Page 85 of The Beach Shack
Margo nodded, remembering the earnest young man who’d peppered Luke with questions about ocean conservation, who’d sketched marine life on napkins during his breaks. “He still stops by sometimes when he’s in town. Always asks about his old apron.”
She watched her son absorb this—the realization that the scholarship fund hadn’t just helped these young people, but had created ripple effects. Teachers and nurses and researchers and small business owners, all connected by a thread that led back to Richard’s original promise to help when he could.
“There must be forty, fifty people here, Mom,” Rick whispered. “All these names...”
More, actually, counting the three new recipientsshe’d approved just last month. But who was counting? Well, she was. She’d counted every single one, remembered their stories, followed their journeys when she could.
Rick turned another page and stopped, his breath catching. She leaned forward to see what had affected him so deeply.
“Tommy Davis,” he read again, but this time his finger traced a different entry. “Marine biology degree.” He looked up, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I had no idea you?—”
His voice broke off as the full magnitude of what she’d been doing finally hit him. Margo felt her own eyes filling as she watched her son—her practical, responsible, loving son—finally understand.
“I called you irresponsible,” Rick said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “I said you were dishonoring Dad’s memory. I was so wrong, Mom. So completely wrong.”
She wanted to comfort him, to say it didn’t matter, but the words wouldn’t come. It had mattered. His disapproval had cut deep, made her question her choices during the hardest moments.
“You didn’t know—“ she began.
“I should have asked.” Rick’s voice cracked, and she saw the little boy he’d once been—serious and careful, afraid of making mistakes. “I should have trusted that you had a reason. That you and Dad had built something meaningful here.”
He gestured at the ledger with shaking hands. “Thisis his legacy, isn’t it? This is what he would have wanted.”
Margo reached across the table and took her son’s hand—really held it, not just the polite touch of greeting or goodbye, but the firm grip of connection. His fingers were warm, familiar despite the years of distance.
“Yes,” she said simply. “This is exactly what Richard would have wanted.”
Rick turned more pages, reading entries with growing amazement. She watched him discover the updates she’d added over the years—graduation announcements, wedding invitations, birth certificates of second-generation children who existed because their parents had been given a chance.
“Maria’s daughter wants to be a nurse too,” Margo found herself saying. “She’s starting high school next year. Bright as her mother.”
“And Tommy’s research,” Rick said, looking up from the ledger. “The work he’s doing on coral restoration—I’ve read about it in journals.”
Pride bloomed in Margo’s chest. Not just for the young people who’d succeeded, but for her son’s recognition of what they’d accomplished. For the first time in years, they were seeing the same thing.
Meg cleared her throat gently, and Margo realized she’d almost forgotten her granddaughter was there, watching this long-overdue reconciliation unfold.
“The thing is,” Meg said carefully, “we think youwere right about one thing. It does need better structure. Legal protection. Financial oversight.”
Rick looked up, suddenly focused, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “What kind of structure?”
Margo felt a flutter of anxiety. Even now, even with the truth finally in the open, she worried about losing control of something she’d nurtured so carefully.
“That’s where we hoped you’d help us,” she said, the words coming out smaller than she’d intended. “If you want to.”
Rick’s smile transformed his entire face, erasing years of careful distance. “Of course I want to help. This is...” He shook his head in amazement. “This is exactly what Dad would have wanted. What he did want, apparently. And you did it, Mom. All by yourself.”
They spent the next two hours planning together, and Margo marveled at how natural it felt. Rick’s financial expertise, Meg’s organizational skills, her own deep knowledge of community needs—they fit together like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t realized was incomplete.
“We could establish an endowment,” Rick said, his excitement growing. “Create a sustainable base that generates income. Maybe even invite other donors.”
“We want to keep it personal,” Margo warned, but she could already see the possibilities. Other businesses wanting to contribute. Alumni of the program giving back. A foundation that could help dozens more young people than she’d ever managed alone.
As the afternoon sun slanted through the Beach Shack windows, Margo watched her son and granddaughter work together, building on the foundation she and Richard had laid so many years ago. Not replacing what they’d built, but making it stronger.
“There’s one more thing,” she said as they wrapped up. “The recipients don’t know it’s me. I’d like to keep it that way for now.”
Rick nodded immediately. “Of course. Though eventually, people might figure it out.”
