Some things couldn’t be solved. Only held.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Shack looked the same as it always had.
Margo stood across the street, watching through the afternoon glare. Same faded awning. Same hand-lettered specials board. Same cluster of regulars visible through the window — Bernie in his corner, a young couple at the counter, Mrs. Walker from the bookstore picking up her usual order.
But something was different. She could feel it even from here.
She hadn’t meant to come. She’d been on her way to Eleanor’s to pick up a book, and her feet had simply... redirected. Fifty years of muscle memory, pulling her toward the place she’d built from nothing.
The place she was supposed to be letting go of.
She crossed the street before she could talk herself out of it.
The bell above the door chimed — same bell, samesound, same welcome she’d heard ten thousand times. Joey looked up from the register, his face cycling through surprise, then delight, then something that looked almost like relief.
“Margo! What are you—I mean, hi! Welcome! Can I get you—do you want to sit, or?—”
“Breathe, Joey.”
“Right. Breathing.” He took an exaggerated inhale. “It’s just, you’re here. You’re never here anymore. Not that that’s bad! You should be painting. We support the painting. It’s just?—”
“Joey.”
“I’m going to stop talking now.”
“Good plan.”
Margo made her way to the counter, nodding at Bernie as she passed. He raised his coffee cup in acknowledgment, his weathered face giving nothing away. But his eyes followed her with an intensity that said he knew exactly why she was here.
She sat at the counter. The stool was the same height, the same slight wobble on the left side that Richard had never gotten around to fixing. Some things didn’t change.
“Coffee?” Joey asked.
“Please.”
He poured it with the particular care he brought to everything — the right mug, the right amount, the cream placed precisely beside it even though Margo took her coffee black and Joey knew that.
“The cream’s for atmosphere,” he said, catching her look. “Presentation matters.”
“I taught you that.”
“You taught me everything.” He leaned against the counter, abandoning the pretense of busy work. “You’re checking on us.”
“I’m having coffee.”
“You’re checking on us and having coffee. It’s okay. I would too.” Joey glanced around the half-empty restaurant. “It’s been slow.”
“I heard.”
“Rick came by. With spreadsheets.”
“I heard that too.”
“Bernie said something to them. About Mrs. Patterson.” Joey’s mouth quirked. “Called her sandwich ‘fine.’ Thirty-seven years and she’s never said ‘fine’ before. It landed pretty hard.”
Margo sipped her coffee. It was good — Joey had always been particular about the coffee — but it wasn’t what she’d come for.
