Page 2 of The Summer We Made Promises (The Destin Diaries #3)

Present Day

V ivien slid the blue notebook back in the plastic Caboodle she kept under her bed, unable to wipe the smile from her face.

Every once in a while, she picked up one of the diaries she’d kept all those decades ago, seeing those years through an adult’s eyes.

And, she thought as she pushed up looked out at the morning sunrise, it was added fun to be in Destin once again.

In some ways, everything had changed—the beach cottage was now a six-bedroom event and the teenagers were all in their fifties. In other ways, nothing had changed. They were still the Lawsons and the Wylies doing Destin together.

Last night, many of those same faces were around an outdoor table, dining al fresco again. The “dads” were gone, sadly. The “moms” certainly weren’t sorority sister besties. But the heart of these two families was still connected and, Vivien hoped, getting stronger every day.

She stole a glance at her daughter, who slept contentedly in the huge California king bed they’d been sharing for a few months.

With Vivien attempting to rebuild her life after a divorce, and twenty-four-year-old Lacey just figuring hers out, they somehow had turned this whole unexpected adventure into amazing mother-daughter time.

This wouldn’t last, Vivien knew. Like the seasons she read about in those old diaries, this one would change. Lacey would meet someone special and Vivien would rightly become number two in her life.

That was the way of things, but wow, she was enjoying these halcyon days in Destin.

She headed into the bathroom for a hot shower, then to the closet, choosing linen pants and a light top that would easily handle the warmth of May for a busy day.

By the time she was dressed and stepped back into the room, the rising sun streamed bright through the gauzy white curtains.

“Morning.”

She turned at the sound of Lacey’s raspy greeting, seeing her sitting up, balancing a laptop on the comforter, her fingers poised over the keyboard but not typing.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Vivien said. “And working already?”

“Yeah…sort of.” She lowered the screen, looking distracted.

Or maybe she was over this “season” of sharing a room with her mother.

It might be dreamy and fun to Vivien, but Lacey was a young woman and probably would love some privacy.

The setup wasn’t ideal, but every time they turned around, the Summer House had more guests.

The two most recent still shocking Vivien when she thought about it.

“Crista’s going home today,” she reminded Lacey. “I’m sure you’d love that room?—”

“I’m fine, Mom. Let Jo Ellen have it. She’s seventy-eight and shouldn’t sleep two floors down all alone.”

“That’s sweet, honey,” Vivien said. “Unless Jo Ellen refuses to sleep on the same level as Maggie, despite this alleged ‘ceasefire’ between them.”

“Based on the chill at dinner?” Lacey lifted her brows. “I hope nobody has a gun in this house, ceasefire or not.”

“Peter will have one,” she said on a laugh. “And he’s on his way over right now.”

“Oh?” Lacey looked at Vivien. “Are you two having breakfast dates now?”

“This isn’t a date,” Vivien said. “I actually asked for more advice for Maggie and Jo Ellen. I mean, they’re staying here with the sole purpose of unraveling the history of how my father ended up in prison.

Peter has access to law enforcement files from the past. If Artie had a role in my father’s arrest… ”

Her voice trailed off as she thought about the situation. Had Jo Ellen’s late—and quite great—husband been the one to put Roger Lawson behind bars? And if so, did that mean the rift between Jo Ellen and Maggie would never be healed?

Vivien knew one thing about her mother: Maggie Lawson could hold a grudge like a Rottweiler with a bone.

“No if , since they both think Artie did turn him in,” Lacey said. “I’m not sure I understand what else they want to know.”

“They want to know why,” Vivien told her. “ Why would Arthur Wylie turn his close friend in to the police?”

“Um, because his close friend—rest my grandfather’s soul—was committing fraud, money-laundering, and tax evasion, and Artie was a law ethics professor?” Lacey snorted. “It’s not complicated.”

But it was.

Vivien nodded, all too familiar with Roger’s white-collar crimes.

“If Artie was the anonymous tipster who turned my father in, like they seem to think, then it not only affects the past—it impacts our future. You work for Tessa now, and Eli is crazy about Kate. Those relationships are at risk. Understanding Artie’s motivation might help all of us heal from the past.”

Or set us back thirty years, she thought, but chose to be optimistic and not add that.

Lacey sighed and shut her laptop. “So Peter thinks he can find out more from old police files?”

“Maybe. After all, he’s a detective with the Pensacola PD. He has more access than those two do. They are clueless as to where to start and he’s…” She smiled. “Smart, handsome, and capable.”

