A Turn in the Road (25 page)

“He wouldn't be the first man to make that mistake,” Royce said.

“And I doubt he'll be the last.” Ruth sighed.

Royce wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. “We still worry about our children, don't we?” he murmured in her ear. “No matter what their ages.”

“I can't help myself,” Ruth admitted miserably, leaning into Royce's comforting bulk. Grant wasn't her only concern. Robin was so similar to her father, and Ruth often feared her daughter would end up just like Richard, consumed by her job. In her dark
est moments, Ruth imagined Robin dying young from a heart attack, without ever having really
lived.

“Tell me about your children,” she said, hungry to learn everything about him.

“Well…Peter, my oldest, is an attorney. He's married and has two children. Maureen is a pharmacist who was playing doctor with her dolls from the time she was two years old. She was constantly scribbling prescriptions and taking them to the drugstore. Our youngest son, Kent, went into the ministry, serving God in Haiti.”

“Oh, Royce, it sounds like you have an incredible family.” Ruth looked up at him.

He nodded. “I'm truly blessed.”

“You had a good wife,” Ruth said.

“I did,” he agreed. “The kids turned out well, mostly because of Barbara—I miss her every single day.”

“Who does Craig belong to?” Ruth asked.

“He's Maureen's son. He works with Kent part of the year in Haiti. He's still got a year of medical school. He has a true commitment to serving those who are suffering and in need of healing.”

“He seems like a wonderful young man.”

“He is, and he was quite taken with Annie.” Royce winked as he said it.

Ruth beamed. “She liked him, too.”

“Last night when I asked Craig to join us for dinner, he said yes, but I could tell he wasn't keen on the idea. When I woke up this morning, he'd left a message on my phone, thanking me for introducing him to Annie.”

Ruth laughed delightedly. Annie was going to have plenty of male choices, she thought. That boy in Europe had some real competition now.

Royce turned to her, smiling. “Would you like a ride down the river?”

Ruth clutched at his hand, her face alight with pleasure. “Oh, Royce, could we really?”

“Maybe we could take a stroll down memory lane, as well.”

“That sounds heavenly.”

“Do you remember John Bolinger?” he asked as he led the way to the river dock.

“Of course. He was a good friend of yours.”

“Still is. He'll be at the reunion.”

“What about Connie Keenan?” Ruth wondered.

“Last I heard, she'd signed up, too.”

Ruth clung to Royce's arm as they stepped carefully across the planks of the dock. He stopped just short of the motorboat anchored at the end of the walkway. Turning to face her, he lifted his free hand to touch her cheek.

“For me, the most important name on that list was yours. Oh, Ruth, I can't tell you how happy I am to see you again.”

Ruth couldn't speak for the emotions that flooded her. Tears pricked her eyes and she lowered her face so Royce wouldn't see.

“So am I,” she finally managed. “So am I.”

B
ethanne spent a lazy morning at the hotel, sleeping in late, while both Annie and Ruth went out for the day. Annie took off early with Craig, and Ruth was with Royce. Those two had been inseparable almost from the moment they'd seen each other the night before. Bethanne hoped they could resolve the past. It seemed promising because they obviously both wanted the same thing.

Young love, first love.
Grant had been Bethanne's first love, and Ruth was right. There was indeed something special about giving your heart away for the first time. While it might not be possible to recapture what they'd once shared, she'd always have her memories of loving Grant.

Grant.

Max.

All at once Bethanne was too confused to know what she wanted. With Max everything was fresh and new. With Grant she carried—and would always carry—the baggage of his infidelity. Someone looking at the situation from outside might feel a decision between the two men was simple because of that painful history. It wasn't. She and Max hadn't even had their first disagreement. To
this point all was bliss, but she was mature enough to understand that wouldn't last.

Bethanne had the whole morning to herself. After a leisurely breakfast of orange juice and toast by the pool, she took a long walk on the beach. She'd purposely left her cell phone behind, hoping to duck any and all responsibilities for the next hour or so.

The surf pounded the shore as she strolled down the sandy shoreline, which was nearly deserted. The breeze offered a respite from the heat and humidity. She wore a large straw hat she'd bought at the hotel gift shop and walked barefoot, her feet making soft indentations in the wet sand.

Mainly, her mind was occupied with thoughts of Max. Other than their brief conversation the day before, they hadn't spoken again. She realized he was giving her this time with her family, in much the same way Grant had given her time with Max. Was respect between rivals like honor among thieves? That concept made her smile, even if the comparison didn't
quite
work.

She tried to be sensible and realistic about Max, and yet whenever she thought about never talking to him again, never seeing him again, an instant sadness settled over her. It didn't seem possible that she'd come to care for a man so quickly and yet she had.

