Page 35 of The Summer We Made Promises (The Destin Diaries #3)

W hen Kate, Eli, and two teenagers all poured in through the front door with much squealing, hugging, and familiarity, Maggie could feel things shift.

Jo Ellen’s grandchildren certainly brought a new, youthful energy to the place. Matt was tall, all gangly limbs and shaggy hair, quiet like Kate. Emma, on the other hand, had the confident posture of a girl wise beyond her years, her dark eyes taking in the room with intelligent curiosity.

But the real change in the air came directly from Eli and Kate. Her son had a palpable connection with the woman that didn’t seem to have been dimmed by their distance this past month.

Based on the looks they exchanged, the casual way they touched each other, and a few very obvious inside jokes they shared, they’d shortened the distance with plenty of time on the phone.

Maggie still wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Jo Ellen, on the other hand, seemed pleased as punch with this union, practically giggling at everything Eli said as if he was her son.

Good heavens, Maggie had broken every promise she’d made to Roger, and now the next generation was hard at work trying to make it worse.

“You okay, Mom?” Eli stepped out to the deck where Maggie sat in her usual seat once the greetings had been exchanged and the interminable discussion of who would sleep in what room was finally complete.

“I’m fine,” she said, looking up at him. “You seem happy.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Well, yeah. Happy to be back in Destin, happy that you’re here, and really happy to see Kate.”

She flicked her brow, silent.

“I’m not going to respond to that look,” he said with a tease in his voice. “But I have something for you. That case of Dad’s you wanted from Crista’s garage. Where should I put it?”

“Up in my room, please.” She let out a shuddering sigh. “I am both dreading and anticipating looking through it.”

“Kate told me the latest.” He dropped onto the edge of a chair across from her. “The FBI? How could we not have known this was a federal case?”

And Kate didn’t know all of the “latest”—Artie’s involvement. “Because your father kept a secret better than I do,” she said dryly.

“And that’s saying something,” Eli cracked.

She shuttered her eyes. “Anyway, thank you. God willing there are some answers in that box.”

“God is always willing to give answers,” he said, reminding Maggie of his deep faith.

Would that change with Kate, who Jo Ellen said believed only in science?

“Whatever is in that box, Mom, I hope it means we can let bygones be bygones, allow these families to heal, and look forward instead of backward.”

“I made a promise.” She ground out the last word.

“I’d like to make one, too,” he said. “To Kate.”

She gasped and blinked at him.

“Not that promise,” he replied, laughing. “I promised I’d spend the summer here if she does. Her kids don’t want to stay because of other commitments, and she’s on the fence. But I think she’s leaning toward spending most of the summer here.”

He didn’t ask for her opinion on that, she noticed.

“It’s going to get very crowded here,” she said, looking past him.

“Well, we have a two-bedroom apartment above the garage,” he reminded her. “Two empty bedrooms downstairs. There’s plenty of room.”

“I thought you were going to sell this property for a huge profit.”

“We still might,” he countered. “We can’t until November. Why not have one last summer of Wylies and Lawsons in Destin?”

Why not, indeed. Because Roger Lawson was probably scowling from his final resting place. Didn’t that matter to anyone but her?

Did it even matter to her?

“I’ll go put that case in your room,” he said, obviously not waiting for her response to what she assumed was a rhetorical question.

As he stepped back inside, the rest of the new arrivals started to spill out to the deck, dressed in various stages of beachwear. Kate and Tessa and Vivien linked arms, sunhats on, like the unstoppable trio they’d been thirty years ago.

Jo Ellen followed, practically vibrating with joy.

“Isn’t this amazing, Mags?” She eased down on the sofa next to Maggie. “It’s truly like old times with our kids at the Summer House.”

“Only no Roger and Artie.”

Jo Ellen’s smile disappeared. “Well, no. Thanks for that bucket of cold water. Can’t you be happy for once?”

“Me? You’re the one who mopes every time Artie’s name is mentioned.”

“Well, I feel better now. Here.” She put a hand on Maggie’s arm. “With you.”

The comment made her soften inside, and she smiled, jutting her chin toward the sound of all those footsteps on the spiral stairs to the beach level, punctuated by laughter and chatter.

“It’s good to have a full house,” she admitted. “But I’m still so torn by guilt.”

“If it’s because my daughter and your son like each other, then let it go.” Jo Ellen nudged her. “I haven’t seen Kate this happy in years. I’m sure it’s the same for Eli.”

Maggie couldn’t argue with that. It was true—her son had been a hollow version of himself after Melissa’s passing. He’d powered on, raised the kids, and built a business. And, of course, he’d found faith and church.

