Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Bea had outdone herself.
The Beach Shack was transformed. Streamers hung from the ceiling—carefully placed to avoid the shells, which Joey had insisted was “non-negotiable.” A banner stretched across the counter reading “BON VOYAGE, JOEY” in glittery letters that Bea had spent three hours creating.
Balloons clustered in the corners, and someone had assembled a photo display of Joey’s greatest hits: Joey perfecting his napkin technique, Joey demonstrating the sacred art of straw angles, Joey lying on the floor after the crisis shift looking like he’d survived a war.
“This is too much,” Joey said, for the fourteenth time since arriving. “This is way too much.”
“This is exactly the right amount,” Bernie corrected from his corner booth. “A man doesn’t leave for higher education without a proper send-off.”
Stella stood behind the counter, watching the room fill up.
Everyone had come—not just family, but regulars, neighbors, people she’d seen around town but never formally met.
The Circle ladies occupied a table near the window, already two glasses of wine into the afternoon.
A cluster of high school kids Joey apparently knew had claimed the booth by the door.
And the family. All of them.
She had her phone out—not for texting, but for shooting.
Quick, quiet frames that nobody noticed.
Joey’s hands adjusting a streamer that was already straight.
Bernie’s face when he thought no one was looking—soft, proud, completely unguarded.
The Circle ladies clinking glasses, caught mid-laugh.
The kind of moments that mattered because nobody was posing for them.
Tyler by the kitchen, camera out, documenting everything.
Meg arranging the food—new menu items mixed with classics, a celebration of everything the Shack had become.
Anna greeting guests like she’d been doing it her whole life, which in a way she had.
Luke beside Meg, steady and present, occasionally stealing bites when he thought no one was looking.
Margo in her usual booth, watching it all. Satisfied, maybe. Or something deeper than satisfied.
“Speech!” someone called. “We need a speech!”
“Not from me,” Joey said quickly. “I’ll cry. I’m already close to crying. Look at my eyes. They’re pre-moistened.”
“From Margo, then,” Bernie suggested. “The matriarch.”
Margo shook her head. “Nope. I’m all speeches out.”
“Tyler?”
“I don’t do speeches.”
“Meg?”
“I do spreadsheets, not speeches.”
“Fine.” Anna stepped forward, champagne glass raised. “I’ll do it. Someone has to, and I’m the only one in this family with any sense of theater.”
“That’s true,” Tyler said with a smile.
Anna climbed onto a chair, ignoring Meg’s alarmed expression. The room quieted.
“Four years ago,” Anna began, “a nervous teenager walked into this restaurant looking for a summer job. He had no experience, no references, and—by his own admission—no idea what he was doing.”
“Also no upper body strength,” Joey added, voice already thick. “Those bus tubs were heavy.”
“Also no upper body strength,” Anna said. “But he had something better. He had heart. And an obsessive attention to detail that we have all come to rely on more than we probably admit.”
The room was quiet now. Listening.
“Over the years, Joey became more than an employee. He became family. He survived the Great Napkin Reorganization of 2023. He endured my ‘Florence Method’ experiment without filing a complaint—though I later learned he had drafted one.”
“I was being diplomatic,” Joey managed.
“He was being patient with me,” Anna said softly. “Which is more than I deserved.”
She paused. This wasn’t performance anymore.
“Joey, you’ve held this place together in ways none of us fully understood until this summer.
When the rest of us were figuring out our lives, you were here.
Steady. Reliable. Making sure the napkins were folded and the coffee was fresh and the customers felt welcome.
” Anna’s voice caught slightly. “You made it look easy. It wasn’t easy. We know that now.”
Joey was crying. Not the performative tears he’d threatened—real tears, streaming down his face.
“So yes, you’re only going twenty minutes away. And yes, you’ll be back for shifts. But this moment matters. Your moment matters. Because you’ve earned it.” Anna raised her glass. “To Joey. Our favorite perfectionist. Our napkin whisperer. Our family.”
“To Joey!” the room echoed.
Joey’s face lit up. He sat down on the booth bench, picked up a coffee mug, lifted his pinky finger—and held perfectly still, a huge smile on his face.
And there it was. Coffee Drinker #2. Stella laughed and reached for her phone, taking the perfect shot.
The hugging started immediately. Joey disappeared into a crowd of embraces—regulars he’d served for years, high school friends, the Circle ladies who had watched him grow up. Stella hung back, giving him space, watching the celebration swirl around him.
Margo caught her eye from across the room and nodded toward the corner. Stella watched as Margo made her way to Joey, waited for a break in the hugging, and gently pulled him aside.
She couldn’t hear what Margo said. But she saw Joey’s face—the way it shifted from moved to something deeper, something that looked almost like awe. Margo reached into her pocket and handed him something small. An envelope.
