wouldn’t stay long, just long enough to find the cottage nestled among the palms behind the inn. Emma and Gareth's temporary home.

She hadn't properly said goodbye to Emma—the pregnant woman who had shared just enough of her own story during their brief encounters to create an unexpected connection. Something about Emma's journey had resonated deeply with Merritt, fragments of conversation lingering in her mind long after they'd parted.

Before she could reconsider, Merritt turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. Her keys felt heavy in her palm as she closed the door and headed toward the cottage, guided by an impulse she couldn't quite name, but feeling emboldened from her conversation with Maggie Moretti.

The morning had warmed considerably, the air thick with humidity that promised another scorching day. Bees buzzed lazily around flowering bushes that lined the shell path, and somewhere nearby, a mockingbird offered its complex repertoire to the cloudless sky.

At the cottage door, Merritt hesitated again, suddenly uncertain. It was early still—perhaps too early for an unexpected visitor. But before she could retreat, the door swung open, and Emma stood in the doorway, one hand resting on her rounded belly, the other holding a mug of what smelled like herbal tea.

"I thought I heard someone," Emma said with a smile. "Morning, Merritt."

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