The hugging started immediately. Joey disappeared into a crowd of embraces—regulars he’d served for years, high school friends, the Circle ladies who had watched him grow up. Stella hung back, giving him space, watching the celebration swirl around him.
Margo caught her eye from across the room and nodded toward the corner. Stella watched as Margo made her way to Joey, waited for a break in the hugging, and gently pulled him aside.
She couldn’t hear what Margo said. But she saw Joey’s face—the way it shifted from moved to something deeper, something that looked almost like awe. Margo reached into her pocket and handed him something small. An envelope.
Joey stared at it. Then at her. Then he hugged her so hard Stella worried for Margo’s bones.
“The scholarship letter,” Tyler said quietly, appearing at Stella’s side. “From Richard’s foundation.”
“What does it say?”
“Margo writes one for every recipient. About legacy. About carrying something forward.” Tyler watched Joey carefully tuck the envelope into his jacket, hands shaking. “The foundation paid for his schooling. Same as it paid for Luke’s marine biology degree. Same as it’s helped a dozen other kids from this community.”
“She writes them herself?”
“Every one. Richard started the foundation, but he died before most of the recipients were even born. So, Margo writes the letters—tells them what Richard believed in, what the Shack stands for, why they were chosen.” Tyler smiled slightly. “Joey’s been here four years. She’s had a lot of time to get his letter right.”
Stella watched Joey wipe his eyes, say something toMargo that made her laugh, then get pulled back into another round of hugs.
“He’s really going to miss this place,” she said.
“He’s going twenty minutes away.”
“I know. But for Joey...” She shrugged. “It’s still huge.”
“Yeah.” Tyler smiled. “It is.”
The party wound down the way good parties do—slowly, reluctantly, with people lingering longer than they needed to because leaving meant it was really over. By six o’clock, only family remained, sprawled across booths and chairs, too full of food and feeling to move.
Bernie gathered his things first, groaning as he stood.
“Well,” he said. “That was properly done.”
“Thank you for coming,” Joey said, and his voice was still thick, still raw. “It means a lot. All of it.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.” Bernie patted his shoulder. “You’ve done good work here, son. Real good work. Don’t forget that when you’re off learning about... what is it again?”
“Marine technology.”
“Marine technology.” Bernie nodded solemnly. “Important stuff. Boats need technologists.” He checked his watch. “Alright. I should head out. Jeopardy’s on at seven.”
“Tournament week,” Joey said. “I remember.”
“You remember everything. That’s your gift.” Bernieheaded for the door, then paused. Bernie raised a hand in farewell. “See you tomorrow, Joey.”
Joey blinked. “Thursday, actually. My shift starts at ten.”
“Right. Thursday.” Bernie shrugged. “I’ll be in at nine-thirty. Usual booth.”
And then he was gone.
Joey stood in the middle of the Shack, surrounded by streamers and empty plates and the lingering warmth of everyone who’d come to celebrate him. He looked at the door Bernie had just walked through. Then at Tyler. Then at Stella.
“Thursday,” he said.
“Thursday,” Stella confirmed.
“That’s... two days.”
