Page 17 of The Summer We Kept Secrets (The Destin Diaries #4)
W ith Tessa having officially taken over the only legitimate office space in the Summer House, Eli had moved his workspace to the dining area. As much as he wanted to blow off every minute of this summer, it was somewhat overcast today, and the house was unusually quiet.
Maggie and Jo Ellen had surprised them all with an announcement that they were going to spend a week or so at Betty and Frank’s house, helping Frank garden and learning some new recipes with Betty.
He supposed that after thirty years, the old friends had a lot of catching up to do. His mother was a bad enough driver that she certainly couldn’t spend an evening with a couple of heavy wine drinkers like Frank and Betty and drive home, so he fully supported their visit.
Vivien had gone to a networking breakfast with some other local designers, and Kate said she’d be on baby duty while Jonah got dressed and ready for his first day of classes.
It was really the perfect time for work, so Eli had persuaded Meredith to review a packet of early concepts one of the architects in the firm had sent for a massive renovation project. This was normally right in her wheelhouse, but today, she didn’t seem as into the process as she usually was.
Eli zoomed in on the outdoor elevation plan, trying to figure out what was wrong—with the sketch and his daughter.
“I don’t like that arch,” he muttered, glancing at Meredith.
Like she had a million times since she’d learned what a plumb line was, Meredith sat next to him, her sketch pad open, her gaze flicking from the rendering to some notes and drawings in front of her.
But this time, her gaze looked…off. Her pencil wasn’t moving, her questions lacked their usual crispness. Normally, Meredith was all bite and brilliance—sharp as a tack and twice as fast at spotting an error on a design than Eli had ever been.
A third-generation architect, Meredith was gifted and driven. But today, she was…distant and lost. Her fingers idly tapped the rim of her mug, a tea bag dangling from the side. Since when did she fuel with herbal tea and not her usual gallon of caffeine?
“You okay?” he asked casually as he used the mouse to highlight the offending arch.
“Yeah. Just tired, I guess.”
He nodded but didn’t press. She’d tell him if she wanted to. Or not.
Behind them, they heard footsteps coming up the stairs, a little light to be Jonah’s. Eli turned to see who it was, spotting Kate, barefoot in cutoff jeans and a V-neck tee, holding a squirming Atlas in her arms.
“Sorry to interrupt, but…we have a problem.”
Eli turned completely. “Atlas blow a diaper?”
“No. Jonah.” She pushed her glasses up and took a few steps closer. “He’s still in bed,” she said in a hushed tone.
“You’re kidding.” Eli abandoned his laptop and checked his watch. “His class starts in an hour.”
She nodded. “I’ve been knocking and calling through the door, but he told me to take Atlas and leave him alone.”
Eli’s stomach dropped. Jonah’s mood had improved since he’d had that long conversation with Dusty last weekend, but he was erratic at best, and somehow this news didn’t completely surprise him.
Not bothering with questions, Eli rose and headed straight for the stairs, vaguely aware that both Meredith and Kate followed him.
On the first floor, the morning light was completely different. It filtered through shades and bounced off the pool, giving the gathering room a soft, inviting glow. But there was nothing soft or inviting about Jonah’s closed bedroom door.
Eli knocked on it anyway, silently sending up a prayer for help that he sensed he would need. “Jonah? It’s Dad. Open up.”
No answer but a faint grunt.
“Jonah,” he said more firmly, keeping his voice level. “Talk to me, son.”
Another grunt. Then a muffled, “Go away.”
Meredith stepped next to him. “Let me try.” She crouched near the door. “Jonah. It’s me. Just open the door, okay? You don’t have to explain anything. We’re just worried.”
Nothing.
Atlas, fussy and wriggling, let out a piercing wail. They heard the sheets rustle. Footsteps. The click of the lock. Then, slowly, the door opened a crack.
Jonah’s eyes were red, his hair matted to his forehead, and his shirt twisted from a night spent curled on top of his covers. He looked like he hadn’t slept, eaten, or moved since yesterday.
“I’m not going,” he said thickly. “I’m not going to class. Ever.”
Kate started toward him, but Jonah reached for Atlas instead. The baby calmed almost instantly as Jonah pulled him close and stepped back into the dim room.
Eli didn’t hesitate to make his move. “Mind if I come in?” he asked. “Just to sit with you and Atlas?”
Jonah didn’t answer, but he didn’t say no.
Eli stepped inside, his heart aching. The shades were drawn, casting the room in shadows. The air was stale. A tray with a half-eaten sandwich sat on the desk.
Atlas had already rolled against his father’s chest, his tiny mouth slack, one hand curled in the collar of Jonah’s T-shirt.
