Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The ice cream shop glowed under its flickering neon sign, shining bright red letters on the sidewalk. Stella could smell waffle cones and vanilla mixed with salt air from the beach.
The Walshes filed in still dressed from the Festival gala—a mix of wrinkled linen and smudged makeup. Bea had glitter on her cheek that wouldn’t come off.
Nobody talked about losing. Not directly. But it was good, and she was grateful for the way everyone moved without the careful tension they’d had all evening.
The shop was nearly empty except for a teenage couple sharing a sundae and an old man reading his newspaper very carefully. The overhead fans made a gentle rhythm, and the freezer cases hummed.
“Well,” Anna said, sliding into a booth with squeaky red vinyl, “that was humbling.”
“I’d like to submit my piece entitled, ‘Why Didn’t They Understand My Genius,’” Bea announced, already scanning the ice cream flavors. “It features salted caramel and deep dread.”
“Followed by ‘Mixed Media: Caffeine & Regret,’” Anna added, grabbing a menu she didn’t need. Her fingers still had paint stains from last-minute touch-ups. “And, by the way, the coffee stains were intentional.”
Tyler flopped into a chair and gave the table a look of mock despair.
“Mine didn’t have a name,” Stella said.
Margo raised an eyebrow. “Very minimalist.”
“I can’t believe you actually submitted something,” Anna said suddenly, turning to Stella. “Six weeks ago you wouldn’t even call what you were doing ‘photography.’”
Stella slid into the booth beside Tyler, trying to fix her curls that had escaped during the evening. The compliment made her cheeks warm. “Yeah, well. Apparently I had opinions about how the Shack should be documented.”
“You did have a name. You called it ‘The Shack Breathes,’” Bea said, sounding awed. “That’s poetry, not just documentation.”
“Don’t make it weird,” Stella said, but she was smiling.
Tyler nudged her shoulder. “Remember when you said you weren’t ‘the artistic type’ and just wanted to take pictures of things?”
“I still just want to take pictures of things,” Stella protested. “I just... maybe care more about which things and why.”
“That’s literally what art is,” Margo said gently.
Meg returned from the counter with Luke, both carrying way too much ice cream. “Mine was ‘Spectator with Clipboard and Mild Panic,’” she said, handing out cones. “It didn’t make it past the concept phase.”
“Conceptually strong,” Luke said, giving her extra napkins. “Execution needed more confidence.”
They’d ordered too many scoops in too many flavors, and now they passed around sticky cones that dripped onto the table, stealing bites from each other.
“So what happens now?” Stella asked. “I mean, next year. Do we try again?”
The table went quiet for a moment. Outside, Stella could hear sounds from the amphitheater—voices calling directions, someone testing a microphone. Joey would be getting into costume about now, transforming into Coffee Drinker Number Two for his moment of artistic glory.
“I want to try again,” Anna said firmly. “But maybe with something that doesn’t require me to work at three a.m. on Doritos.”
“I want to finish an entire series,” Bea added. “Not just pieces of one. Something cohesive.”
Tyler thought for a moment, watching the melting ice cream patterns on the table. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve family members as subjects. Branch out.”
“What about you?” Meg asked Stella. “Think you’ll submit again?”
Stella thought about it, about seeing her work displayed, about strangers stopping to study her photographs. About the woman who’d asked if prints were available and seemed disappointed when Stella said no.
She also stole a glance at Tyler, who looked away. Neither one of them knew if she’d even be there next year, but she knew this wasn’t the right time to bring that up to the entire family.
“Maybe,” she said. “But I want to get better first. Learn more about composition and lighting and... I don’t know. All the stuff real photographers know.”
“You are a real photographer,” Margo said. “You just need more practice.”
“And what about you?” Anna asked Margo. “First submission in decades. How did it feel?”
Margo was quiet for a moment, looking at her rocky road like it had answers. “Terrifying,” she admitted finally. “But also... right. I forgot how good it felt to create something just because I wanted to.”
“Will you do it again?” Tyler asked.
“Already planning next year’s piece,” Margo said with a small smile. “Something about morning light on water. I’ve been sketching ideas.”
Stella sat with that revelation—that this wasn’t an ending but a beginning, that tonight’s disappointment was just part of a longer story they were all writing together.
The ice cream was losing its battle against the evening heat, requiring more strategic eating and fewer philosophical discussions.
“We should probably head up to the amphitheater,” Luke said eventually, checking his watch. “The pageant starts soon.”
“Right,” Meg said, gathering napkins and purses. “Can’t miss Coffee Drinker Number Two’s moment of glory.”
The night air was soft and warm, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant smell of popcorn from the amphitheater.
As they walked up the hill, Stella could see Bernie in the distance, working the crowd near the Pageant entrance with his tablet, probably running some elaborate betting pool on which tableau would get the loudest applause.
“Ready to cheer loud enough to embarrass Joey in public?” Anna asked.
“Isn’t that the point of family?” Meg replied, linking arms with Luke as they walked up the gentle slope. “Although I think we’re supposed to be quiet here.”
“Okay, I’ll try,” Anna said with a laugh. “For Joey.”
The ribbon might’ve gone to someone else. But the night? The night still belonged to them.