“Careful, Mommy, your heart-eyes are showing.”

She laughed. “I do like him,” she said and thought of how many pages in her teenage diary mentioned Peter McCarthy—usually with exclamation points and hearts galore. “Maybe not in the way I did as a teenager, but…” She touched her face with a self-deprecating laugh. “I ain’t a teenager anymore.”

“You’re beautiful,” Lacey said softly, true love in her sleepy gaze. “And you’re officially divorced. That means you are free to have breakfast, lunch, or dinner with your handsome, capable detective.”

The bell chimed at the front door. Vivien exhaled, smoothing her top. “And there he is.”

She blew a kiss and stepped into the hall, pausing at the open door to the last bedroom where Crista, Vivien’s younger sister, was chatting and laughing with her seven-year-old daughter.

“We’re packing to go home, Aunt Vivien,” Nolie announced. “I’m really sad!”

“We are all sad, honey,” Vivien said, bending over to kiss her little head. On the way up, she gave a hard look to her sister. “And how are you feeling, Mama?”

Crista flushed and touched her stomach, glancing at Nolie, who still didn’t know she was going to be a big sister. “This morning? Quite good. Hope it lasts for the five-hour drive home.”

“I hope so, too.” The doorbell rang again and she gave a wave and trotted down the stairs.

At the bottom, she paused and looked around the main floor, which was nearly finished, at least from a décor standpoint.

She’d nailed this living and gathering space, and the gorgeous kitchen, she thought with pride. The only thing missing was the perfect light fixture to hang at the top of the vaulted ceiling, but the one she wanted cost an arm and two legs.

If they ended up keeping the Summer House, like she hoped, she could put a far less expensive chandelier in that spot. A slight disappointment, but?—

This time, he knocked.

“Someone wants to get in the front door,” her mother’s voice came from the deck, slightly harsh and demanding. Well, it was Maggie. Vivien didn’t expect sweet and gentle from that woman.

“I’ve got it,” she called back.

When she opened the front door, she greeted Peter with the same smile she wore every time she saw the man. He was so…Peter.

Strong, steady, good-looking, and now he had that glimmer in his brown eyes when he gazed at her. He liked her and she liked…the idea of him liking her.

Was that the same as just plain liking him? Oh, too much thinking for pre-coffee.

“Morning, Detective.”

He smiled at the title she always used, pulling his hands out of the pockets of his khaki pants, reaching to give her a light hug. “Morning, Viv. I was beginning to think I had the wrong beachfront mansion.”

She laughed and stepped back, letting him in. “I was upstairs. Are you ready for your next case?”

He huffed a laugh. “Since the one that brought me here is nothing but dead ends, sure. Bring it.”

She led him through the house and they stopped in the kitchen for coffee. As they did, Jo Ellen came up from the ground floor, looking wearier than when she went to bed.

Vivien slipped an arm around her. “We’ll get Crista’s room ready for you tonight,” she promised.

“I’m fine. I’d like to stay where I am.”

“Then I’m ordering some legitimate furniture for that room,” Vivien said. “Do you have a few minutes to talk to Peter?”

Jo Ellen gave him a strange look, a mix of fear and hope and even a little tenderness. “How funny to see you after all these years, Peter,” she said. “You really still look like a teenage boy to me.”

“Better upgrade your glasses, Aunt Jo,” he joked. “When I look at you, I think of mint chocolate chip ice cream. You were the one who always remembered to get me the flavor none of the other kids liked.”

She chuckled and pointed at him. “Yes, I remember that. I’ll be sure to get you some while I’m here, Peter.”

He gave her a warm smile. “Let’s see if I can really help you first, then you can reward me.”

“Well, I’m not very hopeful, but…it’s important to Mags. And all I really want is to be her friend again.”

“Oh, Jo Ellen.” Vivien put a hand on the older woman’s narrow shoulder, touched by the admission. “We’re going to help you. We’re going to find out the truth of what happened, I promise.”

As they walked out to join Maggie, Vivien remembered those two forty-something moms laughing, cooking, and spending summers here thirty years ago. She really hoped she could keep that promise and heal this once-lovely friendship.

No surprise to Vivien, Maggie insisted they sit at the outdoor dining table and turn the whole conversation into something formal.

Destin hadn’t yet worked its old magic on Vivien’s mother. She hadn’t relaxed at all in the days since she’d blown in unannounced, uninvited, and ready to boot them all to the curb for the sin of “fraternizing” with the Wylies—apparently breaking a promise she’d made to Vivien’s dad before he died.