Page 17 of The Beach Shack (Laguna Beach #1)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

M eg had been trying to focus on client emails all afternoon, but her mind kept drifting to her grandmother.

The overdue bills she’d glimpsed, Margo’s evasive answers about finances, the way her uncle had avoided discussing the Beach Shack for years—something didn’t add up.

She closed her laptop with a frustrated sigh, no closer to understanding what was really happening with the family business.

It was late afternoon when Meg heard the knock at Tyler’s front door. She’d been sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop, trying to focus on client emails, but her mind kept drifting to the conversation she’d had with Margo earlier about the Beach Shack’s finances.

“Meg?” Rick’s voice called through the screen door. “Are you home?”

She looked up, surprised. Her uncle had been avoiding her calls for days, and now he was standing on Tyler’s porch with what looked like a cardboard box under his arm.

“Come in,” she called, closing her laptop. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Rick entered, setting the box carefully on the dining table. His usually pressed shirt was slightly wrinkled, and he looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with work.

“I should have called,” he said, then gestured toward the box. “But I’ve been thinking about what you said at Margo’s birthday party. About helping with the business.” He paused, running a hand through his graying hair. “I’m worried about her, Meg. Really worried.”

Meg studied her uncle’s face. In all the years she’d known him, Rick had never been one for emotional conversations. He dealt in facts, figures, practical solutions to clear problems.

“What kind of worried?” she asked gently.

“The kind where I lie awake at night wondering what’s going to happen to her.

” Rick’s voice was quiet. “She’s eighty years old, Meg.

And as far as I know, she has nothing saved for retirement.

Nothing. And lately...” He paused, his expression growing more troubled.

“She looked so tired at her birthday party. More fragile than I’ve seen her.

I keep thinking about what happens when she can’t stand at that grill anymore? When she can’t manage the long days?”

Rick rubbed his forehead, suddenly looking older himself. “That’s what finally made me dig these out,” he said, gesturing toward the box.

He opened the box, revealing file folders and loose papers.

“These are some old notes I kept years ago, when I was trying to understand the business better. After Dad died, I wanted to help Margo, but...” He trailed off, pulling out a spiral-bound notebook with a child’s drawing on the front cover—scribbled waves and what looked like a grilled cheese sandwich with eyes.

“I noticed things that concerned me,” Rick said, opening the notebook. Meg could see it was filled with his neat handwriting. “Look at this.”

He pointed to an entry: “Need to ask Richard again about that monthly payment. Margo doesn’t seem to know about it.”

Another: “Same payment going out every month for years. What is this for?”

“Monthly payments?” Meg asked.

Rick nodded. “Fifteen hundred dollars, every single month, going back decades. Money that should have been going into savings, into retirement planning, into Margo’s future.” His voice grew strained. “Instead, it’s just... gone.”

Rick slid into the chair across from her, suddenly looking every one of his sixty-two years. “When Dad died, I tried to help Margo understand the finances. But she’d already made up her mind to continue whatever Richard had been doing. The payments, the way he ran things—all of it. ”

Meg frowned. “Did you ask her what the payments were for?”

“Of course I did. Dad had told me it was some kind of business arrangement, something to keep the Shack secure. But the details were vague, and when I pressed Margo about it...” Rick’s shoulders sagged.

“She told me it wasn’t my concern. That Richard had handled his affairs properly and she would continue honoring his commitments. ”

“And you just accepted that?”

“I tried to push back. I really did.” Rick’s voice carried old frustration. “I told her those payments were preventing her from building any kind of financial security. That she needed to think about her future, about retirement, about what would happen if she got sick or couldn’t work.”

He was quiet for a moment, staring at his hands. “She got angry. Said I was questioning Richard’s judgment, trying to change things that worked perfectly fine. We had a terrible fight, and after that...” He shrugged helplessly. “We stopped talking about money entirely.”

Meg felt her heart clench. “How long ago was this?”

“Ten years? Maybe twelve. Since then, I’ve been completely shut out of her financial life.

I don’t know what she has saved, what she owes, whether she’s managing to set anything aside.

” Rick met her eyes. “But I’m pretty sure the answer is nothing, Meg.

I think she’s been paying that same amount every month for decades, and she has nothing to show for it. ”

The pain in Rick’s voice was unmistakable. Meg realized this wasn’t about mystery or business arrangements—this was about a son who was terrified for his aging mother’s welfare and felt helpless to protect her.

“She looked so tired at her birthday party,” Rick continued quietly.

“I keep thinking about what happens in five years, or ten. What happens when she can’t stand at that grill anymore?

When she can’t manage the long days?” His voice cracked slightly.

“She’s too proud to ask for help, and I’ve been too proud to keep offering it after she shut me out. ”

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding my calls,” Meg said, understanding now. “You were afraid I’d ask about this.”

Rick nodded. “I was ashamed, I guess. Here I am, her son, and I don’t even know if she’s going to be okay. We haven’t talked about money in years. For all I know, she’s one medical emergency away from losing everything.”

They sat in the growing evening light, the weight of Rick’s fears settling between them.

“What do you think those payments are really for?” Meg asked gently.

“I honestly don’t know anymore. Maybe they were legitimate once—some kind of business loan or partnership Richard set up.

But that was fifty years ago. Even if there was an original obligation, surely it should have been paid off by now.

” Rick gathered his notebook back toward him.

“What I do know is that eighteen thousand dollars a year for decades... that should have been Margo’s retirement fund. ”

“So what do we do?”

Rick looked at her with something like hope for the first time since he’d arrived. “I was hoping you might be able to reach her in a way I couldn’t. You’re not the son who questioned her husband’s decisions years ago. You’re the granddaughter who came back to help.”

He stood, leaving the box on the table. “Maybe you can find a way to talk to her about the future—about what she needs, about what she wants. And maybe you can figure out if those payments are still necessary, or if they’re just... habit.”

As Rick moved toward the door, Meg called after him. “Why now? Why are you finally talking about this?”

He paused, his hand on the doorframe. “Because I’m scared, Meg. And because watching her struggle alone while I nurse my hurt feelings feels selfish and wrong.” He turned back to face her. “She’s my mother. Whatever mistakes we’ve both made, she deserves better than that.”

After he left, Meg sat staring at the box of old notes. This wasn’t about solving a mystery anymore. It was about helping an eighty-year-old woman who had spent her whole life taking care of others, and making sure someone was finally taking care of her.

The answers weren’t in the files. They were in finding a way to bridge the gap between a proud mother and a worried son, and in having the conversations that should have happened years ago.