Page 38 of The Beach Shack (Laguna Beach #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

A fter all these years in marketing, Meg had learned to read the unspoken stories in how businesses organized their files and paperwork.

The Beach Shack’s tiny back office was particularly revealing.

Unlike the cheerful, deliberately casual atmosphere of the dining area, this space showed the private reality of Margo’s management style.

Receipt spindles dating back months. Invoices filed by vendor name rather than date.

Tax documents stored alongside personal mail.

The organizational system appeared random to an outside observer but clearly followed some internal logic that made perfect sense to Margo herself.

Meg had offered to help with month-end reconciliation, expecting resistance but receiving instead a distracted nod from her grandmother, who was preoccupied with a delivery issue.

Now, alone in the cramped space with scattered financial records, Meg felt both satisfaction at being trusted with this task and a nagging concern about what she might find.

The regular monthly payments—the “Standing Obligation” entries—had been weighing on her mind since she’d first glimpsed them. With Margo busy in the kitchen and the afternoon lull providing a quiet window, Meg finally had the opportunity to investigate properly.

She started with the current year’s ledger, meticulously noting each monthly $1,500 payment. Then she pulled out the previous year’s records, finding the identical pattern. And the year before that. The consistency was remarkable—same amount, same day of the month, year after year.

Looking for earlier records, Meg discovered a stack of ledgers stored in a bottom drawer, each bound in the same weathered leather, Margo’s precise handwriting marking the years on their spines. She selected one from five years ago, then ten years ago, then fifteen.

The pattern held across all of them. The monthly payment amount had changed only once—increasing from $750 to $1,500 about twelve years earlier. Otherwise, it was the same clockwork financial commitment, stretching back through decades of Beach Shack history.

Meg sat back in the creaky office chair, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

These payments represented a significant ongoing expense for a small business with tight margins.

More troubling was the complete lack of explanation—no recipient name, no service rendered, no contract referenced.

Just “Standing Obligation” month after month, year after year.

Her instincts flared with warning signals. In any other business, this would raise red flags.

What troubled Meg most wasn’t the financial implication but the secrecy. Why hadn’t Margo ever explained these payments? Why deflect questions about them? What obligation could possibly justify decades of substantial monthly payments without documentation?

As she continued searching through the records, Meg found something else unusual—a separate small ledger, different from the others, tucked inside a folder labeled simply “F.” Inside were notes in handwriting Meg didn’t recognize, presumably her grandfather’s, detailing what appeared to be a payment agreement.

The entries stopped abruptly in 1978, the year her grandfather died. The final page had a single line in Margo’s handwriting: “Promise continues.”

Meg felt an uncomfortable tightness in her chest. This wasn’t merely unusual bookkeeping or an eccentric business practice. This was something her grandmother had deliberately kept hidden, even as financial struggles occasionally forced her to delay other payments or dip into personal savings.

The implications were troubling. What kind of promise required such financial sacrifice? And why had it been kept secret from the family for so long ?

She was still pondering these questions when Margo appeared in the doorway.

“Finding everything alright?” her grandmother asked, her tone casual but her eyes immediately going to the collection of ledgers spread across the desk.

Meg decided directness was the only approach. “I’ve been looking at these monthly payments. The ‘Standing Obligation.’ They go back decades.”

Margo’s expression didn’t change, but something in her posture shifted subtly—a slight stiffening of her shoulders, a barely perceptible withdrawal. “Yes, they do.”

“Can you tell me what they’re for?” Meg kept her voice gentle, curious rather than accusatory.

“A commitment your grandfather made. That I’ve continued.” Margo moved fully into the office now, beginning to gather the older ledgers with careful hands. “It’s been handled this way since before you were born.”

“But what kind of commitment requires $1,500 every month for decades? That’s a significant expense for a business this size.”

Margo continued collecting the ledgers, her movements deliberate but slightly too swift to be casual. “Some obligations transcend business considerations.”

