Page 24 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
Bernie paused, considering. "Margo's harder to read. She's watching everything, but I can't tell if she's planning to intervene or just collecting data."
"Collecting data for what?" Stella asked.
"That," Bernie said with a knowing smile, "is the million-dollar question."
The lunch rush picked up again, and the teenagers returned to their brand of chaos management. Bea created increasingly artistic order tickets, Stella translated them as diplomatically as she could, and Joey stress-folded napkins while slipping into Coffee Drinker poses whenever he concentrated too hard.
But Stella found herself thinking about Bernie's words and glancing at Margo.
Joey followed her gaze and said, "How is it that Margo watches all this chaos and is quiet? No thoughts, no opinions. Nor normally like her."
Stella laughed and looked back at the restaurant. "Oh, believe me, there are thoughts and opinions in there. We just won't hear them until she's good and ready to share."
CHAPTER TEN
Anna Walsh stood in the Laguna Beach Community Center art room, watching chaos unfold with the satisfaction of watching the happy smiles she'd missed. Here, at least, her kind of chaos made sense.
“Ms. Walsh! Ms. Walsh! Look what I made while you were gone!” Seven-year-old Claire thrust a clay sculpture at her that might have been a dog. Or a dinosaur. Or possibly a self-portrait.
“Did you use the techniques we practiced?” Anna asked, examining the lumpy creation with genuine interest.
“No! I made up my own way! Like you said—rules are just suggestions!”
Behind Claire, her father winced. “She’s been telling her teacher that all summer. Thanks for that.”
Anna grinned at her father, who despite his pained expression, was trying not to smile. “Creative thinking is important.”
“So is following her math homework instructions,” he said dryly. “But apparently those are ‘suggestions’ too now.”
“Math has room for creativity,” Anna said. “Think of all those beautiful patterns in fractals?—”
“Please don’t give her more ammunition.”
The art room was filling up fast. Anna had sent out a casual email saying she was back early from Italy, and she’d be at the center if anyone wanted to drop by, and apparently the entire summer class from the previous summer had shown up. Kids clutched art supplies, parents carried coffee, and everyone talked at once.
“Did you see the David in Florence?” asked Candace, one of her teenage students. “Was it as magnificent as they say?”
“Every time,” Anna said. “Though honestly? The copies all over the city are almost as interesting. Art living in the world instead of behind glass.”
“That’s what you always say!” piped up Everett, age nine. “Art should be everywhere!”
“Is that why you drew on the kitchen cabinets?” his mother asked.
“It needed color,” Everett said defensively.
Anna stifled a laugh. “Maybe we stick to paper at home. But here...” She gestured at the art room walls, covered in student work. “Here we can make all the color we want.”
“Are you back for good?” Claire asked, wrapping her arms around Anna’s waist. “Forever and ever?”
“For the summer at least,” Anna said. “Until my teaching job starts again in the fall.”
“My mom says you’re entering the Festival this year,” Claire said. “Is that true?”
“It is!” Anna said, her excitement evident. “I’m working on a series based on what I learned about light in Florence. Morning light, specifically—the way it transforms everything it touches.”
“That’s so cool!” Claire bounced on her toes. “What are you painting?”
“Light studies of familiar places, but seeing them with new eyes,” Anna explained. “Florence taught me so muchabout capturing those golden moments when everything feels magical.”
