Chapter 8 Vivien
Vivien closed the pages of the decades-old notebook with a weary sigh. Usually, she let these journals open where they might and randomly cruised memory lane. But with the Let Go Bridge on her brain, she’d searched for this entry, remembering she’d memorialized her jump in her Destin diary.
Her crush on Peter had reached pinnacle intensity when she was sixteen. That summer, Peter became a “man” in her eyes. He’d been in college for a year, he drank, and he had more swagger. She should have known back then he’d be a cop—already so alpha and cool and protective it hurt.
Literally hurt. Still hurt, if she was being honest with herself.
Enough days had passed since the hospital that she decided she had to check on Connor. And Peter. And, she supposed, Holly the Talkative Ex-Wife.
She had a few client meetings in the morning first, so she dressed in a pale blue tank sheath with a linen jacket—to impress the clients, not Peter.
Okay, maybe a little Peter.
They’d exchanged a couple of texts over the past few days, which were little more than a note that Connor was home and resting, and one that said, “Thanks again for the coffee.”
Nothing like, Gee, come over and keep me company and we can finish the conversation we almost started on the Fourth of July.
Did he even remember that moment in the kitchen?
Jonah had made trays of cookies for an assignment the night before, so she stacked a dozen on a paper plate and covered it with plastic for Connor.
After her last meeting, which felt interminable, Vivien drove to Peter’s rental in Crystal Beach. She’d been there once with Eli before Peter had moved here, to wait for a refrigerator delivery.
She’d managed to check out the house then, which was right off Highway 98 in a tree-lined neighborhood with sweet beach bungalows wrapped in white picket fences.
Pulling up to the address, a thrill shot through her right down to her toes when she saw a new muscular SUV in the driveway with sheriff’s plates…right next to a little white sedan she assumed was Holly’s, since Connor’s vehicle was a total loss.
Pushing any and all thrills to the side, she climbed out, snagged the cookies, and walked to the front door, surprisingly nervous about the drop-in.
After knocking, footsteps came fast from the other side.
Please let it be him.
The door swung open and Holly stood, small and mighty, smiling up at Vivien. “Well, hello, there,” she said. “Nice to see you again, Vivien.”
“Hi,” Vivien said, matching her smile, lifting the covered plate of cookies. “I wanted to check on Connor and bring him a little get-well treat. How’s he doing?”
“He’s doing good,” Holly said with relief in her voice. “He’s sleeping right now. The doctor said rest is the big thing. He’s sore, but he’s…he’s good.”
“That’s wonderful.” Vivien let out a breath. “I’m so glad.”
Holly opened the door wider. “Come in. You want coffee or iced tea? I have snacks and, whoa.” She looked at the cookies. “Did you make these?”
“No, we have a budding chef in the house.”
“Oh, these look delicious. And dangerous. You know, my boy is in the house, so of course I’m overstuffing the pantry. You’d think I have toddlers again but I’m the one eating Skittles. Please.”
Vivien stepped inside, noticing the living room furniture felt like it had come from another house, just a little off for this space. The bookshelves, too, looked like they’d been hijacked from their home, but a giant TV had found a wall it loved.
There were pillows on the couch like someone had slept sitting up, with a baseball cap on the armrest and a pair of very large sneakers kicked under the coffee table.
“Excuse the mess,” Holly said—again, as if she lived here.
“I imagine Connor’s made that sofa home since he got here,” Vivien replied.
“Barely moves. Watches hundred year old movies in black and white until I want to scream. But I told him he had to sleep in bed. It’s not good for his arm to roll around on that sofa, so he did just go in the back an hour ago.
Like I said, you think they’re all grown up and turns out they’re really babies in big men’s clothing. ”
Oh, yeah, talkative. Unless she was just nervous around Vivien. Had Peter told her—
“Is that Vivien?” Peter’s voice came from where they headed, into an open concept family room and kitchen combination. A wall of sliding glass doors led out to a pool and patio.
Peter, seated at the eat-in table with a laptop open and glasses perched on his nose, stood to greet her. His expression shifted to an easy smile with a glimmer in his dark eyes that warmed her.
“Hey,” he said, moving as if he was about to reach for a hug, then thought better of it.
“Hey.” Vivien stepped closer, setting her bag down on the table and glancing at the computer. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all. I’m just going over some open case files and doing some work from home. How are you, Viv?” He took off the readers as if he wanted to get an unobstructed look at her.
“I’m good,” she said, aware that Holly was moving around the kitchen with a surprising amount of familiarity.