“Gram,” Meg said softly, using the childhood name she’d abandoned years ago. “I’m trying to help. But I can’t understand the Beach Shack’s financial situation without knowing about its largest recurring expense.”

For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across Margo’s face—a hesitation, perhaps even a consideration to finally explain. Then her expression settled back into its familiar composed lines.

“It’s a private matter, Meg. One that doesn’t affect your temporary management of the shack.” The subtle emphasis on “temporary” wasn’t lost on Meg. “The monthly payment is accounted for in our operating budget. It always has been.”

“But—”

“I appreciate your help with the reconciliation,” Margo interrupted gently but firmly. “Perhaps you could focus on the current month’s receivables? We had several catering orders that need to be properly recorded.”

The deflection was skillful, practiced—the conversation equivalent of a closed door. Meg had used similar techniques herself in difficult client meetings, redirecting attention from sensitive topics to more manageable ones. But coming from her grandmother, it stung in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Does Uncle Rick know about this?” Meg asked suddenly.

Margo paused, the collected ledgers pressed against her chest like a shield. “Your uncle has his own opinions about how the Beach Shack should be run. Always has.”

It wasn’t an answer, yet somehow it told Meg everything she needed to know. The tension between Rick and Margo, his refusal to discuss the business, his warning that she wouldn’t understand—all of it connected to whatever secret these ledgers contained.

“Don’t you trust me?” The question emerged more vulnerable than Meg had intended, revealing the hurt beneath her curiosity.

Margo’s expression softened. “This isn’t about trust, Meg. Some promises aren’t only mine to explain.” She hesitated, then added, “When the time is right, you’ll understand. But that time isn’t now.”

With that cryptic statement, Margo left the office, taking the older ledgers with her.

Meg remained at the desk, staring at the current year’s entries, feeling more confused than before.

Not just about the financial mystery, but about her place in this family business where even basic financial information remained guarded behind decades of secrecy.

The afternoon crowd had thinned to just a few lingering customers when Luke arrived, carrying a box of marine conservation pamphlets he’d promised to display at the counter.

Meg watched him chat easily with Joey while arranging the materials, his casual comfort in the space a stark contrast to her own lingering sense of being an outsider despite her family connection.

When he approached the register where she was closing out the day’s sales, his smile faded slightly as he noticed her expression. “Tough day?”

“Enlightening might be a better word,” Meg replied, trying to keep her tone neutral. The last thing she wanted was to appear as if she were gossiping about her grandmother’s business practices.

Luke studied her for a moment. “Want to talk about it? I’m heading down to check the tide pools. Good walking and talking territory.”

Meg hesitated. On one hand, discussing family financial matters with someone outside the family felt inappropriate. On the other, Luke clearly knew more about the Beach Shack’s operations than she did, despite having no blood connection to it.

“Sure,” she decided. “Let me just finish up here.”

Twenty minutes later, they walked along the shoreline below the Beach Shack. For several minutes, they moved in silence, the rhythmic sound of waves filling the space.

“So,” Luke said finally. “What’s enlightening you today?”

Meg considered how much to share. “I found some... unusual financial patterns while helping Margo with the books. Long-term payments that don’t make business sense.”

“The monthly obligation,” Luke said, not as a question but as a statement.

Meg stopped walking. “You know about it?”

“I know it exists.” Luke bent to examine a small shell before straightening again. “Not the details.”

“But you know more than you’re saying.” Meg couldn’t keep the frustration from her voice. “Everyone seems to be protecting some big secret about the Beach Shack, and I can’t understand why.”

Luke resumed walking, forcing Meg to follow if she wanted to continue the conversation. “Has it occurred to you that maybe it’s not anyone’s secret to tell? That maybe Margo has reasons for handling things the way she does?”

“That’s exactly what she said,” Meg replied. “But we’re talking about decades of substantial payments with no explanation. As someone trying to help manage the business?—“

“As someone temporarily helping,” Luke corrected gently.

The distinction stung. “So, because I’m not planning to stay forever, I don’t deserve to know?”