Another beat of silence, and something cracked in Eli’s heart, creating a deep longing. Only one thing could fill that hole. Only one place to go. Pausing, he turned to the doorway where Meredith and Kate stood side by side, their expressions drawn in concern.
“Meredith, can you do me a favor? Run upstairs to my room and grab the Bible by my bed.”
He caught the flicker in Kate’s eyes—he’d seen that look before. A tightening. A step back. But she said nothing.
“Gimme a sec.” Meredith disappeared and Kate sighed, looking as if she had no idea what to do.
“Can we all stay?” Eli asked Jonah. “Kate and Meredith, too?”
Jonah closed his eyes on a sigh as he rested on his back, still holding Atlas against his chest. “I don’t care. I’m not talking. And I’m not going.”
Eli gestured for Kate to sit in the chair as he dropped on the corner of the bed, silent until Meredith returned. She handed over a blue leather-bound Bible, worn from Eli’s constant use.
“This was your mother’s,” he said, running a reverent hand over the binding.
“Mom had a Bible?” Meredith asked.
“She had started reading it a few months before…” His voice faded out. “Yeah, she had a Bible.”
From the bed, Jonah nodded—almost as if to say he knew that—and baby Atlas let out a sigh. His little head rose and fell with his father’s breaths, tiny fingers splayed like starfish.
“She wrote in it sometimes,” Eli said, fluttering a few pages before spying her handwriting in a margin and some underlined words. “And she liked the Psalms.”
He flipped there. The pages, now well read, almost opened by themselves to one of his favorites.
“Mind if I read it?” he asked the small audience of three…and a half.
Jonah grunted. Meredith nodded. Kate arched a dubious brow, but then lifted a hand.
“Please do,” she whispered.
“I like this one,” he said. “Psalm 34. It’s one of the few that give us backstory—when David pretended to be insane.”
Jonah opened one eye. “I’m not pretending.”
“You’re not insane,” Eli countered, skimming the words and notes to get to the section near the end that he wanted to read. “‘The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all…’”
His voice was steady, reading with great awareness of who was hearing this—his broken son, his curious daughter, his deeply non-believing…whatever Kate was to him. And his grandson, who he hoped would listen to hours of Eli’s Bible reading in the course of his life.
“How can there be a God who’d let this happen?” Jonah asked, his voice thick and jagged. “To me? To Carly? To Atlas? What kind of God does that?”
Eli paused and looked up, gathering his thoughts. “He’s not the God who does it, son. He’s the God who walks with you through it.”
“But why me? Why do some people get normal lives, and I get this? I get a…” He closed his eyes. “I know, I know. Not a curse. Just really bad luck.”
“Because you can carry it,” Eli said, his voice firm as he let the Holy Spirit give him wisdom that he certainly didn’t have on his own. “Not alone. But with Him. With us. You’re not cursed, Jonah. You’re in a season of growth and preparation. You’ve been chosen for that.”
Jonah gave a bitter, disbelieving laugh. “Chosen?”
Eli nodded. “To love this child. To survive the loss. To rise up stronger. You think Jesus didn’t suffer?
His people betrayed Him. He was mocked. Whipped.
Crucified. That pain wasn’t pointless—it was part of the plan.
Your pain doesn’t mean God’s forgotten you.
It means He’s ready to shape you, prepare you for fatherhood, and soften your heart. ”
Silence stretched as he let the words settle.
Kate still hadn’t said a word. Meredith wiped a tear she clearly did not want to shed.
Very slowly, Jonah sat upright, holding tight to Atlas as he peered at the open book on Eli’s lap. “Can I see it?”
“Of course.” Eli slid the Bible closer, turning it so his son could read without putting the baby down. As he did so, pressure squeezed his chest. Would Jonah throw it across the room? Rip out the page? Or…read?
His gaze skimmed the scripture. “Who did all this doodling? Mom?”
“Yep. I don’t write that much in the Bible. I’m more of a reader.”
“What’s this?” He pointed to a verse earlier in the psalm, where Melissa had drawn a heart and a star, highlighting some verses and writing something Eli couldn’t remember. He leaned over and squinted at the small words.
“‘Taste and see that the Lord is good,’” Jonah read out loud. “Look. She wrote JFL next to it. My initials.” He glanced at Kate, who might not know that. “Jonah Fredericks Lawson,” he told her. “Why would she put my initials there?”
“Something about that reminded her of you,” Eli said.
“Taste and see? Like…” He stared at the note like it was a lifeline. Then he looked down at Atlas, asleep and safe in his arms. “Like…a chef would.”
No one said a word as they all looked at him and collectively held their breaths.