Chapter 22 Vivien
No doubt they attracted some attention, this posse of more than a dozen people ranging in age from a few months to nearly eighty meandering down Gulf Shore toward the construction site and jetties.
They didn’t move fast but stayed in clusters of two or three along the sidewalk, spirits high.
Well, most spirits were high. Tessa was obviously on a cloud, her ecstasy palpable as she and Dusty took turns holding little Olive on their hips, kissing her and each other, and accepting congratulations and answering a slew of questions.
Lacey and Roman had the newly engaged glow, too. Even Jo Ellen and Maggie were a little giddy, talking endlessly about their “new life” together.
Crista and Anthony swung a very excited Nolie between them, and siblings Jonah and Meredith were deep in conversation, taking it slow because Atlas had fallen asleep against his daddy’s chest.
That left Vivien and Eli walking side by side, somehow at the back of the pack, even though they’d been the ones to initiate caring about the bridge demolition in the first place.
“Are you down because the bridge will be?” Eli asked.
She smiled up at him. “I’m not down,” she said, fluttering the white sundress she wore over her bathing suit as if the playful move would support the statement.
Eli wasn’t buying it.
“I’m just not…on their level,” she admitted, gesturing toward the crowd in front of them, a few currently dancing to an old Wilson Phillips song thumping from an equally archaic boom box that Dusty carried.
“What do you know,” Eli leaned in to remark. “The youngins figured out how to work a cassette tape.”
She smiled but knew it looked as sad as it felt.
“Missing Peter?” he asked, confirming that.
“Missing Kate?” she fired back.
“Always. I talked to her a little while ago. She’s…not great.”
Vivien slowed her step. “Why? She wants to be down here?”
“Yeah, but we’re the last thing on her mind,” he said. “She thinks her project might lose the government grant, and that could have catastrophic effects on her lab, her staff, even her job. She was distant, and preoccupied.”
Vivien sighed, hurting for her friend. “I’ll call her tomorrow. I’ve been terrible about staying in touch while she’s gone. I keep expecting to come down the stairs and find her in the kitchen cooking something with Jonah, and life as it was.”
He just sighed. “Same.”
“Summer’s ticking away,” she said. “And Kate was supposed to be here the whole time. I’m sure that’s a huge disappointment for you.”
“It is. And I probably need to get back to Atlanta, but I want to close that Pippin Lake deal and then set Meredith up to stay here and run it.” He squinted at his kids, who were a few feet ahead, laughing.
“It’s the closest she and Jonah have been since Melissa died.
And Meredith is so helpful to him with the baby. ”
“Or you could just close Acacia in Atlanta. Or let your top dog up there run it for you, and open Acacia Destin.”
“Don’t think I haven’t imagined that,” he said. “But you never answered my question, Viv. Is it Peter or just the end of the Let Go Bridge that has your smile in hiding?”
She gave him the best one she had. “I am sad about the bridge, but I don’t know why. Well, maybe I do.”
“Tell me.”
Taking a deep breath, she looked up into his blue eyes, a familiar warm affection spreading through her. She adored her big brother and trusted him. And if anyone would understand this, it might be him.
“The two are tied together—the bridge and Peter.”
“How so?”
“Well, somehow they are tangled up in my heart,” she started, trying to put her thoughts in a way that made sense.
“The bridge was always there—and not just the summer we let go. Every summer. There for parties and shade, a symbol of connection, a landmark that lasted. And Peter was the same to me. Always there, always had my back—even the time you bolted from the ice cream place in a storm and left me behind.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Blame—”
“I’ll blame Tessa,” she said dryly. “You never left her behind.”
“Didn’t help my pathetic cause,” he joked. “But explain Peter and the bridge to me.”
She let out a noisy sigh. “The bridge reminds me that I’ve had a crush on Peter since time began. And it’s going to be gone.”
“And…?”
“And maybe I’m more in love with the memory, the crush, the heady, crazy high I got when he looked at sixteen-year-old Vivien than I am with Detective Peter McCarthy of today.”
He considered that, nodding.
“I mean, I ‘let go’ of my crush back in the day, but…”
“You didn’t let go of him.”
“Well, I did, two months ago. And I just can’t seem to find a way to tell him that was a mistake, which makes me wonder if it was or not. And if the bridge comes down, maybe my past—and present—with Peter does, too.”
Eli was quiet, carefully watching Jo Ellen and Maggie navigate a tricky turn around some fencing and the narrow path to the jetty. When they made it, he put a hand on Vivien’s shoulder.