Luke stopped again, turning to face her fully. “That’s not what I meant. But there’s a difference between needing to know something to do your job and wanting to know something to satisfy your curiosity.”

“It’s not just curiosity,” Meg protested. “These payments are affecting the Beach Shack’s financial stability. Bills are being paid late. Suppliers are getting frustrated. Whatever this obligation is, it’s putting strain on the business.”

“And yet the Beach Shack has survived for fifty years, making these same payments month after month.” Luke’s tone remained calm, reasonable. “Maybe the issue isn’t the obligation itself, but how you’re defining success. ”

Meg felt a flash of irritation. “Don’t lecture me about business definitions of success. I’ve spent my entire career analyzing business operations.”

“And that expertise is valuable,” Luke acknowledged. “But the Beach Shack isn’t just a business. It’s a legacy built on values and promises that might not show up in standard metrics.”

They had reached a rocky outcropping where the shoreline curved.

Luke led the way to a flat boulder, gesturing for Meg to join him.

As they sat watching the waves, Meg tried to reconcile her professional concerns with the deeper emotional confusion she felt at being excluded from this family secret.

“I just want to understand,” she said finally, her voice quieter now. “Not as a business consultant or even as a temporary manager. But as Margo’s granddaughter. As someone who cares about her and the Beach Shack.”

Luke’s expression softened. “I know you do. And I think Margo knows that too. But some stories take time to tell properly.” He hesitated, then added, “Your grandfather was a complicated man, Meg. Generous to a fault, sometimes making promises his business couldn’t easily keep.

Margo has spent decades honoring those promises, even when it wasn’t easy. ”

“You talk like you knew him,” Meg said, studying Luke’s face. “But he died long before you were born.”

“I know him through Margo’s stories,” Luke replied. “And through the Beach Shack itself—the way it operates, the values it embodies. Those weren’t accidents or market forces. They were conscious choices Richard made that Margo has maintained.”

The subtle shift to present tense when speaking of her grandfather wasn’t lost on Meg. As if his influence remained active, his decisions still shaping the business fifty years after his death.

“How much do you really know about all this?” Meg asked directly. “About whatever Margo is keeping secret?”

Luke met her gaze steadily. “I know that Margo has never made a decision that wasn’t ultimately about taking care of people.

And I know that some promises matter more than profit.

” He reached over and briefly touched her hand.

“I also know that when she’s ready to share the whole story, she’ll start with you. ”

The simple gesture and the confidence in his voice eased something in Meg’s chest, though her questions remained unanswered. Luke clearly knew more than he was saying, yet his loyalty to Margo was evident in his careful responses.

“So, your advice is—what? Just keep helping while being kept in the dark?”

“My advice,” Luke said with a small smile, “is to trust that Margo loves you and will share what you need to know when the time is right. And in the meantime, maybe focus on all the ways the Beach Shack succeeds that don’t show up in those ledgers.”

They sat in silence as the sun set. Meg found herself thinking about Luke’s words—about definitions of success, about promises that transcended business considerations, about the possibility that the Beach Shack’s true purpose might be something her expertise couldn’t fully measure.

“I should head back,” she said finally. “I told Margo I’d help with the closing inventory.”

Luke nodded, standing and offering her a hand up. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great with the Beach Shack. Margo notices, even if she doesn’t say it directly.”

“How can you tell?” Meg asked, thinking of Joey’s description of her grandmother’s ‘silent approval.’

“Because she talks about you differently now. Less ‘Meg in San Francisco’ and more ‘Meg who’s helping me.’” Luke smiled. “It might not seem like much, but from Margo, that’s high praise.”

“Luke?” she said as they reached the steps leading back to the parking lot. “How do you know when to push for answers and when to just... trust the process?”

He considered the question seriously. “I ask myself what matters more—getting the answer right now or preserving the relationship that will eventually provide it.” His expression was thoughtful in the fading light. “Sometimes waiting is its own kind of wisdom.”

Meg wasn’t sure she agreed—her entire approach was built around identifying problems and addressing them directly—but she appreciated his perspective nonetheless.