But love? That put a whole different glimmer in his blue eyes.

Still, Roger’s age-old warnings echoed in her mind.

You promise me, Magnolia...no Wylies. Never, ever. You cannot talk to them and neither can the kids. Ever.

Talk? Eli and Kate looked like they could get married.

Jo Ellen leaned into her. “Kate brought some of Artie’s things down, including his ashes.”

“Speaking of happy topics.” Maggie rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jo. I know this whole weekend is important to you, but…”

“You still won’t come to his Celebration of Life?” She looked truly disappointed.

“No,” she said simply. “But Eli put that case of Roger’s belongings in my room.”

“Artie’s stuff is there, too.” At Maggie’s look, she laughed. “Not the ashes . They’re in my room.”

“Don’t trust me with them, do you?” Maggie joked as she pushed up.

“I’d trust you with my life,” Jo replied softly, the kind words like a balm on Maggie’s bruised heart.

“Come on. Let’s see what we can find, Jo.”

As they climbed the stairs to her room, Maggie felt anticipation building, along with dread. She never liked going through Roger’s things. It hurt so much. And now? Guilt would make the pain worse.

She shut the door behind them and regarded the two boxes on the window seat.

Roger’s was a sturdy metal box, clasp closed and secure.

Artie’s was a battered old storage bin, the plastic top buckling and fragile.Maggie unlatched Roger’s first—grateful she’d never locked the box and had to worry about finding the key.

She pulled out a stack of papers bound together with an old leather strap.

Architectural sketches that included some of his earliest designs.

Jo Ellen leaned over and looked on as Maggie unfolded some of the papers. “He really was talented, Mags.”

Maggie traced a finger over the lines, memories tugging at her. “Yes. But he didn’t trust that talent.”

Jo Ellen didn’t respond, sliding Artie’s bin to the floor and dropping to the carpet like a kid opening Christmas presents. Pulling back her long hair, she snapped a cloth tie from her wrist to make a ponytail.

Silent, they dug deeper—finding a mix of mundane keepsakes and forgotten relics. A cracked pair of sunglasses Maggie remembered Roger wearing on the beach. An old cigar box filled with bottle caps from some silly collection Artie had started one summer.

Jo Ellen, rifling through Artie’s box, let out a soft laugh as she held something up. “Look at this.”

Maggie glanced over to see Jo holding up a photograph of the four of them—Roger, Artie, Jo Ellen, and Maggie—sitting on a picnic blanket, wine glasses in hand, the Gulf behind them, circa 1990 or so.

“We were so young,” Jo Ellen murmured.

Maggie’s chest tightened. “We were so happy.” She had been a happier woman then. Always highly disciplined with tight parameters around her life, but before Roger’s arrest and his death, she’d had more joy.

Life forced her to tighten her parameters so much…sometimes she felt like she was strangling herself and the people she loved.

Silence fell again as they continued sorting through the remnants of lives that now felt like mysteries. And then—something cold and metallic jabbed Maggie’s fingertips.

Her pulse quickened as she pulled out a small key, attached to a worn tag stamped with the words Destin Federal Savings Box 237.

“Jo! Look!”

Jo Ellen pushed up to see. “Is that?—?”

“A key to a safe deposit box,” Maggie confirmed, her voice lilting with intrigue. “Here! In Destin.”

Jo Ellen’s eyes lit up. “That could be something.” She returned to her box and, seconds later, gave a startled gasp. “Oh, my goodness!”

She shoved her hand in the air, an identical key clutched in her fingers. She looked at Maggie, her face alight with both triumph and disbelief.

“What the heck?” Maggie reached to take the key and compare them. Yep. Same bank, same box number.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other and the keys, the magnitude of the discovery settling over them.

“Does that bank still exist? Here in Destin?” Jo Ellen asked.

“As a matter of fact, it does,” Maggie said, handing back Artie’s key. “It’s near Publix. I saw it the other day and remembered that Roger sometimes stopped in there to cash travelers checks before ATMs were everywhere and credit cards were common.”

Jo Ellen’s brows went up. “Maybe they stashed money in this box.”

“I don’t want money,” Maggie whispered. “I want answers.”

And what she really wanted was freedom from promises made thirty years ago.

“And maybe these”—Jo Ellen tapped her key to Maggie’s like they were toasting champagne flutes—“unlock those answers. Let’s go now.”

“Now?” Maggie choked.

“It’s a Thursday afternoon. The bank’ll be open.” She pushed her box with her foot, ready to run.