“What about Sam? When she finds out?”
“If she wanted a say, she should have come home.” The words were sharp but her friends heard the grief underneath. “Meg will do something real with that space. Make it a home instead of a... whatever I’ve turned it into.”
“A love letter,” Letty said gently. “You’ve turned it into a love letter she’s never going to read.”
This time, Margo didn’t look away from the compassion in their faces. She let them see her, really see her, for the first time in years.
“I’ll go with you tomorrow,” Eleanor announced. “When you tell Meg.”
“We all will,” Vivian said firmly. “If you want us.”
“I—” Margo stopped, overwhelmed. The offer was everything, but she knew what she needed to do. “Thank you. That means more than you know. But I think... I need to do this part alone. Just Meg and me.”
Eleanor studied her face, then nodded. “Of course. But we’re here if you change your mind.”
“We’re always here,” Letty added softly.
“I know.” Margo’s voice was thick with gratitude. “That’s what got me through tonight.”
They stayed late, later than usual. Not talking much, just being there. Letty made more coffee. Nadine found the good cookies Margo hid for emergencies. Eleanor told stories about their younger days, when Sam was small and still theirs.
When they finally left, each woman hugged Margo longer than usual. Real hugs, the kind that said everything words couldn’t.
Alone in her kitchen, Margo washed the good cups by hand. Tomorrow she’d tell Meg about the house. Tomorrow she’d hand over the keys to Sam’s house. And her friends would be there, holding her up if she needed it.
The last cup dried and put away, Margo allowed herself one more moment of grief. Not for thedaughter she’d lost—Sam was still alive somewhere, chasing light across continents. But for the daughter she’d imagined, the one who would have come home for Stella, who would have wanted to know her granddaughter, who would have chosen family over art just once.
Tomorrow, she’d stop waiting for a ghost.
Tonight, she’d learned she didn’t have to wait alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Beach Shack was winding down from another busy day. Meg wiped down the last table while Margo tallied receipts and Joey restocked napkins with his usual precision. Tyler and Stella had left an hour ago—he’d mentioned something about showing her different sunset spots for future photography lessons.
Meg’s phone buzzed—Brad again. She glanced at it, already mentally calculating whether she could take the call here or need to retreat to the bathroom. Again. This morning’s conference call had echoed off the tiles while she’d sat on the tub edge, pretending her “home office” wasn’t a water closet. She let it go to voicemail. Brad could wait.
“Joey,” Margo said suddenly. “Can you finish closing?”
“Sure thing, boss!” He bounced away to check the refrigerators.
“Meg.” Margo pulled off her apron with a purpose Meg recognized—her grandmother had made a decision about something. “Come with me. There’s something I need to show you.”
“Now?” Meg looked up from the table she was wiping. “I can finish?—”
“Now.” Margo grabbed her keys. “It’s important.”
Something in her grandmother’s tone made Meg set down the cloth immediately. “Is everything okay?”
“Just come.”
They drove in silence, but instead of turning toward Tyler’s, Margo continued three houses down. She parked in front of Sam’s house—the house where Meg had grown up—and got out, walking up the front path like she owned the place.
Which, as it turned out, she did.
Margo pulled out a key—not fumbling, not searching, just pulled it out like she’d done this a hundred times. The lock turned smoothly.
“Margo, what?—”
