1. Crista
Present Day
A s she made the turn onto Gulf Shore Drive, Crista’s headlights illuminated the long stone drive first, then landed on three stories of white stucco, teal shutters, and decorative railings.
The new Destin beach house stood proud and stunning, a far cry from the ramshackle summer cottage of their childhood. Well-placed sconces lit the architectural masterpiece so it gleamed against the night sky, a beacon of new hopes and old memories.
And Crista Merritt sat, once again, on the outside…looking in.
For one thing, their mother kept the fact that she owned the property a secret for thirty years, in typical Maggie Lawson fashion. Then, only Crista’s older brother, Eli, knew about it, charged with taking down the old house, then designing and building this behemoth on the beach.
Next, her older sister, Vivien, had been recruited to decorate and stage the place, so the two of them moved in for a month. And the final insult? They’d had so much fun the past four weeks that they wanted to ditch the plans to sell it—which would have made Crista, Vivien, and Eli all a small fortune—and keep this house in the family forever.
While this unfolded last month, Crista was stuck in Atlanta, struggling with her daughter, bickering with her husband, and getting told what to do by her mother. Including being sent on this fun little errand—driving five and a half grueling hours to inform her siblings that they’d been unknowingly fraternizing with the enemy.
And that, Maggie had insisted, had to end.
She turned off the engine and took a deep breath, giving herself the pep talk she needed to hear more often lately: Don’t lose it, Crista. Don’t blow in there like an emotional hurricane and fling this terrible news in their faces .
She knew she’d long ago been pegged a “drama queen” by her family, but she’d mostly outgrown her penchant for overreacting. But lately, she’d slipped into her old ways. That could happen again, considering how tense she was—and this news was dramatic.
Would her brother and sister understand that what she was about to tell them changed everything about their father’s death? Like it didn’t have to happen! And would they understand that they could not, under any circumstances, ever talk to anyone with the last name Wylie again?
She stepped out into the night air, but the soothing effect of the Gulf breeze couldn’t calm the storm inside her. She was here to deliver a message that would shatter any illusions about the so-called “friends” that Vivien and Eli had reunited with over the past month.
A whiff of saltwater and jasmine wafted memories over her. She had been just a kid—a child, really—when they’d spent seven summers here. Back then, the old Summer House had been noisy, cramped, and chaotic, filled with too many people and not enough space. But it had been magical all the same.
She’d idolized her older siblings and their friends, even if they barely noticed her.
Crista slammed the car door, heading toward stairs that led up to the entrance, stopping mid-step when the front light bathed her in yellow and she heard the click of the lock inside.
In the open doorway, she saw the silhouette of her ever-reliable, ever-steady older brother. Eli’s salt-and-pepper hair was tousled, his smile warm at first, faltering as he got a good look at her.
She always wore her emotions all over her face, and tonight was no different.
“Crista?” His voice was a mix of surprise and concern.
“What? Did you say Crista?” Out of sight, her sister Vivien’s voice rose, tinged with excitement.
“Yes!” Eli pulled the door even wider, and she stepped inside, the air-conditioned coolness biting at her flushed skin.
“I have to talk to you,” she said, her voice tight and breathless, her head a little light in anticipation. “I have to talk to both of you. It’s really important.”
“I’m right here.” Vivien appeared in the entryway and darted toward her, arms outstretched, her face lighting up. “What a wonderful surprise! I can’t believe it!”
But Crista held up her hands, stopping her sister in her tracks. “What you are not going to believe is what Mama told me this morning.”
She stepped past them, her sneakers squeaking on pristine hardwood floors as she tossed her handbag onto the entry table. The house was breathtaking, but Crista barely noticed. She was too consumed by the revelation that had upended everything she thought she knew.
As she came around a corner, Crista froze at the sight of Eli’s son. Her thirty-year-old nephew was standing near the kitchen island, a dish towel slung over his shoulder, his expression calm but curious.
“ Jonah ? What are you doing here?” she asked, shocked to see him for the first time in years.
“Hi, Aunt Crista,” Jonah said easily, shaking back long hair that made him look like he should be in a rock band, not the kitchen. “I’m living here now.”