“Coffee, Vivien?” the other woman asked. “Or something cold?”
“Water would be great, Holly, thank you.”
“Please have a seat,” Holly said cheerfully. “Pete, do you want a refill?”
“No, thanks.” Peter pulled out a chair at the kitchen table for Vivien, coming around to sit across from her. “It’s good to see you,” he said softly under his breath.
And, just like sixteen-year-old Vivien, her poor heart skipped a proverbial beat. She half-expected him to call her “kid.”
“Tell me about Connor,” she said. “Healing well?”
Holly and Peter shared a look that spoke volumes. Not only did that make Vivien worry about Connor, but the silent connection between this former married couple was…palpable.
Holly set a glass of iced water in front of Vivien and slid the plate of cookies onto the table like she was hosting a book club. Then, to Vivien’s mild horror, she pulled out a chair and joined them.
“Is everything okay with him?” Vivien asked, looking from one to the other.
“He’s absolutely fine,” Holly assured her, a note of exasperation in her voice. “He wants to be healed and whole in no time, and he just doesn’t understand that this requires rest and recovery.”
“He thinks he’s invincible,” Peter added. “And thinks we’re acting like the parents of a five-year-old.”
Vivien kept a sympathetic smile in place, taking in all the subtext. They agreed on the problems with their recuperating son. And they were a “we” again, parents together. Small shift, but seismic to her.
“It’s just one of those things,” Holly said, picking up one of the cookies. “When your kid is hurt, it’s like he’s a child again, right, Pete?”
Pete just gave a tight smile, and Vivien suspected he suddenly heard what the exchange must sound like and wanted it to end.
“So what’s new at the Summer House?” he asked, obviously looking for a change of subject.
She rooted around for a neutral response, landing on the obvious. “Did you hear they’re tearing down Let Go Bridge?”
His eyes widened in surprise.
“What kind of name is that for a bridge?” Holly asked.
“It’s actually named the Left Coast Bridge,” Peter explained. “Between the two jetties just south of Destin Bridge on the, well, left side of town if you’re looking at a map.”
“Oh, I know that bridge,” Holly exclaimed. “We used it years ago to come over from Pensacola. That thing is hideous! Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
It was Peter and Vivien’s turn to exchange a knowing look, proving they both shared at least some level of reverence for the landmark.
“It wasn’t…rubbish,” Vivien said carefully. “It actually meant a lot to us when we were kids. All the teenagers in Destin from the eighties and nineties used to, um, congregate there.”
“It was special,” Peter agreed. “Walking that bridge was…a vibe.” He grinned. “As Connor would say.”
Vivien laughed at the expression, but Holly blinked. “Wait. You…walked on it?”
“Jumped off it,” Vivien admitted.
Holly’s mouth fell open.
“It was a ritual,” Peter explained. “And for some reason, you did it when you were sixteen.”
It pleased Vivien to no end that he remembered that detail.
“Did you?” Holly asked him.
“Oh, yeah. Everybody did.”
Holly looked miffed that there was something in Peter’s past she didn’t know about. “That’s…wildly unsafe. So unlike you, Pete.”
“It’s not high and the water is calm and perfectly safe there. It was illegal but overlooked by my predecessors with a badge.”
Vivien smiled faintly. “It felt brave at sixteen. We called it the ‘let go’ bridge and everyone jumped at least once. To, you know, let go of…things.”
“Things like your life!” Holly retorted with a choked laugh. “I’ve seen that bridge. It’s not even open to traffic anymore. Half of it is fenced off. It’s rusted.” She shrugged. “In my opinion, some progress is good.”
Peter shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s not about traffic. It’s…history.”
Vivien loved that he understood that and fought the urge to reach over the table and squeeze his hand in gratitude.
Holly rolled her eyes. “Hey, I get nostalgia, I do. But sometimes holding on is just… holding on. And dangerous. Maybe the thing you should ‘let go’ of is stupid kid memories.”
Vivien swallowed. She could feel a response rising—too big and personal. How did she explain to a perfect stranger that some things mattered because of who you were when you experienced them?
She couldn’t.
Connor’s door creaked open and the young man emerged in nothing but sleep pants and a cast, hair sticking up, eyes half-lidded. “Oh, hi, Vivien.” He brightened at the sight of her, dark eyes exactly like Peter’s squinted with a smile. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Oh, honey, she made you cookies.”
“Actually, Jonah did,” Vivien corrected. “And he sends his best. How are you feeling?”