Page 78 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
“I want to finish an entire series,” Bea added. “Not just pieces of one. Something cohesive.”
Tyler thought for a moment, watching the melting ice cream patterns on the table. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve family members as subjects. Branch out.”
“What about you?” Meg asked Stella. “Think you’ll submit again?”
Stella thought about it, about seeing her work displayed, about strangers stopping to study her photographs. About the woman who’d asked if prints were available and seemed disappointed when Stella said no.
She also stole a glance at Tyler, who looked away. Neither one of them knew if she’d even be there next year, but she knew this wasn’t the right time to bring that up to the entire family.
“Maybe,” she said. “But I want to get better first. Learn more about composition and lighting and... I don’t know. All the stuff real photographers know.”
“You are a real photographer,” Margo said. “You just need more practice.”
“And what about you?” Anna asked Margo. “First submission in decades. How did it feel?”
Margo was quiet for a moment, looking at her rocky road like it had answers. “Terrifying,” she admitted finally. “But also...right. I forgot how good it felt to create something just because I wanted to.”
“Will you do it again?” Tyler asked.
“Already planning next year’s piece,” Margo said with a small smile. “Something about morning light on water. I’ve been sketching ideas.”
Stella sat with that revelation—that this wasn’t an ending but a beginning, that tonight’s disappointment was just part of a longer story they were all writing together.
The ice cream was losing its battle against the evening heat, requiring more strategic eating and fewer philosophical discussions.
“We should probably head up to the amphitheater,” Luke said eventually, checking his watch. “The pageant starts soon.”
“Right,” Meg said, gathering napkins and purses. “Can’t miss Coffee Drinker Number Two’s moment of glory.”
The night air was soft and warm, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant smell of popcorn from the amphitheater. As they walked up the hill, Stella could see Bernie in the distance, working the crowd near the Pageant entrance with his tablet, probably running some elaborate betting pool on which tableau would get the loudest applause.
“Ready to cheer loud enough to embarrass Joey in public?” Anna asked.
“Isn’t that the point of family?” Meg replied, linking arms with Luke as they walked up the gentle slope. “Although I think we’re supposed to be quiet here.”
“Okay, I’ll try,” Anna said with a laugh. “For Joey.”
The ribbon might’ve gone to someone else. But the night? The night still belonged to them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The amphitheater buzzed with quiet energy. Blankets dotted the crowd, thermoses steamed in the cooling air, and murmurs rolled under the eucalyptus trees. The orchestra tuned up as the narrator’s warm voice welcomed everyone to another summer of living art.
They found their spot on the hillside, settling in with the comfortable familiarity of people who’d done this before. Tyler adjusted his camera strap, then deliberately left it in his bag. Stella noticed and smiled.
“No documentation tonight?” she asked quietly.
“Some things are better just watched,” he said.
The lights dimmed. A hush fell over the crowd. The first tableau came out of darkness—people becoming painting. It was beautiful.
The harbor at dawn came to life on stage. A fisherman’s shoulder held perfectly still. A ribbon froze mid-flutter. A painted wave pretended to be motionless while somehow being pure motion underneath.
Stella felt the old itch—the reach for her camera, the instinct to catch the uncatchable. Her hand brushed the strap at her hip.
She let it fall.
Some moments wanted to be kept by eyes only.
