Page 3 of The Beach Shack Legacy

“What? I got the diploma eventually. It was fine.”

“I’m sure it was. For you.” Margo had settled onto a stool at the counter with her coffee, and her voice was perfectly mild. “Meanwhile, I sat through three hundred and fourteen names, Tyler. In my good dress. In the fourth row. With my purse on the seat I’d saved beside me.”

Tyler’s towel stopped moving. “The fourth row.”

“The fourth row. I got there early.” Margo set her mug down. “They called your name. Nobody walked across the stage. I clapped anyway, in case it was a mistake.”

The room had gone very still. Bea’s mouth was open. Anna had both hands over hers.

“You clapped?” Tyler asked.

“I clapped. Then I sat through the rest of the ceremony because I wasn’t going to leave before it was finished.” Margo picked her mug back up. “The valedictorian gave a lovely speech about courage, which felt appropriate.”

Tyler stared at his grandmother, his ears gone pink. Stella raised her camera and then lowered it.

“Margo, I’m⁠—”

“It was a long time ago.” She drank her coffee. “I certainly hope neither of you two get the same idea.”

“We’ll be there.” Bea had her hand up like she was being sworn in. “Both of us. Caps and gowns and everything.”

“I should hope so.” Margo looked at Stella.

Anna shook her head and reached across the table to squeeze Tyler’s arm. “I was there an hour early for mine. I ironed my gown. I brought extra bobby pins for my cap.”

“Sounds about right,” Tyler said, still pink.

“And I cried during the processional.” Anna’s eyes misted at the memory.

“That tracks.”

“It was emotional! They played ‘Pomp and Circumstance.’ It’s designed to make you cry.”

Bernie set his pen down. “I wore my father’s suit. It was too big in the shoulders. My mother pinned it.” He picked the pen back up.

“Did you cry?” Bea asked.

“I am not a crier.”

“That’s not what Margo says.”

Bernie and Margo exchanged a look across the room. “Margo exaggerates,” he said.

“Margo has an excellent memory,” Margo said.

Stella laughed. The whole thing—Bea’s outrage, Tyler’s ears, Anna’s bobby pins, Bernie’s pinned suit, Margo in her good dress clapping for nobody—was so completely them that she raised her camera and caught the tail end of it. Margo’s profile against the window. Bernie’s pen hovering. Bea with her hand still over her mouth.

“So we’re going today,” Bea said. “After lunch. You and me. And you’re trying yours on.”

“I’ll try it on.”

“And you won’t complain.”

“I might complain a little.”

“That’s acceptable.” Bea tucked the orientation packet back into her bag. “I’m going to look incredible. Fair warning.”

“You always look incredible.”