Page 45 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
Margo’s eyes didn’t leave the window. “Because this is the first time in twenty years they’ve all been in the same place long enough to be asked.”
She sipped her wine. “And maybe the last.”
Stella thought about Mrs. Walker, who’d been coming to the restaurant for twenty-three years and could sense when something was wrong. About Bernie, about all the regulars who depended on the Beach Shack being a place that felt like home.
“What if they figure it out?” she asked. “What if they actually do want it and learn how to work together?”
“Then I’ll be the happiest eighty-year-old in California,” Margo said, smiling for the first time that evening. “And I’ll paint landscapes and teach you how to mix colors and watch them build something beautiful together.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then I’ll paint landscapes and teach you how to mix colors and hope that whoever buys the Shack loves it half as much as I do.”
Stella looked at her great-grandmother and felt something she hadn’t expected—she wanted to bubble-wrap Margo. Which was new.
“I wish I could fix it,” Stella said.
“You’re already helping more than you know,” Margo said. “Just by being here, by caring about what happens to the Shack.”
“They didn’t learn anything tonight, by the way. They all left still mad.”
“I know.” Margo stood, moving to the window that faced toward the Beach Shack. “But maybe being mad will make them think about what they actually want.”
“And if they decide they don’t want it?”
“Then at least we’ll know.” Margo turned back to Stella. “That’s better than guessing and being disappointed later.”
Stella joined her at the window. Even from here, you could see the glow of the Beach Shack’s neon sign through the trees. Tomorrow, customers would come in expecting their usual breakfast and familiar faces. They wouldn’t know about tonight’s drama, wouldn’t care about family problems. They’d just want their coffee and their corner booth and the feeling that some things in the world stayed the same.
“It’s a lot of responsibility,” Stella said.
“It is. That’s why I need to know they really want it.” Margo put her arm around Stella’s shoulders. “And why I’m grateful you understand what’s at stake.”
“Do you think they’ll figure it out?”
“Ask me in a few weeks,” Margo said. “Right now, they’re all hurt and angry. But feelings change. The question is whether they’ll choose to work together or keep fighting.”
As Stella walked back through the quiet streets, she thought about Margo sitting alone in her cottage with her art supplies, finally doing something just for herself after fifty years of taking care of everyone else.
At least now Stella understood why Margo wasn’t rushing to fix everything. Sometimes the only way to find out if people could handle responsibility was to give it to them and step back.
Even if watching them struggle made her want to throw something at the wall. Supportively.
Maybe that was the point. Margo wasn’t done. Not yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Joey was mid-napkin-fold when Bea slid into the seat across from him, wearing sunglasses like she’d survived something terrible.
Stella trailed behind her with two pastries and the expression of someone who had witnessed a disaster.
“Morning,” Joey said carefully. “Why do you both look dead?”
“Because we got traumatized,” Bea said, unwrapping a muffin like it had personally offended her.
“Family dinner,” Stella said, dropping into the seat next to her cousin. “At Meg’s.”
Joey froze mid-fold, eyes wide. “Wait, the actual family dinner? The one Margo hinted about like it was a season finale?”