No one had made her feel the way Max did—at least not since the divorce. After six years of grief and anger, six years of forgettable relationships, Bethanne felt she might be incapable of giving her heart to another man…ever. She'd loved Grant completely, totally. When she spoke her wedding vows she'd meant them to be forever.
Until death do us part…
Not
until someone better, cuter, younger or sexier comes along.
Forever.

Grant.

Last evening he'd been so good with both Annie and Ruth, and yes, with her, too. He seemed sincere in his desire to make amends. As Ruth had said more than once, it took a big man to admit when he was wrong. Grant wanted her back and yet she had to ask herself: Could he still bring her happiness? Could they be happy together again? She'd forgiven him to the best of her
ability, but she wasn't confident she could trust him. Whenever he came home late, how would she know he hadn't been with another woman? She'd never asked if there'd been anyone before Tiffany. In truth, she didn't want to know, and chose to believe Tiffany had been his only indiscretion.

Sitting on the beach, she brought her knees up and dragged her fingers through the sand while her thoughts darted like bumblebees, flitting in one direction and then another. This decision was the most difficult she'd ever had to make.

Giving Grant hope for a reconciliation meant she'd have to forget about Max. If they were to have any chance of being a couple again, she'd have to give the relationship one hundred percent. That probably required counseling, for him
and
for her.

Bethanne wasn't so naive that she didn't realize she'd played a role in the breakdown of their marriage, too. She'd become complacent, too involved in her children and their activities. Grant left it up to her to arrange their social outings and she'd grown lax about setting aside time for just the two of them. They hadn't done anything to nurture their marriage. The blame for that, she knew, should be equally divided.

Another flaw on her part was her inability to recognize what was happening in Grant's life. In retrospect she must've been blind not to have noticed the signs. They'd all been there, as blatant as could be—almost as if Grant had
wanted
her to know. Perhaps he did, so she'd do something to stop him, something to show how much she loved him. But Bethanne had been oblivious to it all. She'd ignored the significance of countless late nights at the office and some imaginary big deal that never took place. Ignored the extra time Grant spent on his grooming each morning. She'd taken everything at face value, including the small unexpected gifts he brought home for no particular reason, gifts no doubt motivated by guilt. She'd ignored all of these signs, content to go blindly about her life, wrapped up in her daily routines.

Andrew had pitched for his high school baseball team that spring and Grant had attended only one game. Not once did she question
his excuses. Their son was about to head into his senior year of high school and she was working on the grad night committee and—

Oh, what good did it do to dredge up ancient history? Closing her eyes, Bethanne fought back waves of regret, determined not to let them drown her in sadness and confusion. She was past this, past Grant.

Wasn't she?

“Bethanne?”

At the sound of her name, she turned to find her ex-husband walking toward her. He looked relaxed and fit and—all right, she'd admit it—handsome. He wore white cotton pants and a printed floral shirt that showed off his tanned arms.

Bethanne glanced at her watch. It couldn't possibly be one o'clock yet. Wrong. It was almost one-thirty.

Grant sat down in the sand next to her. “I didn't know what to think when I couldn't get ahold of you.”

“I had no idea so much time had passed.” She'd been on the beach for more than two hours. Thankfully, she'd lathered on sunscreen; otherwise, she would've burned to a crisp.

“Have you had lunch?”

She shook her head.

“There's a fish-and-chip place down the beach. Royce mentioned it yesterday. How about that?”

“Sure.” She wasn't hungry but he probably was.

Grant helped her to her feet, and they started walking along the beach in the opposite direction. He took her hand, intertwining their fingers.

“Do you remember our first date?” he said.

Of course she did. “We had fish and chips on the Seattle waterfront.”

“And I didn't have enough money for two orders so we shared the one,” he said, grinning down at her.

“And the seagull stole your french fry.” She smiled at the memory of Grant chasing after the bird, demanding his french fry back.
She'd laughed herself silly and recalled thinking she could really fall for this guy. “We were so young.”

Grant's eyes smiled back at her. They reached the small restaurant and chose to eat indoors in the cool, air-conditioned room. The tables were mismatched but the aromas that filled the place were enough to convince Bethanne she had more of an appetite than she realized.

They shared an order of fish and fries, for old times' sake. When their meal was delivered, Grant said, “That wasn't the only time I was short on cash. Remember the night Andrew was born?”

As if she could ever forget. “What I remember is your panic when I told you I might be in labor. You immediately started doing the breathing exercises
I
was supposed to do until I thought you were about to hyperventilate.” Bethanne had been afraid they'd have to call an Aid Car for her husband.

“What you didn't know was that I hadn't paid the doctor everything we owed him and I was worried he wouldn't deliver the baby without being paid.”

“Dr. McMahon never said a word.”

“Thank goodness.” Grant slathered a french fry with ketchup and popped it in his mouth.

