Page 74 of The Beach Shack Summer
“She took a call from the laundry room yesterday. I heard her discussing ROI while sitting on the dryer.”
“Okay, she’s not managing.”
“We need to help her.”
Tyler glanced at his daughter, surprised by the ‘we.’ “Open to suggestions.”
“Well, she can’t keep working from bathrooms. That’s just sad.” Stella navigated a turn with only minimal terror. “Maybe we could build her a shed? Like a work shed?”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. The yard?”
“What yard? We have a patio the size of a postage stamp.”
“Good point.” Stella pulled into the empty parking lot, already more comfortable than last time. “What if we cleaned out the garage?”
“It’s full of boards and photo equipment.”
“Right.” She practiced parking between the lines, tongue poking out in concentration. “This is harder than driving.”
“You’re doing fine. Try again, use your mirrors.”
She backed out, tried again. Straighter this time. “Maybe Meg should just work from the Beach Shack?”
“Too noisy. Plus Margo would put her to work.”
“True. Napkin folding would interfere with her presentations.” Stella successfully parked, mostly straight. “Nailed it!”
“Getting better.”
They practiced for another forty minutes—three-point turns, parallel parking with imaginary cars, smooth stops. Stella’s confidence grew with each circuit of the lot.
“I’m basically a driving expert now,” she announced after successfully navigating a figure-eight pattern Tyler had made her follow.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Can I drive to get coffee?”
“No.”
“Partial credit for asking?”
“No.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m keeping you alive. Same thing.”
They switched seats, Tyler driving them to the café. The sun was starting to burn through the marine layer, promising another perfect beach day.
“So what are we going to do about Meg?” Stella asked, securing her seatbelt.
“I don’t know. She won’t move out because she thinks we need her.”
“We do need her. You can’t cook.”
“I can cook!”
