Page 49 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
Bea smiled. This was the Anna she loved—the one who cared about people, who felt genuinely awful when she realized she’d caused harm.
“I think he’d appreciate that,” Bea said softly.
Anna looked down at the paint tubes in her hands, her excitement subdued. “I really thought I was making things better. The circulation patterns, the aesthetic flow—it all made sense in my head.”
“I know you did. And your ideas aren’t bad, Mom. They’re actually pretty brilliant. It’s just...” Bea struggled to find the right words. “People don’t always see it the way you do. When they get confused or overwhelmed, they go quiet.”
Anna frowned. “Did someone say something to you?”
“Not exactly. Joey and Stella just noticed I do the same thing sometimes. Try to make everything meaningful, turn every moment into art. It gets tiring for people. Even when they love you.”
Anna looked down at the ultramarine tube. The store hummed around them—soft jazz, the low shuffle of other customers. “I always thought meaning was the point,” she said quietly. “That if something was beautiful, people would want it.”
“Sometimes they do,” Bea said. “But sometimes they’re just trying to find the napkins.”
Anna gave a small laugh, then her expression grew thoughtful. “You know what I think the problem is? I haven’t been communicating my vision clearly enough.”
“Mom—”
“No, think about it,” Anna said, her voice gaining energy again. “Joey didn’t understand why I moved the dispensers because I didn’t explain the circulation benefits. If I’d taken timeto show him how the new system would improve efficiency, he would have understood.”
Bea watched her mother start to rebuild her enthusiasm, that familiar pattern of deflecting criticism into planning.
“Maybe people don’t need to understand it,” Bea tried. “Maybe they just need things to stay the same for once.”
Anna tilted her head. “But growth requires change. Art is about transformation.”
“Or maybe sometimes people just want their napkins where they expect them to be.”
Anna smiled absently, already layering her blues again. “For my next project, I’ll make sure to include proper explanation. Educational materials, maybe even a brief presentation about the benefits.”
“What next project?” Bea asked, though she had a sinking feeling she already knew.
“Just something I’m considering. But this time will be different. I’ll make sure everyone understands the vision before I implement anything.” Anna picked up both paint tubes. “Cerulean for highlights, ultramarine for depth. I’ll need palette knives too—texture is so important for creating dimension.”
Bea followed, watching Anna collect brushes and knives with renewed determination. It was like watching someone learn exactly the wrong lesson from failure.
“I should talk to Joey tomorrow,” Anna said as they headed toward checkout. “Apologize for the napkin situation and maybe explain what I was trying to achieve. Once he understands the workflow benefits, he’ll see why the changes made sense.”
“Mom,” Bea said helplessly.
“This conversation was so helpful,” Anna continued, loading their basket with supplies for whatever mysterious project she was planning. “You’re right—I just need to communicate better.Clear explanations, proper preparation. People will appreciate improvements when they understand the reasons behind them.”
Bea forced a smile. “I’m glad it helped.”
As they paid for their supplies and headed to the car, Anna kept talking about color theory and the importance of helping people understand artistic vision. Bea listened, nodding when appropriate, half in awe of her mother’s optimism, half in dread about whatever beautifully explained disaster Anna was planning next.
After all, what was the worst that could happen? Anna would apologize to Joey, create something beautiful with proper educational materials, and people would learn to appreciate her improvements.
It would all be fine.
Probably.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The coffee shop on Forest Avenue had the kind of worn wooden tables and mismatched chairs that made conversations feel both casual and important. Meg slid into the corner booth, grateful for the normalcy of meeting her oldest friends for their monthly catch-up.
Paige arrived first, event planner skills on full display as she juggled her phone, planner, and iced coffee. "Sorry, bride emergency. Apparently having a beach wedding means the sand might get sandy. Who knew?"
