Page 41 of The Beach Shack (Laguna Beach #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

M argo watched her son approach the Beach Shack through the front window and felt fifty years of carefully held secrets pressing against her chest. Rick moved with that familiar brisk efficiency—always purposeful, always controlled—but she could see the wariness in his shoulders, the way he paused just a moment too long before opening the door.

He was expecting another argument about money. Another lecture about responsibility and proper business practices. How could he know that today, finally, he would understand?

Her hands trembled as she smoothed her apron. The worn leather ledger sat heavy in the bottom desk drawer, patient as a prayer book, waiting to reveal the truth she’d carried alone for so long.

“Hello, Mom,” Rick said quietly as he entered.

The gentle formality in his voice made her chest tighten. When had they become so careful with each other? When had her son—her brilliant, stubborn, loving son—become a polite stranger who visited out of duty rather than joy?

“Hello, Rick.” She kept her voice steady, though her heart was racing. “Thank you for coming.”

Meg was already at their usual table, looking nervous but determined. Bless her granddaughter for orchestrating this. Margo had been carrying this secret for decades, but it had taken Meg’s fresh eyes to see what needed healing.

They settled into chairs that suddenly felt formal, like they were conducting business rather than trying to bridge years of misunderstanding.

Rick pulled out his notebook—of course he had a notebook—and Margo felt a surge of tenderness.

Even as a child, Rick had needed to write things down, to make sense of the world through lists and careful planning.

So much like his father in that way. Richard had kept meticulous records too, especially about the people he helped. “Write it down, Margo,” he’d always said. “Someday these stories will matter.”

“Before you say anything,” she began, needing to start with truth, “I want you to know that I understand why you’ve been angry with me. About the payments. About what you saw as financial irresponsibility.”

Rick’s jaw tightened—that familiar expression that meant he was preparing to defend his position. How many times had she seen that look over the years? How many conversations had ended with him walking away, convinced she was too sentimental, too foolish to understand business?

“Mom—”

“Let me finish.” She kept her voice gentle but firm. This time, he would hear the whole story. “You were wrong about what I was doing with the money, but you were right that I should have told you. Should have trusted you.”

The words felt strange in her mouth—an admission she’d been too proud to make for years.

She told him about the dead investor first. About discovering the obituary years later, learning that no one was left to claim the payments. About the choice she’d made to redirect that money rather than simply stop sending it.

Rick’s face cycled through expressions—surprise, confusion, the beginning of something that might have been understanding. But she could see him struggling to reconcile this new information with the narrative he’d carried for so long.

“You’ve been running a scholarship fund?” he asked quietly. “This whole time?”

“A small one,” she said, though even as the words left her mouth, she knew they weren’t quite true. Forty-seven recipients over twenty years wasn’t small. It was a legacy.

She watched Rick sit back in his chair, staring at her as if seeing a stranger. “A scholarship fund,” he repeated slowly. “All these years, I thought?—”

The pain in his voice made her want to reach across the table, to comfort him the way she had when he was small and the world seemed too complicated to understand.

“You couldn’t have known,” she said gently, though part of her wondered if he could have. If she’d been braver about trust, if he’d been more curious about grace.

“I should have asked. I should have trusted that there was more to the story.”

The regret in his voice nearly broke her heart. This was what she’d feared—not his anger, but his pain at realizing how wrong he’d been. How wrong they’d both been about each other.

She stood on unsteady legs, moving toward the office where the ledger waited. Her private testament to Richard’s dream, to the promise she’d kept in the only way she knew how.

The drawer stuck slightly—it always did—but she managed to retrieve the worn leather book. Heavier than it looked, full of names and stories and second chances. She’d written in it just last week, adding Joey’s name to the list with a small note: “Marine systems training. He’s earned this.”

Rick’s hands trembled as he opened the ledger. She watched his eyes move across the first page, seeing her careful handwriting document what had become the most important work of her life.

“Maria Santos,” he read aloud, and Margo’s heart lifted. Of course he’d remember Maria—bright, determined Maria who’d worked double shifts to help support her family while dreaming of nursing school.

“She’s a pediatric nurse now,” Margo said softly. “Has two children of her own. Sends me a Christmas card every year with their pictures.”

Rick turned the page, his movements becoming reverent as he absorbed the scope of what she’d been doing.

She watched him discover names he recognized—Tommy Davis, who’d bussed tables while saving for marine biology studies; Sarah Mitchell, who’d cleaned the grill each evening while planning for art school; David Kowalski, whose family had struggled after his father’s injury.

“Tommy Davis is Dr. Davis now,” Rick said, his voice filled with wonder. “He runs the marine research station at UC Irvine.”

Margo nodded, remembering the earnest young man who’d peppered Luke with questions about ocean conservation, who’d sketched marine life on napkins during his breaks. “He still stops by sometimes when he’s in town. Always asks about his old apron.”

She watched her son absorb this—the realization that the scholarship fund hadn’t just helped these young people, but had created ripple effects.

Teachers and nurses and researchers and small business owners, all connected by a thread that led back to Richard’s original promise to help when he could.

“There must be forty, fifty people here, Mom,” Rick whispered. “All these names...”

