Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The brownies were Anna’s idea.
“Creative baking,” she’d called it, with flour in her hair and a desperate look in her eyes. “Bea’s been trying to decide what classes to take all day and I needed to do something with my hands.”
Now the brownies sat on their kitchen counter, slightly lopsided but smelling like chocolate and good intentions. Luke had already stolen two. Bea was on her third.
“Save some for Tyler and Stella,” Meg said, moving the pan out of reach.
“They’re coming?” Bea perked up.
“They’re calling Fiona tomorrow morning. I figured they shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
Anna looked up from where she was wiping chocolate off the counter. “Tomorrow? Finally?”
“Finally.”
The doorbell didn’t ring—Tyler just knocked twice and walked in, Stella trailing behind him. They both had that slightly shell-shocked look of people who’d made a big decision and were now living in the weird quiet before the storm.
“Brownies,” Stella said, spotting the pan.
“Help yourself.” Meg pulled out plates. “There’s milk in the fridge. Or wine, for those of us who need it.”
“Wine,” Tyler said.
“Milk,” Stella said at the same time.
Luke was already pouring. He handed Tyler a glass of red and slid the milk carton toward Stella, who poured herself a glass and took a brownie in one efficient motion.
“These are good,” she said, mouth full.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Anna said.
“I’ve had your experiments.”
“That was one time, and the milk was off.”
Stella turned the milk carton around and nodded when she found the expiration date, secure that history wasn’t repeating itself.
They settled into the living room—Meg and Luke on the couch, Anna in the armchair, Tyler leaning against the wall like he couldn’t quite commit to sitting, Stella and Bea cross-legged on the floor with the brownie pan between them.
“So,” Bea said. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” Stella picked at her brownie. “Seven AM our time. Midnight her time. She’s a night owl, so she’ll be awake.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Terrified.”
“She’ll come around,” Anna said. “Eventually. Mothers always do.”
Tyler made a sound that might have been agreement or might have been skepticism. Meg couldn’t tell.
“How was the Shack today?” Luke asked, clearly trying to change the subject. “I drove past around two, looked quiet.”
“It was quiet.” Meg frowned. “Third day in a row. I don’t know if it’s the weather or what.”
“It’s not the weather,” Tyler said. “It’s August. Peak tourist season.”
“Maybe people are just busy,” Bea offered.
“Maybe.” But Meg wasn’t convinced. She’d noticed it too—the lunch rush that wasn’t quite a rush, the regulars who came but didn’t linger, the general feeling that something was slightly off. “Oh—did you hear about Joey’s muffins?”
“What muffins?” Stella asked.
“He’s been experimenting. Lemon blueberry. Made a batch yesterday, brought them in today.” Meg grinned. “Gave one to Bernie to try.”
“Just one?” Tyler raised an eyebrow.
“Just one. Said he wanted feedback.” Meg shook her head. “Bernie ate the whole thing in about three bites and asked where the rest were.”
“So they’re good?”
“Apparently they’re incredible. But Joey panicked and said they were ‘still in development’ and hid the rest in the back.”
Stella laughed—a real laugh, not the nervous one she’d had since she walked in. “That’s so Joey.”
“We should sell them,” Anna said immediately.
Meg didn’t even hesitate. “No.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Margo would lose her mind,” Bea said.
Tyler nodded. “She said she wanted to step back, not watch us turn the Shack into a test kitchen.”
Anna sighed. “Fine. I just hate not doing anything.”
“We’re noticing,” Meg said. “That counts for now.”
Anna looked like she wanted to argue, but something in Meg’s expression must have stopped her. She nodded instead. “Okay.”
It was a small thing—agreeing instead of pushing, letting Meg lead instead of steamrolling. But Meg noticed. She’d been noticing a lot of small things with Anna lately.
“Hey.” Tyler set down his wine glass. “We should head back. Early morning.”
“Right.” Stella stood, brushing brownie crumbs off her jeans. “The phone call of doom.”
“Don’t call it that,” Bea said.
“The phone call of moderate discomfort?”
“Better.”
Tyler hugged Meg—a real hug, not a quick one. “Thanks for this.”
“You’re three houses away. This is the least I can do.”
“Still.”
Stella was already at the door, but she paused, looking back at the room full of people who’d gathered on a random Tuesday night just because she and Tyler were nervous.
“You guys are weird,” she said. “But, like, good weird.”
“High praise,” Luke said.
“Take what you can get.”
And then they were gone, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving the house quieter than it had been.
Bea yawned. “I’m going to bed. Big day of planning my class schedule tomorrow.”
“That’s not a productive use of your time,” Anna called after her. “Just decide.”
“Neither is stress baking!”
“That’s different.”
Bea disappeared down the hall. Luke stood, stretched. “I should head out too. Early tide charts to check.”
“Sexy,” Meg said.
“You love it.”
He kissed her—warm and unhurried—and then he was gone too, leaving just Meg and Anna in the living room with the remains of the brownies and the empty wine glasses.
“I’ll clean up,” Anna said.
“Happy to help,” Meg said.
They worked quietly for a few minutes—Meg washing, Anna drying, the rhythm familiar from a hundred childhood dishwashing sessions.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Anna asked. “Stella?”
“I think she’s tougher than she looks.”
“She’d have to be. Calling your mother to say you’re not coming home?” Anna shuddered. “I can’t imagine.”
“You can’t imagine leaving?”
“I can’t imagine having to choose.” Anna set a glass in the cupboard. “We got lucky, you know. With Margo. With having a place that always felt like home.”
Meg didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure “lucky” was the word she’d use—not when their own mother had wandered off to chase light across four continents, not when “home” had always felt like Margo’s gift rather than something they’d inherited naturally.
But Anna wasn’t wrong either. They did have a place. They did have people.
“Do you the phone call will go well?” Anna asked, changing the subject.
“I think it’s worth trying. They have to try.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Meg handed her the last plate. “One step at a time.”
“You and your steps.”
“You and your leaps.”
Anna smiled. It was an old argument, worn smooth by years of repetition. But tonight, it felt less like an argument and more like a rhythm. Something they’d always done. Something that still worked.
“Thanks for letting us crash here,” Anna said. “Me and Bea. I know it’s a lot.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. It’s crowded and loud and I know I leave my brushes everywhere—”
“Anna.”
“What?”
Meg turned off the water. Dried her hands on the dish towel. Looked at her sister.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Really. We’ve worked through all that.”
Anna held her gaze for a moment. Then nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
They finished cleaning up, and when Anna finally headed to the guest room, Meg stood in the kitchen alone, looking at the last brownie in the pan.
Three houses down, Tyler and Stella were probably lying awake, dreading the morning.