Page 79 of The Beach Shack Summer
Luke’s mouth twitched. “The acoustics?—”
“Are excellent, yes, I know.” She managed a smile. “But Luke, it’s insane. I’ve taken over every surface in that house. Stella’s eating breakfast standing up because the kitchen’s too crowded. Tyler’s editing photos on his bed. We’re all pretending it’s fine but?—”
“It’s not fine.”
“It’s really not.” She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “But what’s the alternative? Tyler needs me there. Stella’s just starting to trust us.”
“What does staying mean to you?” Luke asked. “Really staying, not just camping out in Tyler’s guest room?”
Meg considered this. “I don’t know. I’ve been so focused on not abandoning them that I haven’t thought about what actually settling here looks like.” She paused. “I should probably figure out the San Francisco house situation.”
“You’re still paying mortgage on an empty place?”
“It’s not empty. My furniture’s there. My life is—was—there.” She corrected herself. “But yeah, it’s sitting there while I’m here, and that’s not exactly sustainable either.”
“Sounds like you’re already thinking about selling.”
“Maybe? I don’t know. It feels so final.” She watched a pelican dive for fish. “Which is ridiculous because I haven’t been back except to grab clothes. But selling it means admitting I’m not going back to that life.”
“Is that bad?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” She laughed, frustrated. “I’ve never thought so much about living spaces in my life. Last night I was sitting on Tyler’s porch trying to call Anna privately, and I noticed my old house for the first time since I’ve been back.”
“Your old house?”
“Where I grew up. Sam’s place. It’s like three doors down from Tyler.” She shook her head. “It’s been empty so long it just faded into the background for me. Like visual white noise.”
Luke sat up straighter. “Wait. You’re right. It’s totally empty. She’s been gone for years.”
“It’s not really empty. I mean, no one lives there, but it’s still Mom’s.” Meg traced patterns in the sand with her toe. “At least, I think it is. She’s been gone for years but I don’t think she ever sold it.”
“Has anyone been inside?”
“Not that I know of. Though someone’s maintaining the garden. I noticed that last night—roses all trimmed, herbs neat. Weird, right?”
“Very weird.” Luke stood, offering her his hand. “Want to go look?”
“What? No. Luke, we can’t just?—“
“We’re not breaking in. Just looking. From the outside. Like concerned neighbors.”
“I am a concerned neighbor,” Meg realized. “I literally live three doors away and I’ve been ignoring an empty house.”
“So let’s unconcern ourselves.”
The drive back to Laguna took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of Meg listing all the reasons this was a bad idea: it wasn’t their house, Sam might have sold it, what if someone was squatting, what if the neighbors called the police.
“The neighbors are Tyler and Margo,” Luke pointed out. “Pretty sure they won’t call the cops on you.”
They parked in front of Tyler’s. The chaos was visible even from outside—papers pressed against windows like trapped birds. Three doors down, Sam’s house sat quiet, a Spanish-style bungalow that matched the neighborhood’s 1920s charm.
“It looks... normal,” Meg said, surprised. “I expected it to look more abandoned.”
They walked down the sidewalk, trying to appear casual. Up close, the maintenance was even more obvious. The lawn was mowed, hedges trimmed, no accumulation of newspapers or flyers.
“Someone’s definitely taking care of it,” Luke observed.
“But who? And why?” Meg peered through a gap in the fence. “The back garden looks perfect too. Those tomatoes are staked properly and everything.”
