Chapter 16 Vivien
Vivien had been expecting the board member of the Destin History and Fishing Museum to be an aging docent with silver-streaked hair and reading glasses.
Not this board member. Natalie Cartwright looked to be in her mid-thirties, with dark hair parted down the middle and cascading over her shoulders, and intense brown eyes that sparkled when she walked them through the humble museum that few people in Destin even knew about.
In a modest conference space decorated with framed black-and-white historic photos, she described herself as a “third-generation Destinian” with a love for the town’s history that she inherited from her father, and his father, who’d been born and raised right here.
After some small talk, Peter, who had kindly arranged the meeting, took the lead and explained that they were concerned citizens who’d vacationed here as kids and now lived in the area as adults.
And when they mentioned the Left Coast Bridge, Vivien instantly saw a shadow cross the other woman’s face, and knew she agreed that the decision to tear it down was wrong.
“That was an, uh, unexpected battle with a disappointing end,” she said, adding a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I wish I had a different story to tell you.”
“How did it all come about?” Vivien asked.
“I’m not sure, but there is a salvage company driving the effort,” she told them.
Quinn Hargrove. Vivien and Peter shared a quick look and nodded.
“He has a lot of influence then?” Vivien asked.
Natalie gave a soft snort. “If by influence you mean cash, then yes. Pockets are getting lined and, trust me, it’s no one in this office.”
“Then who?” Peter pressed.
She shrugged. “You said you’re with the sheriff’s department, right?” When he nodded, she leaned in. “Then you know about…”
“Graft and corruption in small-town government,” he finished for her.
“That’s what you call it,” she countered. “They call it ‘public safety infrastructure removal and navigation improvement.’ Which sounds like they’re doing everyone a favor and also saving baby ducks.”
“Navigation improvement?” Vivien scoffed. “That bridge hasn’t been used for navigation since—since—”
“Since the dinosaurs,” Natalie agreed. “But the phrase hits certain triggers in certain offices.”
Peter’s jaw tightened. “Whoever is involved in graft and corruption should be investigated,” he said.
“Knock yourself out, Detective,” Natalie said. “But don’t hold your breath. The demo got rubber-stamped and any arguments were ignored. The Left Coast Bridge isn’t historically designated at the federal level, it isn’t on a protected register, and it’s ‘functionally obsolete.’”
Vivien winced. Functionally obsolete. “Like a flip-phone,” she muttered. “What can we do? Mitigation? Documentation? Something?”
Natalie nodded once. “We’ve tried a lot of those tactics, but we can’t even get the paper to do a story or get put back on a city council agenda.
The salvage company pushed everything through so fast, we haven’t had time to even look for a loophole, let alone find one.
I got labeled a squeaky wheel early on, and they’re ignoring me. ”
“Has anyone else taken up the fight?” Vivien asked. “Do we have other allies in this?”
“Not really.” She shook her head. “The people with power in this town are those who cater to tourists. That’s our life’s blood, right? And tourists don’t care about the history—they want pretty pictures, busy bars, and white Destin sand.”
Natalie leaned back, flipping a lock of silky dark hair over her shoulder.
“To be honest? I gave up the fight. When I found out about the plans, I spearheaded a petition, a delay, a second review. All of it. We brought photos. We brought the story. We brought a retired commercial fisherman who cried at the lone city council session when they let us present our side.”
Vivien blinked. “That sounds…persuasive.”
“It was persuasive,” Natalie said. “But the approvals are done. The contracts are signed. The equipment is scheduled. The public hearing already happened.”
Vivien’s stomach dropped. “When was the public hearing? I swear, if I had seen it announced, I’d have gone.”
“You missed it?” she asked with a dry laugh. “I don’t know how. It was announced in a ‘Notice of Public Hearing’ on the bottom of the city website. You don’t go there daily to find out what’s happening?”
Vivien smiled at her sarcasm.
“Yeah, you missed the meeting on some random Tuesday at eight a.m.” She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t well attended, which I’m sure was Quinn Hargrove’s plan.”
“Do you think he did anything illegal to make this happen?” Vivien asked.
“Define ‘illegal.’” She chuckled and looked at Peter. “I guess you do that for a living.”
“Generally,” he agreed, his expression calm and strong.
“Well, for the record, I’m not saying that’s what happened,” she continued. “I’m saying I wouldn’t be shocked. Quinn has…friends. Friends who like their boats and trips and second homes. And he’s been weirdly insistent that everything be fast. Fast is where mistakes happen.”
