Page 23 of The Summer We Danced

“The girls were young in the nineties,” he said. “Plus, I’d have killed you if you had put a hand on Viv.”

He laughed, then his smile faded. “Would you now?”

“Maybe. But you’re the one who’s carrying concealed right now. Am I right?”

“Damn right,” Peter said on a laugh, snapping the bill away as Eli tried again to grab it. “So let me pay or I’ll shoot you.”

“Thank you.” Eli surrendered with a grateful smile. “Vivien’s not a kid, but she’s not fully healed. Her divorce isn’t even final, so…”

“So go slow and easy.” Peter nodded. “Heard, brother. How did it go when she went back and saw her ex a few weeks ago? I advised her to remember that a divorce can last longer than a marriage.”

“Not great,” Eli said. “Ryan Knight’s a jerk, but I’m glad she took your advice because she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that the marriage is over. As it should be.”

“So…I can, uh, help her heal?”

Eli shot him a look. “You can treat my sister like the precious gem she is.”

“That’s the only way, my friend. You have my word.”

After Peter signed the bill, they walked out toward the parking lot, shook hands, and agreed to talk very soon.

Something told Eli that the truth he was after would be hard to find, but if anyone could help him, it was Peter.

And if anyone could help Vivien…it might also be Peter.

As she turned onto Old Bluff Road, Crista’s whole body grew tight at the sight of her brick Colonial tucked into the Atlanta suburbs. She’d been tense to the point of nauseous since she’d left Destin almost six hours ago, worried about how her husband would respond to this truly crazy idea.

He might not want Crista and Nolie to leave during this rare month with Maggie out of the house. He might not want her to be taught “tricks” by a stranger, especially one Crista had just told him was her—and her mother’s—sworn enemy. He might just fight her on it because…lately? They fought alot.

Or maybe she was tense because this orderly, safe, gorgeous sanctuary had changed in the last few years, and her little family seemed to be stretched and ready to snap.

Nolie waded through every day like a tiny soul about to drown in scrambled letters and constant frustration. Even at seven, she sensed something was very wrong in her world, and it didn’t help that Anthony and Maggie disagreed openly on the subject, putting Crista in the middle.

Nolie might have dyslexia, but she was a very smart and observant little girl. She knew a war raged around her—because of her. But it wasn’t Nolie’s fault.

Crista couldn’t ignore the impact of Maggie on this house—and on her husband.

For months, Anthony had not been the wonderful man she’d met in the office cafeteria when she worked in an ad agency and he was a software engineer for a company on the fifth floor.

Crista had waited until her early thirties to “settle down” because she had been determined to find a man she knew could be her best friend and lifelong partner. She wanted perfection in her marriage—as in every aspect of her well-ordered life—and she was certain she’d found it in Anthony John Merritt.

An engineer who was definitely not a nerd, he’d swept her off her feet the minute they’d met. Their connection was instant and palpable, a source of joy and happiness that she hadn’t even known she was missing in life. But the joy seemed to be evaporating as the years went by, a slow leak that started around the time her mother moved in with them.

Anthony and Maggie had always liked each other—but living together was a whole different ballgame. He enjoyed—and was frequently amused by—Crista’s need to have everything “just so,” but Maggie’s controlling personality was next level.

Maggie had come to stay after her hip replacement surgery a little over three years ago, since they had a comfortable guest suite on the first floor. Nolie had been not quite four and Crista had been turning down freelance copywriting jobs that would have helped with the steep mortgage on their home.

Maggie brought the ideal solution—she could entertain Nolie while Crista worked a few hours, and she insisted on paying rent.

The arrangement made so much sense and had worked out beautifully—at first. It was wonderful to have her mother around, but the longer she lived here, the more the house became…Maggie’s. The garden, the deck, the décor, even mealtimes and the menu—all dictated by the strongest personality in the building.

She had an opinion on everything—how much TV they watched, when Nolie played, who they entertained, what they did on weekends, where they went out to dinner.

About a year ago, Anthony got a massive promotion that became a ready excuse to leave early and come home late. Their date nights fizzled, their love life flattened, and their marriage hit a stagnant stage that terrified Crista.

All the while, Nolie went to battle with the books, and Maggie…observed, opined, and ordered all things be done her way.

On a sigh, Crista pulled into her pristine garage. Like everything in her home, the space was so clean you could eat off the gleaming speckled epoxy floor. The tidy storage, orderly shelves, and neat lawn equipment was what the advertising industry called the “visual backstory”—someone who had their life together kept a garage like this.

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