“You so badly wanted a son,” she reminded him.

“I did not,” he insisted. “I would've been happy with either.”

“So you said,” she muttered, and picked up a fry, dipping it in a pool of ketchup. “But when the doctor announced we had a son, you gave the loudest whoop I'd ever heard and high-fived the nurse.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“I was there. I remember it clearly, Grant Hamlin.”

“I expected another boy when you had Annie.” He smiled, his gaze turned inward. “I fell head over heels for that baby girl.”

Bethanne had to agree. Annie held her daddy's heart in the palm of her hand the first moment he laid eyes on her. The only time their relationship had been strained was shortly before and then after the divorce. Everything seemed back to normal between them
now, and for that Bethanne was grateful. Annie needed her father's love and approval perhaps even more than she did Bethanne's.

“Do you remember when Andrew got pneumonia?”

Bethanne set down her fork and reached for a napkin to wipe the grease from her fingers. Their son had been just eighteen months old and she'd already taken him to the pediatrician twice that week. The nurse had made her feel she was being overprotective and a bother. That night Andrew wasn't any better and she'd held her son in her arms for hours as he struggled to breathe. First thing the next morning, she drove him to the doctor again, ready to face down that dragon of a nurse, only to have the doctor explode in anger at her for not getting Andrew to the hospital. Bethanne had burst into tears. She'd phoned Grant, who met her at Emergency and gently took her in his arms. He'd been her strength when their son was put in an oxygen tent.

“There were some hard times when the kids were growing up, weren't there?” Bethanne said. She swore Annie had the worst case of chicken pox of any child she knew. They went down her throat and into her stomach. The poor child had been miserable for days. No one else had slept, either.

“We had plenty of good memories, too.”

Bethanne had to agree they did. “Like our tenth wedding anniversary.”

“Rome.”

“And you were so confident your high school Italian would be enough for us to get around by ourselves,” Bethanne said, wondering if he recalled some of their adventures.

“We could afford the plane fare and that cheap hotel and food, of course, but not much else,” Grant was quick to add.

Not that Bethanne needed any reminders. Their budget had been squeaky tight and they were unable to afford any tours. All at once she began to laugh. When Grant gave her an odd look, she covered her mouth and muttered, “The cheese. Don't you remember the cheese?”

Grant stared at her blankly.

“You
can't
have forgotten the cheese.”

“We bought cheese?” he asked, his eyes widening.

Still laughing, Bethanne nudged him. “You're kidding—you really don't remember? You were so sure you could make yourself understood. The Englishman at the hotel suggested a cheese shop, but somehow we got the directions wrong.”

Grant shrugged; the story appeared to have been erased from his memory.

“We stopped in another store to ask about the cheese shop, and the owner kept shaking her head as you chatted away, looking for directions.”

“No doubt in brilliant Italian.”

“No doubt,” she echoed. “Then the owner smiled, went into the back room and returned with two candlesticks.”

“Leave it to you to remember that,” Grant said with a grin. “We did eventually find the cheese shop, didn't we?”

“Eventually, after we stopped laughing.”

Grant's eyes darkened then, and he grew serious as he reached for a paper napkin and dabbed the edges of his mouth. “We were happy, Bethanne.”

“Yes,” she said, as her amusement faded. “We were.” He'd told her that more than once, and these reminiscences had confirmed the truth of it.

“We can be again.”

Their eyes held. She longed to believe him, longed for some reassurance that the possibility was as real as it felt in that moment. Life during the past six years had taught her that the future didn't come with any guarantees.

“I want to believe that, Grant.”

“I hope you'll give me the opportunity to make you happy.” He took her hand. “All I'm asking is that we put the past behind us and try again.”

She nodded, unsure how to respond. Being with Max had felt so right but he remained a mystery. When it came down to it, she knew shockingly little about him. He kept everything close to his
chest, almost as if he was afraid to share too much of himself with her…with anyone.

Grant was safe, a known quantity. Yes, his betrayal had come between them, damaged them; despite that they knew each other as well as any two people who'd spent twenty years as husband and wife possibly could.

Or did they? She couldn't help wondering if Grant recognized the changes in her.

“Why the frown?” he asked.

“I was frowning?” Bethanne hadn't been aware that her uncertainty showed so easily on her face. “Do you
really
know me, Grant?” she asked. “The woman I am today isn't the woman I was when we divorced.”

“I realize that. I'll admit you surprised me, Bethanne. You have an uncanny mind for business.”

“I had a good teacher.” She doubted that Grant knew how much she'd learned from him.

“You did?” he asked, astonishment reflected in his eyes.

“Yes,” she told him. “You. When I hosted those dinner parties,” she elaborated, “I socialized with your business associates, listened to their stories—and yours. You're good with people, Grant. They like and trust you right away. That's a gift.”