Can you talk?
A video link popped up almost immediately. Meg clicked, and Anna appeared, seated on a narrow stone staircase that wound up the back of a Florence apartment building. Warm light spilled out from a nearby window, casting lemony shadows on the stucco wall behind her.
“You look like you’re in a postcard,” Meg said.
Anna smiled tiredly. “I smell like oil paint and despair. What’s wrong?”
Meg sighed, sinking back into the armchair. “Italked to Rick today. About Margo, about the Beach Shack’s finances. And honestly? I’m worried, Anna. Really worried.”
“Tell me,” Anna said, leaning closer to the camera.
Meg explained about Rick’s concerns, his fears about Margo’s lack of retirement savings, the ongoing payments that had prevented her from building any financial security. Anna listened without interrupting, her artist’s eyes taking in not just the words but Meg’s body language, the way her voice carried the weight of newfound responsibility.
“And the worst part is, I don’t know how to help,” Meg finished. “I keep thinking there’s some solution I’m missing, some way to fix decades of financial decisions. But how do you help someone who’s been independent for fifty years?”
Anna’s expression softened. “You sound like Mom.”
Meg blinked. “That’s... not exactly comforting.”
They sat with that for a beat. Meg had never considered her mother’s departure through that lens—not as abandonment, but as someone who’d reached her breaking point trying to solve everything for everyone.
“I wish I could give you answers,” Anna continued. “But I’m three thousand miles away, and honestly? I was never the one who paid attention to the business side of things. That was always you and Tyler.”
“Tyler’s in Australia with his own situation,” Meg said. “And Rick and Margo barely talk about moneyanymore. And Margo acts like everything’s fine when Rick thinks it’s clearly not.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I feel like I’m standing between two cliffs,” Meg admitted. “If I go back to San Francisco, I lose this—Margo, the Shack, even you. But if I stay... I have no idea if I can actually help or if I’ll just make things more complicated.”
“You don’t have to have all the answers,” Anna said simply. “You just have to keep showing up.”
Meg looked down at the notebook. “I was going to skip the bonfire tonight. Luke invited me. I said no. Too much on my mind.”
Anna’s eyebrows shot up. “Luke? The surfing instructor Luke?”
Meg narrowed her eyes. “You remember him?”
“I remember you used to doodle hearts around his name in your sketchbook. You HAVE to go.”
Meg laughed. “I cannot believe you remember that.”
“Oh, I remember everything embarrassing. It’s my job.” Anna grinned. “Plus, Bea found your old sketchbooks in the closet last summer. She was very impressed by your artistic skills. Quote: ‘Aunt Meg draws hearts like a professional.’”
“Oh no, she saw those?”
“She also found the one where you practiced writing ‘Meg Donovan’ about fifty times.”
Meg buried her face in her hands. “I’m never living that down.”
“Never,” Anna confirmed cheerfully. “But seriously,you should go. When’s the last time you did something just because it sounded fun?”
Meg hesitated. “It just doesn’t feel like there’s room in my life for... that.”
“Maybe that’s exactly why you should go,” Anna said. “You’re allowed to want something good. Even if it’s temporary. Even if it’s just a beach bonfire.”
“I don’t even know what I’d wear,” Meg said. “I packed for business meetings and family dinners, not... socializing.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t pack a dress like you wore to that bonfire when we were fourteen.”
