The Beach Shack had been Richard’s dream, not hers, but she’d embraced it because she loved him. What she couldn’t have known was how this ceiling would become her canvas.
Even now, decades later, she was the only one who knew all the patterns, all the meanings. Tyler recognized some—she’d shown him the wave formations and the hidden pathway that mapped Richard’s favorite surf spots along the coast. But the rest remained her private creation, a secret conversation between her younger and older selves.
The new shell fit perfectly in its chosen spot, completing part of a pattern she’d been working on for the past year.
She stepped back carefully on the ladder, but her balance shifted more than expected.
Just a wobble. She stilled herself, hand on the rail, and waited.
Then continued, but her breath came a little faster than it used to.
She stepped back, admiring how the shell caughtthe evening light streaming through the western windows. Perfect.
She folded the ladder and put it away, then moved to the back deck. The string lights from last night’s gathering still hung overhead, though they were dark now. She’d leave them up for a while—Eleanor would insist on celebrating her birthday all week anyway.
Leaning against the railing, Margo looked out at the darkening ocean. Meg’s question from last night echoed in her mind: “Do you ever get tired of it? The same routine every day.”
Her answer had been honest. Sometimes she got tired—her body feeling all eighty of its years after a long day at the grill—but of the Beach Shack itself? Never.
Margo’s gaze drifted up to the first stars appearing in the twilight sky. The patterns above mirroring the patterns she’d created below.
She thought of the ledger locked in her office desk drawer—the information spanning decades. Records she’d never been willing to share. With anyone.
Would Meg find it? Probably. She was thorough and smart, just like her mother.
What would happen then? Rick had warned her years ago that the arrangement couldn’t last forever. “It’s not sustainable, Mom,” he’d said with that accountant’s precision she both valued and resented.
She’d been asking herself lately if that time had finally come. If perhaps Tyler’s sudden departure andMeg’s unexpected return were the universe’s way of bringing things full circle.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket—the simple flip phone she refused to upgrade despite Tyler’s teasing. A text from Meg:
Finished client calls. Still working through emails at Tyler’s. Sorry about leaving early today. Will be there for opening tomorrow. Need anything tonight?
Margo smiled slightly.
All set. Sleep well.
She slipped the phone back into her pocket and took one last look at the ocean before going inside to lock up.
Tomorrow Meg would be there again with her questions and efficiency. And Margo would keep her secrets a little longer.
As Margo locked the door behind her, the shell mosaic shimmered softly overhead, memories embedded in patterns that appeared random but weren’t. The rhythmic hush of the waves rose gently in the quiet.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The morning rush had just ended when the delivery truck pulled up behind the Beach Shack. Meg, wiping down the counter after the last customer had left, glanced out the window as a man in a brown uniform approached the back door, clipboard in hand.
“Got a delivery for Turner,” he announced, stepping into the kitchen area. “And an invoice that’s past due.”
Meg dried her hands on a towel. “I can sign for the delivery.”
“Great.” The driver handed her the clipboard. “But I need to talk to the owner about the payment. Been trying to get this squared away for weeks now.”
Meg frowned, glancing around for Margo, who had stepped out to the market next door for fresh herbs just minutes earlier.
“She’ll be back shortly,” Meg said. “What’s the issue exactly?”
The driver—Pete, according to his name badge—showed her an invoice marked with a bold “PAST DUE” stamp. “Three months behind on the coffee supplier account. Management’s getting antsy. We’ve been delivering on good faith because, well, it’s Margo’s place, you know? But I can’t keep making exceptions.”
