Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Margo had called the meeting for seven-thirty, early enough that no one could claim a prior commitment. The Beach Shack felt different with the CLOSED sign flipped and the family clustered around the corner booth that usually belonged to Bernie.
She wiped down the counter one more time, buying herself a moment to organize her thoughts. Fifty years of running this place, and she’d never officially handed over the keys. Today felt like the beginning of that transition.
Tyler sat across from Meg, both of them studying printed schedules like they contained state secrets.
Anna had claimed the spot by the window, sketching absently on a napkin while keeping one eye on the discussion.
Bea perched next to her mother, fidgeting with a course catalog she’d brought along.
Stella sat on the edge of a chair she’d pulled over from another table, looking like she wasn’t sure she belonged in a family business meeting.
“Right,” Margo said, settling into the booth with her own coffee. “Let’s figure out how to make this work.”
“Define ‘this,’” Anna said, not looking up from her napkin art.
“Me stepping back. You three stepping up. The Shack continuing to exist without complete disaster.” Margo pulled out a folder she’d been preparing for weeks.
“I want to paint more. Real painting, not just sketching between orders. I’m thinking of taking a month off.
Completely. See if you three can run this place without me hovering. ”
Tyler leaned back in his seat. “A whole month?”
“I’ve earned it.” She opened the folder, revealing schedules and duty lists written in her careful handwriting. “But that means coverage for kitchen prep, weekend rushes, inventory, all of it. Without me as backup.”
Meg picked up one of the schedules. “Anna’s going back to full-time teaching in two weeks.”
“Definitely an issue.” Margo spread out more papers. “Plus, Joey’s starting his tech program. Different schedule, fewer hours available.”
“How many fewer?” Meg asked.
“He’s not sure yet. Depends on his class load.” Margo found the right sheet. “Could be anywhere from ten to twenty hours a week instead of thirty.”
Bea stopped flipping through her catalog. “That’s a significant gap.”
“Which brings us to autumn staffing,” Tyler said, already seeing the problem. “Tourist season’s winding down, but we still have locals, weekend visitors, the art walk crowds.”
“And,” Meg said, consulting her own notes, “we’re losing Stella in three weeks.”
The table went quiet. Margo watched Stella’s face change — not surprise, exactly, but something like recognition. Like she’d been waiting for this moment.
“Actually,” Stella said, setting down her coffee cup carefully, “about that.”
Four pairs of eyes turned toward her. Anna’s pencil stopped moving entirely.
“I don’t want to go back,” Stella said, her voice steady but quiet. “I want to stay. Here. For senior year.”
The silence lasted exactly two seconds before Bea shot up from her chair.
“Yes!” She launched herself around the table, arms outstretched toward Stella. “I knew it! I knew you’d want to stay!”
“Bea, no—” Stella held up her hands, laughing as she tried to fend off the incoming hug assault. “Personal space!”
“There is no personal space! We’re cousins! We’re going to do senior year together!” Bea managed to capture Stella in an enthusiastic embrace before Stella could escape. “I have so many plans!”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Stella said, but she was smiling as she gently extracted herself from Bea’s grip.
Anna reached over and pulled her daughter back into her chair. “Breathe, Bea. Let her finish.”
“She already finished. She’s staying. End of announcement.” Bea bounced in her seat. “Can we talk about course schedules? Because I have thoughts about AP Photography versus—”
“Bea.” Meg’s voice was gentle but careful. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She turned to Stella. “What does your mum say about this?”
The excitement at the table dimmed slightly. Margo watched Stella’s shoulders tighten.
“I haven’t told her yet,” Stella admitted. “I wanted to tell you all first. But I’m not—” She hesitated. “I’m not sure she’ll agree.”
“She has to agree, though,” Bea said, looking around the table. “Right? If Stella wants to stay—”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Tyler said quietly. “Fiona has legal custody. School enrollment, visas—it all requires her consent.”
“So, what do we do?”
Tyler shifted in his seat. Margo recognized the movement—the slight lean back, the way his eyes went to the schedules instead of the people. Retreat into logistics.
“Let’s focus on what we can control for now,” he said. “The practical stuff. If Stella can stay, what does coverage look like?”
Margo noted the deflection but didn’t push. Tyler had always been better with plans than with confrontation. That was a conversation for another day.
“I already told Dad this morning,” Stella said, seeming grateful for the shift. “I know it complicates things. Visas and school enrollment and Mum. But I want to be here.”
“Well,” Anna said, picking up Tyler’s redirect, “that changes the math considerably. If Stella stays.”
“Does it?” Meg asked. “I mean, practically speaking. Stella would be in school during the day. Same as Bea.”
“After school,” Tyler said slowly. “Weekends. She could pick up some of Joey’s hours.”
