Page 61 of Captiva Café

"I'm sorry to disturb you," Merritt began, feeling oddly nervous. "I was just leaving and realized I hadn't said goodbye, and..." She trailed off, uncertain how to explain the impulse that had brought her here.

Understanding flickered across Emma's face. "You're heading back to Maine," she said. It wasn't a question. "Come in? I've just made tea."

Merritt nodded gratefully and followed Emma into the cottage. The space was simply furnished but homey, with books already stacked on end tables and a laptop open on the dining table, surrounded by notes and printed photographs. “No tea for me, thanks. I’ve already had coffee.”

"Gareth's gone for a walk on the beach," Emma explained, gesturing for Merritt to sit in one of the comfortable armchairs by the window. "His morning ritual. Says the waves help him think through plot problems."

"For his books?" Merritt asked, settling into the chair.

Emma nodded, lowering herself carefully into the chair opposite. "He's deep in the third act of his new thriller. Something about an art heist gone wrong." She smiled fondly. "When he's stuck in a manuscript, he's only physically present about half the time. The rest of him is wandering around in whatever fictional world he's created."

"That sounds familiar," Merritt admitted. "When I'm working on a song, everything else kind of...fades away."

"You're a songwriter," Emma said, her interest piqued. "Maggie mentioned you play guitar beautifully."

Merritt felt her cheeks warm slightly. "I wouldn't call myself a songwriter, exactly. I just...it's how I process things sometimes."

Emma studied her over the rim of her mug. "The most profound art often comes from that place—not from trying to create something for others, but from working through your own experiences."

"I wanted to thank you," Merritt said finally "Something you said the other day, about finding your voice here on Captiva...it stayed with me."

Emma tilted her head, waiting for Merritt to continue.

"You mentioned that you were considering joining a convent before you came here," Merritt went on. "That you were at a crossroads, trying to figure out what path to take."

"That's putting it mildly." Emma laughed softly. "I was completely lost. Running away from expectations—my family's, my own, God's even. I thought devotion meant surrendering who I was, becoming someone else entirely." Her hand moved unconsciously to her belly, cradling the life within. "Turns out, authentic devotion means becoming more fully yourself, not less."

Merritt nodded, feeling a resonance with her own journey. "That's what I wanted to tell you. Your words about finding yourself here, about Captiva helping you discover your own path—they helped me understand what I've been experiencing. Why this place has felt so...significant."

"The island has that effect," Emma agreed. "Something about being surrounded by water, maybe. The physical separation from the mainland creates space for internal clarity."

"I'm going back to Maine today," Merritt said, hesitating before finally explaining. "My mother is dying. I need to be there for her final weeks."

Emma's expression softened with genuine compassion. "I'm so sorry, Merritt. That's an incredibly difficult journey to make."

"It is," Merritt acknowledged. "But I'm not going back as the same person who left." She met Emma's gaze directly. "Before I came here, I'd spent my entire adult life defined by my mother's illness, by everyone else's expectations. I cancelled a wedding that would have cemented that identity forever."

Emma didn't look shocked or judgmental, just attentive, present.

"I ran away," Merritt continued. "That's what everyone back home is calling it. That I panicked, abandoned my responsibilities, left people who needed me." She swallowed hard. "But hearing your story—how you came to Captiva thinking you were running away, only to discover you were actually running toward something essential—it changed how I see my own choices."

"What were you running toward?" Emma asked gently.

Merritt considered the question. "Space to breathe. To hear my own thoughts. To play music without feeling guilty for taking the time." Her voice grew stronger. "To discover who I might be if I wasn't defined solely by caring for others."

"And have you found any answers?"

"Not complete ones," Merritt admitted. "But I've found...possibilities. I've remembered parts of myself I'd nearly forgotten existed."

Emma shifted in her chair, finding a more comfortable position for her pregnant body. "When I first arrived on Captiva, I was so angry—at my family for their expectations, at myself for not fitting into them, at God for not making the path clearer." She smiled ruefully. "I thought coming here was failure, anadmission that I couldn't follow through on my spiritual calling."

"What changed?" Merritt asked.

"I stopped fighting so hard against myself," Emma said simply. "Started listening instead of arguing. And discovered that what I thought was confusion was actually clarity trying to break through all my preconceptions." She leaned forward slightly. "The question isn't whether you're running away or toward something, Merritt. It's whether you're finally being honest about who you are and what you need."

Merritt felt something shift inside her at Emma's words—a final piece settling into place, completing a picture that had been forming ever since she'd crossed the causeway onto Captiva.

"I need to go home," she said, her voice steady now. "I need to be with my mother at the end. To reconcile with my father. To face the consequences of my choices. But I also need to preserve what I've found here—this sense of possibility, of being more than just someone's caretaker or partner."

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