As I’m driving back down the dark, mostly empty highway toward 30A and Sandcastle, I think about the case and wonder what I’m not seeing and why I’m not seeing it.
I’m disappointed that Johanna is not with me, but I’m still hopeful that Susan will let her come later in the week.
As I’m about to turn onto the road that connects 30A with Highway 98, my phone vibrates and I pull it out of my pocket.
It’s Merrill.
Merrill Monroe, an African-American PI and community organizer, has been my closest friend since we were small children, and just seeing his name on my phone screen lifts my spirits.
“Man, it’s good to hear from you,” I say. “I miss you. There are like no black people over here. None. At all.”
“It’s expensive as hell to stay out there,” he says. “And it’s the beach. We can’t afford it. We got no need to work on our tans. And we can’t swim for shit.”
“I also feel guilty for being away when everything is so bad back there.”
It’s only been a few weeks since Hurricane Michael decimated much of our town and county and region, and I find it difficult not being there to help in the recovery efforts.
“Be glad you away from this shit show for little while. They be plenty of misery and suffering for your ass when you get back.”
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“’Bout like you’d expect. We makin’ progress. It’s just slow as fuck.”
Talking to Merrill makes me realize I’ve missed him more than I knew, and it hits me that it’s because of how difficult things are with Anna right now. Not only am I not connected to her right now, but by being out here I feel disconnected from everyone.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Huh? Yeah. Sorry, I zoned out there for a minute.”
“Your ass just solve a crime or something?”
I laugh. “I wish. Nothing like that.”
“Well, I called to ask you an important question,” he says. “Think you can zone back in for a minute?”
“Absolutely,” I say.
“What you think about Christmas weddings?”
“I love Christmas and weddings,” I say. “Putting them together is sort of like mixing peanut butter and chocolate for me.”
“That’s when Za and I plan to do the deed,” he says.
Zaire Bell is a brilliant and beautiful doctor at Sacred Heart Hospital in Port St. Joe and Merrill’s fiancé.
“Oh, Merrill, that’s great news. Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”
“We were wondering if you’d be willing to do the ceremony,” he says. “Tie the knot. Perform the service. Officiate. Whatever it’s called.”
“I’d be honored,” I say. “Truly.”
“Thanks,” he says. “Wouldn’t want anyone else to do it.”
I wonder if he’d still feel that way if he knew the current state of my own marriage. I’ve already had one marriage fail—twice. If he knew that my second one might also, he might feel differently.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” he says. “I can tell something’s up.”
I tell him some of it—enough for him to get an idea of what’s happening without making Anna look any worse.
Even being careful, saying very little, and including very few details, I still feel like I’m betraying Anna, but my guilt is mitigated by how much Merrill loves and cares for and respects her. He’s wise and insightful and supportive—and a very safe place for both of us.
“You the most caring and careful cat I know,” he says. “You treat her like a queen and couldn’t be any better to your girls. And you treat Taylor like she’s your own. So even if there’s room for minor improvements here and there—maybe especially when you deep down the rabbit hole of an investigation—there’s no merit to what she’s saying, so it’s something else.”
Hearing him say that does more for me than anything or anyone else could. Merrill is honest and not shy with his opinions—no matter what they are. And he’s closer to me and Anna than anyone else. He’s in a position to know.
A warm wave of relief and hope washes over me, and I am buoyed up in a way I haven’t been in a very long time.
“How long we known Anna?” he asks. “Damn near our entire lives. In all that time, you ever known her to act anywhere close to this?”
“Not even close.”
“Me either,” he says. “So somethin’s up. Has she seen someone—gotten a checkup or a . . . Sounds like that’d be the best place to start.”
Talking to him and having him respond in this way does me more good than anything has in weeks. I feel immediately better—just from having him hear me, from being able to share the burden of it with someone. And then to have him respond in care and concern for her.
“I can’t get her to even acknowledge she has changed or that anything is wrong,” I say. “She refuses to go the doctor.”
“Then we go to Plan B,” he says.
“Which is?”
“We get her and Dr. Za together. See if she can’t subtly diagnose her over dinner or drinks to talk about our Christmas wedding.”
“Thank you,” I say. “You can’t imagine how much just talking to you about it has helped me.”
“Why your ass shoulda done it sooner and not make me have to drag this shit out of you.”