“There’s a verse that says, ‘For here we have no continuing city, but we seek the one to come.’”
She glanced at him, mixed feelings about his use of the Bible for any problem. It helped, but she didn’t understand it. No wonder Kate was confused. “That sounds…like something you’d say.”
He smiled faintly. “It’s in Hebrews, a book which doesn’t actually have an author attached to it. But as an architect, that verse has always resonated with me.”
“What does it mean, exactly?” she asked as they rounded the last corner and started marching on sand up toward the bridge in the distance.
“That nothing built in this world—nothing built by men—is meant to last forever. Not homes or monuments or bridges. And that’s good, because God doesn’t anchor us to steel structures. He anchors us to Himself. And He was anchored to wood and nails on our behalf. That’s grace and it’s a gift.”
She smiled, but as always, Eli’s deep biblical knowledge left her lost. “And Peter?” she pressed.
“He isn’t tied to a bridge or even a memory. He’s tied to you. And if you want my opinion…” He squinted into the fading light, seeming to lose his train of thought.
“Your opinion?” she urged.
“What is he doing?”
“Who? What?”
“That guy with the impact driver on the side of the bridge.”
Vivien shifted to the side to see past the people in front of her, many of whom were stopping at the sight.
Finally, she could see that a man had climbed up the side railing of the bridge and was using a noisy tool, pulling off sections of the bridge and tossing them into a flatbed truck parked on the sand.
The metal and wood had been marked with bright orange spray paint, and whole pieces of the side had been stripped off.
Even from here, she made out the stocky form she recognized.
As people called out questions and exclamations, Vivien broke through the crowd and took off, yelling the man’s name.
“Quinn! Mr. Hargrove! Hey, you can’t do that until tomorrow!”
He stopped and turned, pushing a ballcap up to get a better look at her. “I sure can.”
“No, no. The demolition is scheduled for tomorrow.” She caught her breath and slowed as she reached him, looking up at the damage he’d already done. Not too much, but it wouldn’t be long until no one could climb it.
The steps to get up the side weren’t that far off the sand, but he did seem to loom over her and looked big and dangerous with the power tool in his hand.
“I don’t have to wait.” He yanked a crowbar out of a bag resting near him, slamming it into wood. “I can get the old-growth lumber now.”
“Because it’s the most valuable,” Eli said, rushing up next to Vivien. “Who are you and what are you doing?”
“I could ask the same thing, pal. Back off.” He looked past them at the small crowd, his gaze flickering. “You brought your posse, Vivien? No broody boyfriend this time?”
Her jaw dropped as she rooted for an answer, but before she gave one, an engine roared from a small workers’ access road.
A small truck rumbled closer and Vivien’s heart dropped. Another worker? They were starting tonight?
The driver’s door opened and a woman leaped out, long dark hair whipping around as she turned, waved to someone behind her, then pivoted and ran toward the bridge.
“Oh, no you don’t, buddy!” she yelled.
It was Natalie Cartwright from the fishing museum! Vivien hustled closer, just as a green and white sheriff’s SUV showed up and both doors flung open, the sight nearly knocking Vivien off her feet completely.
“Peter!” she gasped. “And Connor!”
Peter shot closer, arm out, badge extended. “Touch one more board, Hargrove, and I’ll arrest you.”
“You cannot demo this bridge,” Natalie called, practically jumping on her sneakers as she waved a piece of paper. “These are archival affidavits proving that the bridge qualifies for a heritage protection review.”
He flicked his hand. “Back off, girl. We’ve been through that and it doesn’t qualify for squat.” He punctuated that by yanking a board and tossing it toward the truck, but Peter punched the wood as it fell, flipping it to the sand.
“Step off from the structure,” Peter demanded.
Quinn laughed. “Got a contract and a schedule.”
Pocketing his ID, Peter stepped right under him. “Then you better find your permit,” he said. “Because I don’t see one posted, and under the Florida Building Code, you don’t touch a public structure without it displayed on-site.”
Quinn didn’t move.
“And as of this afternoon, this bridge is under cultural resource review,” Peter added.
Natalie lifted the papers higher. “Filed and logged.”
Quinn’s jaw flexed as he yanked the crowbar over wood again.
“That triggers an automatic hold on alteration,” Peter continued, hands resting on his hips like he had all the time in the world. “You start tearing it apart now, that’s willful violation.”