More, actually, counting the three new recipients she’d approved just last month. But who was counting? Well, she was. She’d counted every single one, remembered their stories, followed their journeys when she could.

Rick turned another page and stopped, his breath catching. She leaned forward to see what had affected him so deeply.

“Tommy Davis,” he read again, but this time his finger traced a different entry. “Marine biology degree.” He looked up, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I had no idea you?—”

His voice broke off as the full magnitude of what she’d been doing finally hit him. Margo felt her own eyes filling as she watched her son—her practical, responsible, loving son—finally understand.

“I called you irresponsible,” Rick said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “I said you were dishonoring Dad’s memory. I was so wrong, Mom. So completely wrong.”

She wanted to comfort him, to say it didn’t matter, but the words wouldn’t come. It had mattered. His disapproval had cut deep, made her question her choices during the hardest moments.

“You didn’t know—“ she began.

“I should have asked.” Rick’s voice cracked, and she saw the little boy he’d once been—serious and careful, afraid of making mistakes. “I should have trusted that you had a reason. That you and Dad had built something meaningful here.”

He gestured at the ledger with shaking hands. “This is his legacy, isn’t it? This is what he would have wanted.”

Margo reached across the table and took her son’s hand—really held it, not just the polite touch of greeting or goodbye, but the firm grip of connection. His fingers were warm, familiar despite the years of distance.

“Yes,” she said simply. “This is exactly what Richard would have wanted.”

Rick turned more pages, reading entries with growing amazement. She watched him discover the updates she’d added over the years—graduation announcements, wedding invitations, birth certificates of second-generation children who existed because their parents had been given a chance.

“Maria’s daughter wants to be a nurse too,” Margo found herself saying. “She’s starting high school next year. Bright as her mother.”

“And Tommy’s research,” Rick said, looking up from the ledger. “The work he’s doing on coral restoration—I’ve read about it in journals.”

Pride bloomed in Margo’s chest. Not just for the young people who’d succeeded, but for her son’s recognition of what they’d accomplished. For the first time in years, they were seeing the same thing.

Meg cleared her throat gently, and Margo realized she’d almost forgotten her granddaughter was there, watching this long-overdue reconciliation unfold.

“The thing is,” Meg said carefully, “we think you were right about one thing. It does need better structure. Legal protection. Financial oversight.”

Rick looked up, suddenly focused, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “What kind of structure?”

Margo felt a flutter of anxiety. Even now, even with the truth finally in the open, she worried about losing control of something she’d nurtured so carefully.

“That’s where we hoped you’d help us,” she said, the words coming out smaller than she’d intended. “If you want to.”

Rick’s smile transformed his entire face, erasing years of careful distance. “Of course I want to help. This is...” He shook his head in amazement. “This is exactly what Dad would have wanted. What he did want, apparently. And you did it, Mom. All by yourself.”

They spent the next two hours planning together, and Margo marveled at how natural it felt. Rick’s financial expertise, Meg’s organizational skills, her own deep knowledge of community needs—they fit together like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t realized was incomplete.

“We could establish an endowment,” Rick said, his excitement growing. “Create a sustainable base that generates income. Maybe even invite other donors.”

“We want to keep it personal,” Margo warned, but she could already see the possibilities. Other businesses wanting to contribute. Alumni of the program giving back. A foundation that could help dozens more young people than she’d ever managed alone .

As the afternoon sun slanted through the Beach Shack windows, Margo watched her son and granddaughter work together, building on the foundation she and Richard had laid so many years ago. Not replacing what they’d built, but making it stronger.

“There’s one more thing,” she said as they wrapped up. “The recipients don’t know it’s me. I’d like to keep it that way for now.”

Rick nodded immediately. “Of course. Though eventually, people might figure it out.”

“Eventually,” she agreed. And maybe that would be all right. Maybe it was time to let the secret become a celebration.

Rick packed up his notes and stood to leave, but hesitated at the door. The careful formality was gone now, replaced by something raw and real.

“Mom? I’m sorry. For all the things I said. For not trusting you. For staying away so long.”

Margo stood and opened her arms, and when Rick stepped into them, she felt like she was holding her child again—not the successful accountant with his careful boundaries, but her son who’d once brought her dandelions and believed she could fix anything.

“We both made mistakes, Rick,” she whispered into his shoulder. “But we’re fixing them now.”

“I love you, Mom,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m proud of you. I should have said that years ago.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back, feeling the weight of old hurts begin to lift. “I’ve missed you.”

After Rick left, Margo and Meg sat in the quiet Beach Shack, watching the early evening light dance on the water. The ledger lay closed on the table between them, its secrets finally shared.

“That went better than expected,” Meg said softly.

Margo nodded, feeling lighter than she had in years. “Rick’s a good man. He just needed to understand.”

“And now?”

Margo smiled, thinking of the foundation they would build together, of the young people who would benefit from their combined efforts, of the promise to Richard that would continue long after she was gone.

“Now we build something that will last long after I’m gone. Something your grandfather would be proud of.”

Meg reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Something we can all be proud of.”

Margo squeezed back, watching the sun sink toward the horizon. Tomorrow would bring new challenges.

But tonight, for the first time in years, her family felt whole again.