“Me, too!”
Crista turned and blinked at Lacey. Vivien’s daughter was here? The young woman practically bounded toward her. “It’s great to have you here! Did you bring Nolie?”
Crista hardly heard her niece’s bubbly enthusiasm. Her gaze darted between Jonah and Lacey, her mind reeling.
“All of you are here? The whole…” She shook her head, unable to finish the thought. “Never mind. That shouldn’t surprise me. What is it about this town that makes me the family pariah?”
“No!” Vivien exclaimed, stepping closer. “We’re so happy?—”
“You won’t be,” Crista interjected, knowing she had to get it all out before the niceties and small talk. “When I tell you what I drove five hours and fifteen minutes to say to your faces, you will not be happy. You might abandon the idea of keeping this house, and you will, I assure you, never lay eyes on anyone with the last name of Wylie ever again.”
Eli drew back, his brow furrowing. “What?”
“Didn’t you say you’d seen them?” she asked. “The Wylies? That they’d been here? You have no idea what that family did to us, Eli.”
“Crista, stop,” Eli said firmly, lifting his hands as if to quiet her. “Whatever you are about to?—”
“You need to know this,” she insisted. “You need to know that if it weren’t for Arthur Wylie, our father would still be alive. He would never have gone to jail, only to die alone in his cell.”
The words spilled out of her like a flood, unstoppable and raw, followed by a stunned silence and every eye on her.
“It’s true,” she continued. “Some ethics professor, huh? Our dear ‘Uncle Artie’ totally stabbed his best friend in the back, and we would still have a father if it weren’t for that snake. Now, do you want to talk to anyone named Wylie?”
“This can’t be true,” Eli said, his voice only a rough whisper.
“Oh, it’s true. Mama told me today,” Crista said, finally catching her breath. “It’s why she doesn’t want to come here and why they never talked after that. But when I told her you said you’d seen those Wylie girls, she exploded. She called them the devil’s daughters.”
“Excuse me?” The voice came from the landing, cold and sharp.
Crista whipped around, her heart plummeting as her worst fear materialized before her. Thirty long years might have passed, but that tall blonde with the movie star face and blazing amber eyes could only be…
“Are you…who I think you are?” Crista asked, hoping she was wrong.
The other woman took one step forward, her hands trembling but her voice strong. “I’m the woman who’s going to kill you if you speak one more word against my father.”
The heat rose to Crista’s face as she stared at the daughter of the man who had ruined their family. The woman whose presence in this house was a slap in the face to everyone who missed Roger Lawson.
“Tessa,” Crista whispered, struggling to get the name out. “I…I can’t talk to you. I’m sorry, but I think you should leave. I don’t…you shouldn’t be here. You need to leave this minute.”
Before Tessa could respond, Jonah stepped forward, his voice calm, but his grip on her arm firm. “And you need to chill the hell out, Aunt Crista.”
Crista jerked her arm away. “I will not chill. I can’t be in the same room as a Wylie.”
“Will you please be reasonable, Crista?” Eli interjected, his voice tight with frustration.
“Reasonable?” Crista spat, turning on her brother. “Her father basically killed our father!”
“He did not!” Tessa shouted, shooting forward, but Jonah moved between them, his broad shoulders blocking her path. “He did no such thing!”
Tension snapped like a taut rubber band as Crista crossed her arms and glared at Tessa, getting a golden-eyed scowl in return.
“I have the facts,” Crista said, keeping her voice as level as she could. “And you probably know it’s true! Why would you come here?”
Tessa closed her eyes, her lips trembling. Crista struggled to steady herself, a pang of guilt flickering briefly before her anger swallowed it whole.
“I’m sorry but…” Crista took a slow, deep breath. “You are not welcome here.”
Lacey stepped forward, her face flushed as she hugged Tessa. Hugged her! “She is so welcome here.”
“Lacey!” Crista exclaimed, her voice rising in disbelief. “Did you hear what I said?”
“The whole beach heard you,” Lacey shot back. “But that doesn’t make it true.”
