Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
The Deck was half-full for a weeknight—locals mostly, a few tourists lingering over sunset cocktails. Meg and Luke had claimed their usual table near the railing, where they could watch the light change over the water while they ate.
“So,” Luke said, dipping a chip into guacamole. “How was your day?”
“I measured my desk space with a ruler.”
He paused mid-chip. “You what?”
“Anna’s watercolors keep migrating. Bea can’t decide her class schedule. I needed to establish boundaries.” Meg took a sip of her wine. “I have eighteen inches. I measured.”
“With an actual ruler.”
“With an actual ruler.”
Luke laughed—the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “That’s either very sad or very relatable. I can’t decide which.”
“Both. Definitely both.”
Their food arrived—grilled fish for him, a salad she’d been craving all day. They ate in comfortable silence for a while, watching a pair of paddleboarders navigate the small cove below.
“They’re leaving soon,” Meg said. “Anna and Bea. Few more weeks, once Anna’s house is ready.”
“You’ll miss them.”
“I’ll miss having someone to blame for the mess.” She speared a piece of avocado. “Mostly I’ll just have more counter space.”
“The dream.”
“Don’t mock. Counter space is sacred.”
The sun was sinking toward the horizon now.
Meg let herself relax into it all—the salt air, the murmur of conversations around them, Luke’s steady presence across the table.
This was the part of Laguna she’d forgotten during her years in San Francisco.
The way the town softened at sunset. The way everyone seemed to slow down, just a little, to watch the light.
Luke paid the check over her protests, and they wandered out onto Forest Avenue.
The galleries were starting to light up for the evening, warm glows spilling through windows onto the sidewalk.
A couple walked past with a golden retriever.
Someone was playing guitar outside the coffee shop on the corner.
Meg and Luke walked on, past the galleries, past the boutiques with their window displays of driftwood art and overpriced candles. They turned onto Cliff Drive without discussing it, following the familiar path toward Heisler Park.
“Tyler went to the school today,” Meg said after a while.
Luke glanced at her. “Really?”
“Did the research. Got the requirements.”
“And?”
Meg shook her head. “No Fiona. Not yet.”
Luke exhaled. “So, he’s doing everything except the hard part.”
“That’s Tyler.”
They reached the overlook at Heisler Park—the one with the benches facing west, the stone steps leading down to the rocks below. The sunset was in full force now, the sky streaked with orange and pink, the water catching fire beneath it.
Luke sat on the nearest bench. Meg sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.
“He’s going to have to actually fight this time,” Luke said. “I don’t imagine Fiona’s going to just agree.”
“I know.” Meg watched a wave break against the rocks below. “I’m not sure he knows how.”
“He’s never had to. Not really. She’s had the upper hand for sixteen years, and he just... accepted it.”
“Because fighting meant risking losing Stella entirely.”
“Right. But now the stakes are different.” Luke stretched his arm along the back of the bench, not quite around her shoulders. “Now Stella’s asking him to fight. Whether she’s said it out loud or not.”
A family of tourists stood at the cliff’s edge, taking pictures. What looked like the father turned around after taking a few shots.
“He probably wants a picture with all of them in it,” Meg said, standing to go over and help. It was a fairly constant request at the beach, and they all obliged whenever they could.
Luke put a hand on her knee. “I got this,” he said, and headed over to the young family with a big smile.
His kindness always made her feel warm and safe, and she thought about how much she’d come to rely on his steady hand—in all things. Even her family.
Meg thought about all that had happened recently.
About Stella at the family meeting, announcing she wanted to stay.
About the phone calls from Fiona that Stella kept silencing.
About what it must feel like to be sixteen and wanting something this much and knowing it all depended on adults figuring their stuff out.
“What if he folds?” Meg asked Luke as he sat back down beside her, his arm back around her shoulder after he’d waved at the retreating family with a great Christmas card picture now on their phone. “What if Fiona pushes back and he just... doesn’t push back?”
“Then Stella will know.” Luke’s voice was quiet. “And that’ll be worse than losing the fight.”
A jogger passed behind them. Somewhere down the beach, a dog barked. The sun touched the horizon, flattening into a brilliant orange line before beginning to disappear.
“I want to fix it,” Meg said. “Call Fiona myself. Find a lawyer. Do something useful.”
“I know you do.”
“But it’s not my fight.”
“No. It’s his.”
Meg leaned into him slightly, letting her shoulder rest against his chest. “I’m not great at letting people figure things out.”
“You’re getting better.”
“Am I?”
“You haven’t reorganized my kitchen once this week.”
“Your kitchen doesn’t need reorganizing. Everything’s already where it should be.”
“I know. It’s very disappointing for you.”
She laughed, and some of the tension in her shoulders loosened. This was what she needed. Not the chaos of the house, not the endless small emergencies that gave her something to manage. Just this. Sitting with someone who knew her, watching the sun go down, letting the world be what it was.
The last sliver of sun disappeared below the horizon. The sky held onto its color for a moment longer, then began to fade toward purple.
“You could stay tonight,” Luke said. “If you want.”
Meg looked at him—his profile in the fading light, the patience in the way he held himself. Not pushing. Just offering.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that.”
He smiled, and they sat for a while longer, watching the first stars appear over the water. The waves kept their rhythm below. Somewhere in town, Tyler was probably staring at a folder full of requirements, trying to figure out how to have a conversation he’d spent sixteen years avoiding.
Meg couldn’t have that conversation for him. She couldn’t fix this one.
But she could sit here, with Luke, and trust that her brother would figure it out.
One way or another.