“Does it?”
“I guess.” Stella buckled her seatbelt. “She also said I’ve built a life without her.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.”
They sat for a moment, watching Margo’s front door close behind Fiona.
“She’s trying,” Tyler said. “In her way.”
“I know.”
“That counts for something.”
“I know.” Stella looked at her phone, still buzzing with messages from family members who wanted to welcome, include, overwhelm. “Can we get ice cream?”
“Always.”
Tyler pulled away from Margo’s, and Stella let herself breathe.
One day down. Who knew how many to go.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The lunch rush wasn’t rushing.
Meg stood behind the counter at 12:47 PM — peak hours, tourist season, the kind of day that should have had Joey sweating and Bernie complaining about noise levels — and counted exactly seven customers in the dining room.
Seven.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this quiet,” she said to Joey, who was reorganizing the napkin station for the third time.
“No.” He straightened a stack with surgical precision. “It’s weird. Yesterday was slow too. And Thursday. And Wednesday.”
“Wednesday Stella mentioned.”
“Did she mention that I had to reorganize the entire walk-in because there was literally nothing else to do?”
“She mentioned.”
Joey moved to the straws, adjusting their angle in the dispenser. His nervous energy was practically visible. “It’s probably just a fluke. Summer slump. People on vacation. Mercury in retrograde.”
“You believe in Mercury retrograde?”
“I believe in explanations that aren’t ‘the Shack is dying.’” He looked up. “Sorry. That was dramatic.”
“A little.”
“I’m stressed.”
“I noticed.”
The door opened—finally—and Mrs. Patterson walked in with her daughter and two grandchildren. Regulars. Meg felt her shoulders relax slightly.
“Afternoon!” Joey called, his customer-service voice clicking on. “Booth or counter?”
“Booth, please. The usual spot.”