“It’s not…” Tessa’s voice cracked. “It can’t be. He’d never… My father didn’t have a disloyal bone in his body.”
Crista’s eyes narrowed, the bitterness rising in her throat. “Really? Well, that’s not what I heard this morning.”
Tessa’s face crumpled, and she pressed her fingers to her temples, as if trying to block out the words. “He’s not here to defend himself,” she murmured. “He’s dead, and you can’t talk about him like this! He’s dead!” She looked like she might buckle if Lacey hadn’t been holding her.
Crista closed her eyes. “I’m sorry for you,” she whispered. “Sadly, we know how hard it is to lose your father. But, under the circumstances, I think it’s best if you leave our house.”
“Crista!” Vivien’s voice was as sharp as her scowl. “You don’t even know this woman. You’re just doing what you always do—parroting Maggie.”
Crista grunted with frustration. Yes, she was here doing her mother’s dirty work. But their father went to prison and died there because of Artie Wylie. That changed everything. Didn’t they see that?
Looking around at their expressions of disapproval aimed at her, it appeared they did not.
“Believe me, I don’t want to—I don’t,” she insisted. “I know you all think I’m Maggie two-point-oh, but it’s not true. This is not a rumor or gossip or a memory. This is a fact. He was the reason Dad went to jail, where he died.”
White as a ghost, Tessa held up a shaky finger and pointed at Crista. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. My father was a paragon of virtue and integrity. No finer man ever lived. And yours?” She gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “A common criminal convicted of fraud, embezzlement, and theft.”
Crista gasped and looked at Eli, waiting for him to rise to their father’s defense, but he just flinched, his jaw tightening, his eyes closing as though he’d taken a punch to the face.
Tessa looked at him, too, her face softening slightly. “I’m sorry, Eli. I know that hurts you. But…” She shook her head, taking a step back. “Never mind. I don’t want to do this. I don’t… I can’t…” She turned on her heel and strode toward the back of the house. “You win. The Lawsons win. I’ll leave now.”
“Tessa!” Lacey called, running after her. The sound of her footsteps echoed down the hall, leaving the rest of them standing in awkward silence.
Vivien turned to Crista, her expression both disappointed and weary.
Jonah’s face looked pale, his lips pressed into a thin line.
And Eli? Crista couldn’t stand to look at her big brother. The sadness in his eyes was unbearable.
Silent, Eli stepped out onto a dimly lit deck, disappearing from sight. Crista’s shoulders slumped, the fire that had driven her here slowly cooling into ash. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Or Jonah. Or Vivien. But what choice did she have? They needed to know the truth.
Plus, she’d given her word to her mother she’d tell them and get them to agree never to speak to a Wylie again.
Vivien followed Eli outside, and Crista remained in the living room, her arms crossed over her chest as she tried to come down from the adrenaline rush. She glanced toward the hallway where Tessa and Lacey had disappeared, her stomach churning with a mix of guilt and anger.
What if Maggie had been wrong? What if it wasn’t as simple as Artie Wylie betraying Roger?
Her fingers tightened on her arms, her nails digging into her skin. A flash of her daughter and husband danced through her head, a reminder that the perfect life she’d built back in Atlanta felt like it was hanging by a thread. Her sudden bouts of temper like this were certainly not helping her rocky marriage or Nolie’s challenges in school.
Slightly calmer, she looked out toward the deck, where Eli and Vivien were deep in conversation, their heads close. Like every other moment she’d spent in Destin, they were keeping her out of the inner circle, having lives and friends and conversations she was too young and too distant to enjoy.
And what had she done to change that? Forget drama queen. She’d come in like the Grand Empress of Theatrics, proving that some things never change.
“Aunt Crista.” Jonah put a light arm around her, his hazel eyes looking clear and warm. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
She smiled up at her handsome nephew, who she hadn’t seen in way too long. On a sigh, she dropped her head on his strong shoulder. As fast as it came on, the fight left her body.
“Yeah, I’ll have a great big bowl of damage control.”
He chuckled and gave her a squeeze. “Around here we call that a gin and tonic. Coming right up.”