June 17, 1994
Dear Diary,
Today I became Public Enemy Number One of the Destin house, which feels dramatic but is also, unfortunately, not entirely undeserved.
It started this morning when I borrowed my mom’s car. Borrowed is a generous word, considering I took the keys off the hook and left a note that said “back soon!” which, in hindsight, was both vague and wildly optimistic and not a chapter in the “how to be Maggie Lawson’s daughter” handbook.
Tessa wanted to go into town because there was, of course, a boy situation unfolding that required immediate attention. I agreed because I wanted a milkshake. Kate came along because she claimed someone had to be the “voice of reason.”
Everything was perfectly fine until it very much wasn’t. I may or may not have gotten a tiny bit distracted talking about Peter, and I may or may not have taken a turn a little too wide, and I may or may not have sideswiped one of those short wooden posts lining the harbor parking lot. It made a noise. Not a catastrophic, end-of-the-world noise, but a very clear, very unfortunate, metal scraping kind of noise.
All three of us went completely silent.
We got out of the car and, sure enough, there was a long, ugly scrape along the passenger-side door of Mom’s brand-new Ford Explorer that she loves so much. Not massive, not devastating, but definitely there and definitely visible.
Tessa turned out to be the voice of reason—or at least the truth—when she pronounced my fate: Maggie’s gonna kill you.
I didn’t even bother to argue. I was deceased. Or at least grounded.
Kate just stared at the damage for a second and announced that we had to go home and face the music, which wasn’t gonna be a pretty melody.
We drove back in silence, which was somehow worse than if my friends had yelled or teased or thrown weak promises that it would all be okay. Just…silence.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, I already knew this was not going to go well. Mom marched out (already mad about me disappearing without explanation). She spotted the scrape immediately because she has an almost supernatural ability to detect a flaw lurking anywhere. Then I got the three names and interrogation.
“Vivien Leigh Lawson! Where did you go? And WHAT HAPPENED TO MY CAR?”
And, of course, everyone had to appear on the driveway, summoned by the sheer force of my mother’s fury.
Aunt Jo Ellen, Dad and Uncle Artie, Crista, even Eli eventually, all drawn into the situation like it was some kind of unavoidable spectacle. (Thank GOD Peter went to play basketball with some guys he met.) I tried to explain, I really did, but it came out rambling and defensive and not nearly as responsible-sounding as I would have liked, and my mother did not take it well.
She launched into a speech about carelessness and responsibility and how that car was not mine to treat like something disposable. The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong, which somehow made it all feel ten times heavier. Dad agreed with her and said he was very disappointed in me.
Tessa chimed in, because she had been there and apparently felt entitled to additional commentary, and while Kate didn’t pile on, she didn’t defend me either, which, again, fair, because facts are facts and I had, in fact, hit a post. Even Aunt Jo looked at me like she didn’t quite know what to do with me. No positive encouragement from the woman who normally breathed optimism.
And then Eli, of all people, totally came to my rescue. He stepped into the middle of the fray, put his hand on my shoulder, and asked if everyone was done yelling at me.
Somehow, they were, instantly, because there is something about Eli where when he speaks, people just…stop.
He looked at the car, taking in the damage in about two seconds, and then he looked at me. And he asked if I was okay. Not “what were you thinking” or “how did this happen,” justare you okay?
I nodded, even though my throat felt tight.
“It was an accident,” he said simply, which no one else had bothered to acknowledge. “The car can be fixed.” He even hugged me, something I can’t remember him doing unless it was my birthday. Even then.
Mom started to respond, something about responsibility again, but he didn’t interrupt her—he just looked right at her and said, “She knows that, Mom.”
And I did. I absolutely did. I didn’t need a lecture to understand that I had messed up! I had been replaying it in my head since the second it happened, wishing I could rewind five minutes of my life and take that turn differently.
And Eli announced that I would, of course, cover the repair cost. Which I agreed to, but goodbye babysitting money.
And that was it.
The tension didn’t disappear completely, but it shifted. Mom sighed instead of snapping again. Jo Ellen put a hand on my arm and told me she baked those cinnamon cookies I love. Tessa, sensing the drama was no longer at peak levels, lost interestalmost immediately. Kate gave me a look that saidyou survivedwithout actually saying it.
Later, I found Eli out on the back deck, and I told him I was sorry again because I needed him to know I wasn’t brushing it off, that I understood the weight of it. He just leaned back in his chair, completely at ease, and said, “You made a mistake, Viv. It happens.”
Which is not somethinganyone elsehad said. I told him I felt awful, and he nodded like that made perfect sense, like that was the natural and appropriate response.
