Page 30 of The Summer We Kept Secrets (The Destin Diaries #4)

“Trust me, I didn’t hang anything. But I guess you understand that I want to be certain you’re both, you know, on the same page. With…life.”

“Life?” Kate glanced out at the water. “We haven’t talked about long-term logistics.

No one’s booking U-Hauls or applying for out-of-state driver’s licenses.

We’re just taking the summer to see if this is real.

If what we’ve felt from the minute I walked up to this house is, well, more than just my childhood crush. ”

“On him?” she asked, surprised.

“I kept it on the DL,” Kate joked. “I threatened your Aunt Vivien with her very life if she told anyone or even mentioned it in her infamous diaries. And he had Tessa fever, so it was a moot point. But this time, thirty years later…well, it’s good.

It’s special. And we both want to know if the long-distance thing we’ve kept alive for a few months actually holds up in the bright light of daily life. That’s all.”

“Is it holding up?”

“We’re discovering things,” Kate said with hesitation. “About each other, and ourselves.”

“That’s nice and vague.”

Kate let out a short breath of laughter. “It’s also true.”

Meredith slowed her step. “Like what are you discovering, exactly?”

Kate paused, too, then tilted her head. “He’s kind. Grounded. And deeply generous in ways that sneak up on you. Obviously, handsome and delightful and good-hearted.”

“Check, check, and triple check,” Meredith replied. “I hear a ‘but’ on the end of that list of attributes.”

Kate nodded. “But he’s also…” She seemed to search for the word. “Committed. In every sense of the word.”

“You mean his faith,” Meredith guessed.

“His religion is part of it, yes.”

Meredith folded her arms, brushing back a strand of hair blown over her eyes. “I’m sure this is not news to you, but my father isn’t just religious .”

“I know, he hates that word,” Kate agreed.

“He hates it because his belief system is foundational , not a list of…of…rules. It’s how he makes every decision—big or small.

Personal, professional, emotional. It’s not a decorative accessory.

His love of God is who he is, and it dictates his actions and decisions.

I know he doesn’t evangelize about it—that’s not his style.

But once you really know him, it’s clear. ”

Kate was quiet for a few footsteps, then she asked, “He wasn’t always like that, though. Right?”

Was there something hopeful in that tone?

“Why?” Meredith asked. “Do you want him to go back?”

Kate pushed her glasses onto her head and looked hard at Meredith. “No. I don’t expect him to stop believing because I don’t, if that’s what you’re implying. I’m merely curious where it came from, when it started. His siblings aren’t relig— believers. And Maggie isn’t exactly Mother Teresa.”

Meredith snorted at that.

“Was it your mother’s death?” she asked. “I’m just wondering where these beliefs came from.”

“He would say it came from God,” Meredith said evenly.

Kate sighed. “That does seem like the kind of answer Eli would give.”

“It started before my mom died,” Meredith added, staring down at the shell her toes had uncovered.

“People always think his belief came from grief, but it didn’t.

It deepened, sure. But he was already on that path.

So was she—you know she’d already cracked a Bible before she died.

They were both what is called ‘Christian curious’ nowadays.

Then she passed away and he turned to God.

” She slid a look at Kate, a frown forming. “He hasn’t told you all this?”

She shrugged. “Bits and pieces. I think he doesn’t want to scare me away and he sort of dances around the topic of his faith.”

Meredith turned to her fully, hands tucked into the pockets of her cutoffs. “Well, it’s an awfully big thing to dance around.”

Kate looked down at the water, silent for a long time. “You’re protective of him, Meredith. I understand. But he’s a grown man and knows what’s what.”

“He does, but sometimes he’s too good, too trusting, and too…faithful. If God tells him you’re the one, he’ll go all in.” Meredith studied her for a moment. “You haven’t said where you stand on the issue of faith. Atheist? Agnostic? Reformed Catholic or…what?”

“I did say,” she replied. “I’m a scientist.”

“That’s not a religious system or belief.”

“My world is built around observable data, verifiable results, controlled environments. Capacitors, not catechisms. Energy storage, not spiritual epiphanies. I don’t believe in anything I can’t test, touch, measure, or reproduce.

It’s not about being cold or cynical. It’s about being… precise and real .”

Well, faith was real to Eli Lawson, Meredith thought. “So you think his beliefs are…woo-woo? For the desperate and heartbroken?”

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” Kate replied. “I never belittle what he believes, but I’ll be perfectly honest, it’s very difficult for me to grasp. Supernatural? A supreme being in the sky? Miracles and answered prayers and…a book written by…who knows?”

“Eli knows,” Meredith said quietly. “He’ll tell you exactly who wrote it.”

Kate’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I know. I know. It’s just hard for me. Hard to believe in something I can’t understand or prove.”

“Then watch him,” Meredith said, gentler now.

“What do you mean?” Kate asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Like I said, my dad’s not an evangelizer.

He doesn’t quote scripture or pray in public or leave Bible verses in people’s mailboxes.

He thinks that’s a shortcoming, but I think he doesn’t see that he lives his faith in a million different ways.

In his strength and clarity and kindness and inner peace.

That all comes from his unwavering trust in God, who he sees, hears, measures, and tests every single day. ”

Kate was silent, then sighed. “We’re talking about how I feel about God, but the real question is how I feel about Eli.”

“And?”

“I love him,” she said simply. “I really do.”

Meredith’s throat tightened.

“But this?” Kate went on, waving a hand toward the sky, the sea, the invisible chasm between them. “It’s a big thing. A deep divide. I keep asking myself—if I can’t believe in what he believes, will he still believe in me ?”

Meredith studied her, the woman who made her dad light up when she walked into a room, who had been kind to Jonah, who had written him glowing letters and shared meals and laundry and lullabies. She wasn’t evil. She wasn’t selfish. She wasn’t even trying to change him.

“You said you only believe in what you can test,” Meredith said. “What you can measure. Touch. Prove.”

Kate nodded.

“Does that mean you don’t believe in love?”

She didn’t answer, and the expression that crossed her face—pain, uncertainty, something raw—was gone almost as quickly as it came, but clearly, the question had hit the mark.

“I’ll need some time to think about that,” she whispered.

“Come on,” Meredith said when they reached the boardwalk where they’d started. “Jonah might be father of the year, but he can’t burp that baby for love or money.”

They smiled at each other and as they picked up their shoes and headed into the Summer House, Meredith put a light hand on Kate’s shoulder.

She certainly didn’t want any animosity with the woman her dad loved, just a genuine connection. Kate met the gesture with a warm look, both of them silently agreeing to table all the unanswered questions. For now, anyway.