Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The morning at the Beach Shack started deceptively well. Anna had arrived early, determined to finish her painting before the Beach Shack opened. She’d even set an alarm on her phone—pack up by opening, no excuses.
“I know I said I’d clear everything,” she said to Stella, brush hovering uncertainly over her canvas. “I just need five more minutes. I swear. The light is perfect right now, but after this I’ll pack up properly.”
Bea spread watercolor supplies across a corner table, but kept them contained to one area. Joey practiced his Pageant poses during brief lulls, but managed to stay functional.
“This feels almost normal,” Stella observed, refilling coffee for Bernie, who was updating his betting pools with cautious optimism.
“Don’t jinx it,” Bernie warned. “The day is young.”
Meg appeared at nine-thirty, laptop bag slung over her shoulder and phone already pressed to her ear, but this time she approached Anna directly.
“How’s it going? Do you need help clearing anything before the rush hits?” she asked, ending her call.
Anna looked up gratefully. “Actually, yes. Could you help me move these brushes? I want to get them away from the coffee station.”
Tyler texted earlier.
Major Festival installation emergency. Sculptor’s piece fell over, need to document everything for insurance. Will check in later.
So it was Stella, Joey, Margo in the kitchen, and two sisters who were, for once, actually trying to coordinate.
The morning rush proceeded with manageable chaos. Anna painted while intermittently taking orders, but this time she kept checking with Meg about where supplies should go. When Mrs. Borden asked for extra napkins, Anna handed her clean ones from the dispenser, paint brush carefully set aside.
“You know,” Joey said quietly to Stella as they passed near the register, “this is starting to feel like that thing where you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“Don’t say that,” Stella warned. “You’ll summon something.”
At 9:45, as if summoned by Joey’s prophetic observation, a woman in a crisp county health department blazer stepped through the front door. She carried a clipboard, wore the expression of someone who’d seen every possible food service violation, and moved like someone on official business.
“Health inspection,” she announced to the suddenly silent dining room. “I’m Inspector Martinez. I’ll need to speak with the manager.”
Stella felt her stomach drop. Anna and Meg exchanged a look of mutual panic.
“That would be me,” Margo said calmly, appearing from the kitchen. “Margo Turner.”
“Routine inspection, Mrs. Turner. I’ll need access to all food preparation areas, storage, and dining spaces.” Inspector Martinez was already making notes. “Please continue normal operations.”
“Of course,” Anna said immediately, beginning to gather her supplies. “I’ll just move these—“
“Please don’t disturb your normal operations,” Inspector Martinez said. “I need to see how you typically function.”
Anna froze, paintbrush in hand, looking helplessly at the art supplies that were still scattered around despite her good intentions.
Inspector Martinez approached the coffee station, where Anna’s paint brushes—the ones she’d been trying to relocate—were still soaking in jars that looked identical to the ones they used for stirring drinks.
“Are these art supplies?” the inspector asked.
“Festival preparation,” Meg said quickly. “We’re supporting the local arts community. Anna’s been working on her submission, but we were just moving everything to—“
“I need to see your current setup,” Inspector Martinez interrupted, making notes.
She continued her systematic examination, discovering paint tubes in a drawer next to kitchen utensils, more canvases blocking access to the storage area, and what appeared to be paint water in a container near the hand-washing station—all the things Anna had meant to move but hadn’t quite gotten to yet.
“Ma’am,” the inspector said to Anna, “are you aware that art supplies can’t be stored in food service areas?”
Anna looked stricken. “I was moving them. We were trying to relocate everything properly, but the timing—”
“I understand you’re preparing for an arts festival, but food safety regulations don’t allow for temporary art supply storage in food service areas,” Inspector Martinez said, not unkindly but firmly.
At that moment, Tyler appeared in the doorway, camera bag over his shoulder, taking in the scene of official paperwork and family tension. “Hey, what happened? I saw the health department car outside and got here as fast as I could.”
“After she left,” Joey observed, but quietly this time.
“I was working,” Tyler said, looking around at the situation. “What can I do to help?”
Meg immediately went into crisis management mode, but this time she had backup. Anna was already systematically moving supplies, Tyler stepped in to help coordinate, and the teenagers organized cleaning materials without being asked.
“The food safety protocols are clearly well-maintained,” Inspector Martinez said after her walkthrough. “However, the presence of art supplies in food service areas is a serious concern. I’m going to issue a warning citation that needs to be addressed within forty-eight hours.”
“Of course,” Margo said quietly from the kitchen doorway, where she’d been watching their coordinated response. “We’ll take care of it immediately.”
“I’ll need documentation that the violations have been corrected.” Inspector Martinez handed over official paperwork. “Follow-up inspection in one week.”
The moment the door closed behind her, the restaurant felt heavy with shared disappointment.
“A citation,” Meg said quietly, staring at the official paperwork. “We actually got a citation.”
“Even though we were trying,” Anna said, voice small. “I really was trying to do better. We were working together, and it still wasn’t enough.”
“It matters that we tried,” Tyler said, surprising everyone. “That we were actually working as a team this time.”
“But I still caused this,” Anna said. “I was here too early, I didn’t move things fast enough—“
“We all caused this,” Meg said, closing her laptop. “I should have helped you set better boundaries from the start. Tyler, you should have been here. I should have stopped my own work chaos.”
“And I should have insisted on proper setup from day one,” Margo said, stepping forward with the citation. “Fifty years without a violation,” Margo said quietly, holding the citation. “That record meant something to me.”
She looked around the room—at Anna, still clutching her paint-stained rag like an apology; at Meg, laptop dark for once; at Tyler, finally present but too late to change the outcome.
“You did work together,” she said at last. “Just not soon enough.”
No one argued.
The only sound was the slow hiss of the grill and the scratch of Inspector Martinez’s pen fading from memory. Stella shifted the dish bin to the counter, but even that small noise felt too loud.
“Art supplies out of the kitchen,” Margo said, turning back toward the pass-through window. “We have forty-eight hours.”
“All of us,” Anna murmured.
Meg nodded, but it wasn’t agreement—it was exhaustion. “All of us,” she echoed.
Margo didn’t look back. “We’ll see.”
The spatula hit the grill with a sharp metallic sound, final as a closing door.
No one spoke after that.