Joey stared at it. Then at her. Then he hugged her so hard Stella worried for Margo’s bones.
“The scholarship letter,” Tyler said quietly, appearing at Stella’s side. “From Richard’s foundation.”
“What does it say?”
“Margo writes one for every recipient. About legacy. About carrying something forward.” Tyler watched Joey carefully tuck the envelope into his jacket, hands shaking.
“The foundation paid for his schooling. Same as it paid for Luke’s marine biology degree.
Same as it’s helped a dozen other kids from this community. ”
“She writes them herself?”
“Every one. Richard started the foundation, but he died before most of the recipients were even born. So, Margo writes the letters—tells them what Richard believed in, what the Shack stands for, why they were chosen.” Tyler smiled slightly.
“Joey’s been here four years. She’s had a lot of time to get his letter right. ”
Stella watched Joey wipe his eyes, say something to Margo that made her laugh, then get pulled back into another round of hugs.
“He’s really going to miss this place,” she said.
“He’s going twenty minutes away.”
“I know. But for Joey...” She shrugged. “It’s still huge.”
“Yeah.” Tyler smiled. “It is.”
The party wound down the way good parties do—slowly, reluctantly, with people lingering longer than they needed to because leaving meant it was really over. By six o’clock, only family remained, sprawled across booths and chairs, too full of food and feeling to move.
Bernie gathered his things first, groaning as he stood.
“Well,” he said. “That was properly done.”
“Thank you for coming,” Joey said, and his voice was still thick, still raw. “It means a lot. All of it.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.” Bernie patted his shoulder. “You’ve done good work here, son. Real good work. Don’t forget that when you’re off learning about... what is it again?”
“Marine technology.”
“Marine technology.” Bernie nodded solemnly. “Important stuff. Boats need technologists.” He checked his watch. “Alright. I should head out. Jeopardy’s on at seven.”
“Tournament week,” Joey said. “I remember.”
“You remember everything. That’s your gift.” Bernie headed for the door, then paused. Bernie raised a hand in farewell. “See you tomorrow, Joey.”
Joey blinked. “Thursday, actually. My shift starts at ten.”
“Right. Thursday.” Bernie shrugged. “I’ll be in at nine-thirty. Usual booth.”
And then he was gone.
Joey stood in the middle of the Shack, surrounded by streamers and empty plates and the lingering warmth of everyone who’d come to celebrate him. He looked at the door Bernie had just walked through. Then at Tyler. Then at Stella.
“Thursday,” he said.
“Thursday,” Stella confirmed.
“That’s... two days.”
“Forty-eight hours, give or take.”
Joey was quiet for a moment. Processing. Stella watched something shift in his expression—like the dawning realization that the massive farewell he’d been dreading was also just... the beginning of a new schedule.
“I should make a prep list,” he said finally. “For Thursday. Make sure everything’s ready.”
“You have a prep list,” Tyler said. “You made it last week. And laminated it.”
“I should review the prep list. In case something’s changed.”
“Nothing’s changed.”
“The tomato shipment might have changed. Tomatoes are unpredictable. And critical now.” Joey was already moving toward the kitchen. “I should check the tomatoes.”
Stella caught Tyler’s eye. They both smiled.
“I’ll help clean up,” she offered.
“I’ll get the streamers,” Tyler said.
Stella pulled out her phone first. Framed one last shot—Joey in the kitchen doorway, dishcloth over his shoulder. He didn’t know she was shooting. That was the point.
The Shack’s own Coffee Drinker Number Two, she thought. Going twenty minutes away and taking all of our hearts with him.
She took the picture. Then she started taking down decorations.
“Hey, Stella?” Joey emerged from the kitchen, dishcloth over his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for staying.”
“Someone had to.”
“No, I mean—” He paused, searching for words. “Thanks for staying. In Laguna. With all of us. I know you had other options.”
“Not really.”
“You did. Australia. Your mom. A whole different life.” Joey shrugged. “You chose this one. That means something.”
Stella looked around the Shack—the faded booths, the shell-covered ceiling, the photo display of Joey’s greatest hits that she’d helped assemble.
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess it does.”
“See you Thursday?”
“See you Thursday.”
Joey nodded, satisfied. Then he went back to the kitchen to check on the tomatoes.
Stella finished the last of the streamers, tucked them into a bag, and stepped outside into the evening air. The parking lot was empty now except for Tyler’s truck. The ocean murmured in the distance.
Two days until Thursday. Forty-eight hours until Joey was back, checking prep lists and adjusting napkin angles and making sure Bernie’s coffee arrived at exactly the right time.
It wasn’t really a farewell at all, she realized.
It was just a really good party. For a really nice guy.