Page 76 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
“Group photo?” Tyler suggested, raising his camera.
“Absolutely not,” Stella said. “Save it for after we lose.”
“When we lose gracefully,” Bea said.
“Fine. When we lose gracefully.”
The Festival gala looked like someone had hung lights in every tree. Stella stood with her family near the front, trying not to wrinkle her program. Margo looked serene in her navy dress, Bea had managed to find something without paint on it, Anna wore the less dramatic sandals, and Tyler held his camera like he wished it came with an invisibility cloak.
“Look,” Bea whispered, “there’s Mrs. Walker.”
Mrs. Walker waved from across the crowd, giving them an encouraging thumbs up.
“Bernie’s working the crowd,” Tyler observed. Stella could see their favorite betting coordinator moving between groups with his tablet.
“Of course he is,” Stella said. “This is his Super Bowl.”
“And now,” the emcee said, “our finalists for the Spirit of Laguna Award...”
Stella felt her stomach drop as names were read. “Margo Turner—‘Coastline, Remembered.’ Anna Walsh—‘Cartography of Morning.’ Beatrice Walsh—‘Light Studies.’ Stella Walsh—‘The Shack Breathes.’”
Bernie, three rows back, fist-pumped like he’d just won the lottery. “Called it,” he stage-whispered. “Walsh dynasty.”
Tyler made a sound that might have been a groan. “This is my nightmare.”
Anna grabbed Stella’s hand, squeezing tight. “We’re all finalists. All of us.”
“I know,” Stella whispered back, feeling the weight of it. Her first submission, and she was standing next to three generations of Walsh women who’d been making art longer than she’d been alive.
The judges took longer than necessary. Bea waved at someone across the aisle. Anna fanned herself with the program. Meg’s hand found Luke’s. Margo sat very still, calm in the middle of everything.
“What if we have to give speeches?” Bea whispered.
“Then you talk about light and Anna talks about morning and I pretend I know what I’m doing,” Stella replied.
“What does Margo talk about?”
“Everything,” Stella said. “She’s Margo.”
A judge returned to the mic. “This year’s Spirit of Laguna goes to...”
The pause felt endless.
“Elena Martínez, for ‘Seafoam at Dawn.’”
Applause filled the tent. A young woman in a flowy dress burst into tears, looking radiant and startled as the ribbon was placed in her hands.
For a moment the Walshes sat stunned, like they’d all been holding their breath.
Bea’s eyebrows lifted. “Not... us?”
Anna made a face that was half grimace, half grin. “Well. That’s interesting.”
Stella found herself smiling too. The girl onstage looked so happy she was practically glowing. She deserved to glow.
Margo chuckled. “Look at her. She’s luminous.”
“Thank goodness,” Tyler muttered, taking one photo. “Now I don’t have to pick sides.”
