Page 57 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
Tyler scrolled again, the pattern undeniable—hesitation, confusion, polite uncertainty. Regulars approaching the counter like guests.
“We made them feel like strangers,” he said, the words landing heavier than he expected.
“Anna meant well,” Stella said quickly. “Some of the changes were beautiful.”
“But beauty doesn’t help if people feel unwelcome in their own place.” Tyler set down his slice, appetite gone. “And I’ve been so busy documenting other people’s art that I missed what was happening to ours.”
“What happens now?” Stella asked, careful.
Tyler thought of Bernie’s phrasing, of customers’ faces, of Margo watching quietly instead of fixing things.
“I think we’re heading for a reckoning,” he said finally. “Bernie doesn’t run pulse checks for fun. If he’s worried, something’s shifting.”
They ate in silence, the pizza box between them like the one normal thing in a weird day.
“Can I tell you something?” Tyler said, grabbing a napkin. “These photos—people looking unsettled, Bernie tracking it all—this is real documentary work. You’re not just taking pictures, Stella. You’re telling the truth.”
Stella looked down at her camera, fingerprints on the display. “I was just noticing things.”
“That’s what the best photographers do,” Tyler said. “They notice what everyone else misses. Or what we see but don’t really process. You caught what I was living through and didn’t see.”
“Even if what I caught is kind of depressing?”
“Especially then.” He looked again at Bernie’s face. “You’ve been documenting. I’ve just been avoiding.”
Stella was quiet, thinking.
“I want to pay attention now,” he said. “Not just frame it—actually see it.”
“Think it’s too late?”
Tyler chewed thoughtfully. The pizza was cooling, cheese stiffening but still good. “No. But we’ve got to fix it before it gets worse. And maybe—” He nodded at her camera. “Maybe your photos are the mirror we need.”
“You want to show them to everyone?”
“They need to see. Not to blame, but to understand. Sometimes you need proof to notice patterns.”
“Anna’s going to feel awful.”
“She’s an artist. Artists know you have to face what you create, even when it’s not what you meant.”
“And if what we created is worried customers and confused regulars?”
“Then we start over,” Tyler said, closing the box. “But first we have to admit what’s real.”
Stella nodded. “Ice cream? For processing uncomfortable realizations?”
Tyler checked the time. “Closes at nine. We’d better hurry.”
“Some realizations need ice cream. Just like days need pizza.”
“Sound logic.” Tyler stood, grabbing his keys. “Scoop shop?”
“Obviously. What kind of daughter do you think I am?”
“The kind who notices what everyone else misses,” Tyler said, and meant it.
“The kind who spots when her family’s accidentally wrecking something good,” Stella added, smiling as she slung her camera over her shoulder. “Mint chocolate chip?”
