The Summer We Let Go (The Destin Diaries #5)

July 4, 1993

Dear Diary,

If I don’t write this down this minute, I swear my head is going to explode like one of the fireworks Dad insists on lighting even though Uncle Artie says he’s going to burn the dunes down and get us banned from Destin forever.

Tonight was the Fourth of July, which means hot dogs, sparklers, sand everywhere (even in places sand should not be), and that feeling like summer is so big and loud and bright it might actually swallow you whole.

The beach was packed and we basically stayed there all day. Blankets everywhere, coolers, boom boxes, Frisbees, and inner tubes. The air smelled like salt and smoke and sunscreen and freedom.

And of course—of course—Peter was right in the middle of it, like he has been all summer long. I wasn’t sure he’d keep spending summers with us since he’s in college now, but here he is…torturing me.

New form of anguish? He smiles at me different. In a new way. A different way. I swear.

Not just a polite smile. Not a “hey kid” smile—because I’m sixteen now and he can’t call me “kid” anymore. A real smile. It started slow, like he didn’t even realize he’s doing it, and then suddenly it’s all there—warm and crooked and devastating.

I swear that smile of his could power the entire Fourth of July. We wouldn’t even need fireworks.

He and Eli were in charge of the bonfire again, which has been the tradition since we started spending summers in Destin.

This is our fifth year! And every bonfire, Uncle Artie stands there with his hands on his hips, shaking his head and offering fire related pointers, trying to get Eli and Peter to pay attention.

I was on the sand with Kate and Tessa, our towels all tangled up like always. Crista had a full-on hissy fit because she thought she lost her flip-flops (she didn’t—they were literally under her towel), and weirdly enough, Dustin Mathers was the one who talked her down. Unexpected!

Anyway, after the fireworks started, I kept sneaking glances at Peter, standing there with the firelight hitting his face, and I had this thought that scared me a little.

What if I always feel this way about him??? What if no matter how much time passes, or how old I get, or who else comes into my life, I always kind of love Peter McCarthy?

We finally dragged ourselves inside and the house was chaos and everyone was arguing about whose turn it was to shower, so I came in here and put my headphones on. Everyone assumed I was escaping the madness.

But the madness is in my head! Why? Because I’m listening to “I Will Always Love You” over and over, which I know is dramatic, but Whitney Houston gets me. It feels like that song was written for moments exactly like this, to hold tight to the love I just can’t deny.

So, I’m lying here thinking about Peter’s smile and the way summer feels like it will never end because it’s only the Fourth of July.

Happy Birthday, America!

—Viv