“I can’t explain everything now, but it’s... someone needs me there. Someone I can’t say no to.”
CHAPTER TWO
Late afternoon light filtered through the sea grass, across the deck behind the Beach Shack. Margo Turner adjusted the cushions on one of the mismatched Adirondack chairs and placed three wine glasses on the side table. The ritual was the same every week, rain or shine: sunset with Eleanor and Vivian. And now, just before her 80th birthday, Margo had no intention of breaking tradition.
Eleanor arrived first, sweeping up the steps in her usual flowing linen tunic and oversized sunglasses, a bottle of rosé tucked under one arm and a bouquet of wildflowers in the other. “You’d think turning eighty would slow a girl down,” she said as she handed off the wine and arranged the flowers in a chipped glass pitcher.
“That’s the hope,” Margo said dryly.
“Nonsense. You’re the only one of us still flipping grilled cheese sandwiches like it’s a sport.”
“It’s all in the wrist,” Margo replied.
Vivian arrived next, in ballet flats and a striped Breton shirt, her silver pixie cut tousled from the wind. She held up a paper bag as she came through the gate. “Brought cookies. The good ones from that little bakery in the canyon.”
The three women settled into their chairs, their legs stretched out, glasses filled, as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. From this perch above the quieter stretch of Laguna Beach’s cliffs, the ocean stretched wide and welcoming. The sound of waves filtered up like a lullaby.
“So,” Eleanor began, raising her glass, “to the queen of the Beach Shack. Tomorrow’s the big eight-oh, and she still refuses to retire.”
“I never said I refuse,” Margo said, taking a sip.
“You didn’t have to,” Vivian said. “Your actions do the talking.”
Margo smiled, tired but fond. She looked out at the water. “I’ve just been waiting on Tyler. He says he wants to take over eventually.”
“Eventually?” Eleanor gave a short laugh. Eleanor: “That boy’s idea of time is tied to the tides.”
“He’s sweet, but he’s been holding it together for months. Inventory, scheduling, deliveries—even the health inspection stuff, when you couldn’t get up the ladder.”
“He’s not perfect, but he’s been a godsend. I don’tknow how I would’ve made it through last year without him.”
“Especially lately,” Eleanor said, her voice carrying a note of concern. “Vivian told me about last week.”
Margo’s hand stilled on her wine glass. “What about last week?”
“The customer who had to wake you up at the grill,” Vivian said gently. “Margo, that’s not like you.”
“I was just tired. It had been a long morning.” Margo’s tone carried the finality of someone who didn’t want to discuss it further.
Eleanor and Vivian exchanged a glance. “Maybe it’s time to think about cutting back your hours,” Eleanor suggested carefully.
“I’m fine,” Margo said firmly. “One tired morning doesn’t mean I’m falling apart.”
A silence settled for a moment, comfortable and familiar.
“What about Meg?” Vivian asked.
Margo didn’t answer right away. She reached for the bottle and refilled her glass slowly. “Meg’s got her life. Big job in San Francisco. She hasn’t been back in years, as you know.”
Eleanor squinted at her. “You miss her.”
“Of course I do,” Margo said. “But she seems happy.”
Another silence.
The sun had just begun to kiss the horizon when a soft knock came at the back gate.
Margo rose, brushing crumbs from her lap, and opened it to find a delivery driver in uniform,holding a small box wrapped in brown paper and string.