Peter nodded once, the motion minimal. But Vivien saw the way he filed that tidbit.
“If there was an error or a law broken, would it matter now?” Vivien asked, grasping at hope.
Natalie’s expression turned apologetic again. “It could, but I doubt there’s anything to find. Even if you discovered some random misfiled paperwork, you’d be fighting momentum. The machine is moving, the demo is scheduled, the salvage company is ready to make a killing.”
“I can’t believe something couldn’t be done,” Vivien said on a sigh.
Natalie shrugged. “The fact is, we’re outgunned and trying not to get sued into the next century. The museum is a small nonprofit. Hargrove is a man who thinks a lawsuit is like breathing and has legions of lawyers ready to make sure we get suffocated. I’m sorry, I really am.”
“I believe you are,” Vivien said, looking around at the proof of all that.
“So...different subject?” Natalie asked. “You mentioned that you came to Destin as kids?”
“We did,” she said. “My family came for summers and stayed in an old cottage on Gulf Shore from the late eighties to 1995.”
“Ah, then Opal hit. The beginning of the end, my dad used to call it.”
Vivien nodded, understanding that the storm was truly a turning point in Destin’s history.
“But my family was able to buy the property before that,” Vivien added, not prepared to get into any of the complicated story surrounding that purchase. “A few years ago, we demo’d the old house and built a new one.”
Natalie made a face. “Do you have pictures of the old one?”
“Somewhere,” she said. “I have diaries. Why? You need more for this room?”
“Diaries?” Her voice rose with excitement, then she laughed. “I should explain that I’m
working on a passion project. I’m writing a coffee table book about the history of Destin. In my spare time, I run the “Destin from Days Gone By” Facebook page. Any chance I could interview some of your family? Are your parents available?”
“My mother,” Vivien said, considering the request. “She and her closest friend, who also vacationed here. They’ll talk to you. And we will, if you like.”
Her whole face brightened. “I would love that. And the diaries?”
Vivien felt heat rise at the thought of a stranger reading about her teenage crush—especially because he was sitting right here. “I’ll have to curate those,” she said with a laugh.
“Whatever you can share,” Natalie responded. “And I promise I won’t give up on the bridge completely. Maybe there’s a stone we haven’t turned.”
They exchanged phone numbers, shook hands, and thanked her again before leaving.
Outside, the day hit them full-force—blue sky, sharp light, the air warm with salt and traffic from the nearby highway. They stepped off the curb and paused near the edge of the parking lot.
Vivien exhaled hard. “Well. That was disappointing,” she said. “I guess not for her research but for our bridge.”
“Yeah,” Peter said. “She wants your diaries.”
“Well, she ain’t getting them.”
“I wouldn’t mind reading them myself,” Peter said with a sly smile.
She threw him a look. “Over my dead body.”
“Really?” He laughed. “’Cause I’m in there?”
In there was one way of putting it. “Because I wrote them as a child and they’re silly and I was…”
She turned toward him, and for a second the sunlight caught his face in a way that made him look younger and older at once—stronger around the eyes, more worn at the edges. The Peter from the past, and the future.
“I know what you were,” he said.
“Young, annoying, and jealous of Tessa?” she teased, hoping he really didn’t know that she was a lovesick teenager who’d obsessed over his every gesture.
Or maybe he should know that. Maybe this was the moment to tell him that she’d made a huge and regrettable mistake when she asked for space.
She took a breath and prayed for the right words. “Peter, I—”
“Do not give up hope,” he said, interrupting her and bringing her to silence.
“I…haven’t.” Had she?
“Because I’m not done digging into this bridge paperwork.”
Oh, they were on very different wavelengths.
“If someone’s palms were greased, it could be indictable,” he said. “I can talk to the chief about an investigation, and that would delay the demolition.”
She swallowed the confession she was about to make. “Can you do that?”
“It’s what you want,” he said, as if her wish was his command. “Don’t count on it, but I’ll poke around some more.”
“Thank you,” she said on a sigh, knowing this might not be the moment, but she had to tell him soon. “You free for dinner now?” she asked.
Peter’s expression shifted, just slightly—something warm passing through it, something almost startled. “Uh, actually, I’m meeting Connor and Holly. You’re welcome to join us.”
Her heart dropped. “No, no. You do family time.”
“You’re family, Viv.” He winked at her. “All those summers and diary entries? Come on, kid.”