Page 85 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
Margo exhaled slowly. “A year ago, I would’ve said it would be a disaster. Anna competing, Tyler hiding, Meg trying to manage everyone’s emotions.”
Meg smiled faintly. “Accurate.”
“And now?” Eleanor asked.
“Now,” Margo said, “I think we might actually be all right. Anna’s focusing on her own work, Tyler’s showing up, and Meg’s learning that love doesn’t mean managing everyone else.”
“Still working on that,” Meg admitted.
“And Stella?” Vivian prompted.
“She’d take it as a story,” Margo said. “Observe, document, process. She’s the steady one.”
Vivian leaned forward. “And you, Margo? How wouldyouhandle it?”
Margo thought for a long moment. “The way I’ve handled everything this summer—one day at a time, with as much grace as I can manage.”
“That’s very zen,” Eleanor said.
“That’s very survival,” Margo said.
Meg set down her glass. “We’ll handle it,” she said quietly. “All of us. This family’s not the same one she left.”
Margo’s expression softened, proud and sad at the same time. “No,” she said. “It’s not.”
Eleanor reached to refill their glasses. “It’s interesting how much everyone’s grown. Anna learning boundaries, Stella finding her voice, even Tyler choosing to stay.”
“Growth is messy,” Vivian said. “But it’s progress.”
They lingered as the sun began to set, the horizon softening into evening.
When the gathering finally broke up, Eleanor caught Margo’s arm at the gate. “Whatever happens with Sam, you’ve built something beautiful this summer. Don’t let anyone’s choices make you forget that.”
“I won’t,” Margo said.
Walking home through the quiet streets, she thought about family, about change, about the daughter who might soon return to a world that had moved forward without her.
If Sam came back expecting the same patterns, she was in for a surprise.
And maybe, Margo thought, that was the best kind of beginning.
Whatever came next — Sam’s return, the next Festival, the next chapter — they’d handle it.
All of them.
EPILOGUE
Meg and Luke walked slowly down the familiar street, hands loosely linked, savoring the comfortable quiet that came after a long evening with friends. The salt air carried the distant sound of waves, and the Beach Shack came into view ahead of them, its exterior wall transformed by Anna’s mural.
“Look at that,” Meg said, stopping to admire the progress.
Anna and Bea had been working on the ocean-themed mural, and it was stunning. Waves seemed to flow across the wall in blues and greens that shifted in the streetlight, dotted with local sea life and delicate shells that looked almost three-dimensional. A family walking past earlier had stopped to take photos, and Meg had seen several kids pointing excitedly at the painted dolphins.
“Remember when we first suggested this?” Luke asked, studying the intricate details. “You looked like you were planning Anna’s funeral.”
Meg laughed. “I was convinced she’d somehow get paint on the customers. But giving her the exterior wall to work on turned out to be perfect—she gets her creative outlet, and I get to keep paint out of the restaurant.”
“Your first big family decision as a group,” Luke said. “How does it feel?”