Stella nodded. “If you want me to. I know the routines now. The regulars, the systems.” She glanced at Margo. “I’d like to help. Really help, not just fill in when someone’s sick.”
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Stella glanced at it—Margo caught a glimpse of the lock screen, a message preview—and silenced it without responding.
Meg noticed too. “Everything okay?”
“Fine. Just Mum checking in.” Stella shoved the phone deeper into her pocket. “So—after school shifts. What would that look like?”
Margo let the moment pass, but she filed it away. Fiona wasn’t going to disappear just because they’d moved on to logistics. That conversation was coming, whether they were ready for it or not.
“Morning prep is the biggest challenge,” Tyler said, running his finger down the weekly schedule. “We open at ten, but prep starts at seven. If Anna’s teaching full-time—“
“I can’t adjust my schedule.” Anna picked up her pencil again, turning it between her fingers. “The department already made accommodations to get me back in the classroom. They were clear about which sections I’d be teaching.”
“What hours exactly?” Tyler asked.
“Seven-thirty to three-thirty, Monday through Friday. No flexibility.”
Tyler dropped back against the booth. “That’s our entire morning prep and opening routine. And when we’re open.”
Meg pulled one of Margo’s schedules toward her. “Plus Joey’s school schedule. Even if it’s local, he’ll have reduced hours.”
Margo gathered the scattered papers into a stack, tapping them against the table to align the edges. “So, we’re looking at coverage from seven AM prep through afternoon close. With significantly fewer people available.”
The delivery truck rumbled up outside, its backup beeper cutting through their conversation.
Meg glanced toward the window. “That’s the produce order. I’ll handle it.”
She slipped out, and they could hear her directing the driver around back, checking invoices, problem-solving in real time.
Anna tapped her pencil against the table. “We could hire more part-time staff.”
“With what budget?” Tyler asked. “And training new people takes time we don’t have.”
“I could work more hours,” Bea said. “Before school, weekends—”
“You have your own senior year to focus on,” Margo said firmly. “This isn’t your problem to solve.”
“But I want to help,” Bea said. “Especially if Stella’s staying. We could coordinate schedules, maybe work the same shifts—”
“Bea,” Stella said gently, “let’s figure out the big picture first.”
When Meg returned fifteen minutes later, clipboard in hand, they were exactly where she’d left them—staring at schedules with no clear solutions.
“Well?” she asked, settling back into the booth.
“We’ve decided you’re perfect for inventory and supplier management,” Anna announced. “Congratulations.”
“I what now?”
“You just handled that entire delivery without breaking a sweat,” Tyler pointed out. “Checked the invoice, sorted the storage, probably negotiated something.”
“They shorted us on lemons. I got them to credit our account and deliver the difference tomorrow.” Meg looked around the table suspiciously. “Why do I feel like I’ve been assigned something?”
“Because you have,” Margo said with a smile. “Business operations. Ordering, inventory, supplier relationships, payroll. Everything that doesn’t involve actual cooking. And you can work with Rick about the higher level accounting stuff.”
“That’s... actually a relief. I was dreading the idea of being in charge of the grill.”
“You wouldn’t burn down the kitchen in a week, like some of us,” Anna said cheerfully.
“Thanks for the confidence, but not my jam on the daily.”
“Now,” Margo said, “one ground rule while we’re sorting all this out. Anna — no rearranging the dining room furniture. Ever.”
“That was one time—”
“Twice,” Tyler said. “Remember the feng shui incident.”
“The energy flow was terrible—”
“Anna,” Meg warned.
“Fine. No furniture rearrangement without prior approval from the committee.” Anna grinned. “Can I at least suggest improvements?”
“You can suggest,” Margo said.
“Because I was thinking, if we moved the condiment station about two feet to the left, the flow from the counter to the—”
“Gravy spatula,” Tyler and Meg said in unison.
Anna stopped mid-sentence and laughed. “Right. Eating, not optimizing. I forgot.”
They left an hour later with more questions than answers. Coverage gaps, scheduling conflicts, and the growing realization that stepping into Margo’s shoes would be harder than any of them had anticipated.
Stella wanted to stay. The family wanted her here. That much was clear.
Whether Fiona would agree—that conversation was still coming. And nobody seemed eager to rush toward it.
The rest they’d figure out as they went. Or Margo hoped so.
As they filed out of the Shack, Margo lingered for a moment, looking around at the space she’d built over five decades. A month from now, she’d know if they could handle it. And she’d have a painting to show for it—or at least the start of one.
The thought should have been terrifying. Instead, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Family was funny that way. Just when you thought you knew what it looked like, it grew into something bigger.
She just hoped they were ready for what came next.