Page 29 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
“Better. Dr. Martinez says my blood pressure’s stabilized, but he keeps using words like ‘slow down’ and ‘delegate responsibility.’ As if running the Beach Shack for fifty years hasn’t taught me a thing or two about pacing myself.”
“Maybe he has a point,” Vivian said gently. “You’ve been carrying that place since Richard died. That’s a lot of weight for anyone’s shoulders.”
Margo took a sip of wine, considering. “The interesting thing is, all three of them are here—Anna’s back from Florence, Tyler’s staying put instead of disappearing to Australia, and Meg’s got her feet under her. Together, for the first time since they were teenagers. And I find myself wondering something I never thought I’d wonder.”
“What’s that?” Eleanor asked with the careful tone of someone who sensed something significant coming.
“Whether any of them actually want this place,” Margo said quietly. “I mean really want it. Not just helping me out because I’m their grandmother, but actually caring enough to commit to it.”
Vivian leaned forward with interest. “What makes you wonder that now?”
“Because they all have their own lives, their own careers. Meg’s got her consulting work, Tyler’s got his photography, Anna’s got her art. The Shack has just been... there. The family place where they help out when I need it. But do any of them actually want to take responsibility for it? Really commit to it, not just as my helpers, but as owners of what happens to this place?”
“Have you asked them?”
“How do you ask that question without it sounding like ‘who wants to inherit my life’s work’?” Margo laughed, but there was real uncertainty in it. “Besides, I’m not sure they’ve ever thought about it. The Shack has always been mine to worry about.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m eighty, and I need to know if this place matters enough to any of them that they’d actually step up for it. Becauseif it doesn’t—if they’re just here temporarily, being helpful—then I need to make other plans.”
“You sound like you’re planning to find out,” Vivian said carefully.
“Maybe I am.” Margo’s eyes held a thoughtful glint. “I’ve spent fifty years making sure the Shack runs smoothly, managing every crisis, being the safety net for everything. But what if I stepped back a little? What if I let them handle more of the daily decisions, the problems, the responsibility?”
“That sounds either very wise or very brave,” Eleanor said.
“Or very foolish,” Margo added with a laugh. “But I need to know, you know? I need to see if any of them actually care enough to step up when I’m not managing everything. Actually, I may have already started the experiment.”
Eleanor and Vivian exchanged glances.
“How so?” Vivian asked.
“Anna came to me yesterday with some ideas about ‘optimizing’ the restaurant. Something she learned in Florence—the Florence Method, she called it. She wants to reorganize the coffee station, reorganize the furniture layout, implement what she calls ‘aesthetic workflow enhancement’.”
“Oh my,” Eleanor said quietly.
“And you said yes?” Vivian asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
“I said yes,” Margo confirmed. “If I’m going to find out whether they can handle real responsibility, they need real opportunities to succeed or fail. And if Anna’s passionate enough about improving the place to spend hours planning changes, shouldn’t I let her try?”
“Even if it might be a disaster?” Eleanor asked gently.
“Especially if it might be a disaster,” Margo said. “Because that’s when you really find out what people are made of. Whenthings go wrong and they have to figure out how to fix them—or whether they even care enough to try.”
“You’re not just testing Anna, are you?” Vivian leaned back in her chair, studying Margo’s face.
“No. I’m testing all of them. Anna with her improvements, Tyler with whether he’ll stick around when things get complicated, Meg with whether she’ll step up to manage problems that aren’t technically her responsibility.” Margo smiled. “It should be very educational.”
“By the way,” Vivian said pointedly, “I’ve been walking past your cottage in the evenings. That easel on your porch isn’t just decorative, is it?”
Margo felt heat creep up her neck. “You’ve been spying.”
“I’ve been paying attention. There’s a difference.” Vivian’s voice was gentle but firm. “And what I’ve seen looks like the work of someone who never really stopped being an artist.”
“I’m just playing around,” Margo deflected. “Keeping my hands busy.”
“Margo Turner,” Eleanor’s voice held that particular tone that meant no nonsense would be tolerated. “I caught a glimpse of that sunset piece through your window last week. That wasn’t playing around. That was the work of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing with a brush.”
