A Turn in the Road (19 page)

Annie stared at her, clearly fascinated by this glimpse into a life so different from her own.

“He picked me up in this vehicle they used in the groves. It didn't have a top, although it might have at one time.”

“Oh, no,” Annie gasped. “Can this get any worse?”

“I'm afraid so. It rained on our way to the prom.”

“No!”

“Oh, yes, and until you see rain in Florida, you haven't seen rain. The drizzle we get in the Pacific Northwest can't compare.”

“And you were in your prom dress?”

She nodded. “With my hair all done up and my new chiffon dress. I arrived at the prom looking like something that had crawled out of the Everglades.”

“Oh, Grandma.”

“Royce felt terrible.”

“The poor boy,” Bethanne said, picturing the nightmarish scene. She couldn't imagine anything else going wrong.

“And yet Royce was wonderful about everything. He wiped the streaming mascara from my face and kissed away my tears.”

“He must have been drenched, too.”

“Oh, for sure, but he didn't care about himself. All he wanted was to make the night special for me, and he'd tried so hard.” She smiled wryly. “We didn't end up going to the prom, of course. He took me home and went back to his own place to change, then we spent the rest of the evening watching TV.”

Bethanne hadn't met Royce yet, but she liked him already.

“Do you think he's changed much over the years?” Annie asked.

“I don't know about him,” Ruth said, “but I have.”

“We all change,” Annie said, sounding mature. “Because of the things that happen to us.”

Bethanne nodded. She'd changed since Grant had left their marriage. Changed in many ways, some of which she was only beginning to understand.

Soon afterward they turned off the light. It wasn't long before Ruth's steady breathing told Bethanne her mother-in-law was asleep.

Annie lay on her back, then shifted onto one side; she seemed unable to find a comfortable position. Something was bothering her and Bethanne guessed it was directly related to Vance.

“Have you heard from Vance lately?” Bethanne whispered. Annie had mentioned him only once since he'd left for his European adventure.

“Sort of,” Annie muttered, and bunched up her pillow with unnecessary force.

“How do you
sort of
hear from someone?”

“He sent me a text, which I ignored, and then he emailed me, but I haven't answered that, either,” she said. “He told me he arrived safely and that he's having a wonderful time. Well, good for him. He doesn't need to rub it in.”

“But you're having a good time, too,” Bethanne reminded her. “And you met Jason in Vegas, didn't you?”

“Right.” The word was full of enlightenment. “I should let him know I'm not sitting at home pining after him.” She scrabbled for her cell phone on the nightstand, and although the room was dark, immediately started scrolling down her emails.

Annie paused and sent Bethanne a look of deep satisfaction. “There's another email from Vance.”

“Oh? What did he say now?” Bethanne raised herself up on one elbow.

Annie seemed inordinately pleased. “That he's miserable, homesick and sorry he ever left Seattle.”

“How does that make you feel?” Bethanne asked.

Annie's returning smile was answer enough.

G
rant Hamlin sat in his recliner and stared at the television. If anyone had asked him about the program, he couldn't have said what he was watching. All he could think about was Bethanne.

He was losing her.

Even now, he couldn't believe he'd told their daughter to leave Bethanne to her own devices, to let her reach her own conclusions. He'd said what he knew he
had
to say, as a parent and as a man who loved his ex-wife. But the words left him feeling ill. Yes, he wanted Bethanne to make the choice that was right for her—but he wanted that choice to be him.

What he'd told Annie was true. He loved Bethanne. Tiffany had come between them, but he'd let her do that. He took complete responsibility for his mistake. He hadn't started out looking for an affair but he'd obviously been open to one. Tiffany had seemed vibrant, exciting, ambitious, and Bethanne, by comparison, had been…dull, mired in the tedium of domestic life. It appalled him that he'd been so blind, so selfish. He'd lost interest in their love life, too. Still, the affair had begun innocently enough. An office lunch that lasted nearly two hours. A simple kiss at a Christmas
party. By Valentine's Day, they were meeting in hotel rooms and Grant had the sexual stamina of a teenager. Perhaps not surprisingly, that changed shortly after they were married.

In retrospect, he knew it was unconscionable that he'd abandoned his family; walked away without a qualm or a doubt. And yet, he'd done exactly that.

At the time Grant had convinced himself he was lucky to escape when he did. He'd told himself that because Andrew was about to graduate from high school and Annie would join her brother in college the following year, neither child needed him any longer. How wrong he'd been to underestimate his children's need for their father.

Grant rubbed the back of his neck. He'd quickly recognized his mistake in marrying Tiffany. And to compound the humiliation, she'd decided
he'd
been a mistake—too old, not successful enough, not as sexually adventurous as she wanted. The end of their marriage hadn't come soon enough. After Tiffany moved out—oh, what a godsend—he'd been too embarrassed to approach Bethanne.

By then she'd started her business and it had taken off. Watching from the sidelines, he'd been impressed and astonished by how well she'd done.

In the past couple of years, Grant had eased his way, carefully, cautiously, back into his family's life. Annie had accepted him without question. Andrew was a different story. His son wasn't as willing to put the past behind them. Eventually, Grant hoped, Andrew would see that he was genuinely contrite and trust him again.

At least Andrew wasn't openly antagonistic. He remained cool and withdrawn. Grant didn't blame his son for being wary; it was what he deserved and he knew it. Andrew was his mother's son for sure.

Thinking about him, Grant went into his small office in the sparsely decorated condo and reached for the phone. He checked his watch. It wasn't quite nine. A bit late, but not too late to call
Andrew. He had to look up the number—a sad commentary all on its own.

Andrew answered as if he'd been holding his cell. “Hello.”

“It's Dad.”

“Anything wrong with Mom or Annie?” Andrew asked immediately. “Or Grandma?”

It hurt that Andrew assumed a phone call from Grant could only mean an emergency. “No. They're in Branson, Missouri.”

“Last I heard they were in Vegas.”

“Yes, they arrived in Missouri this afternoon. Your grandmother took Annie to see Andy Williams.”

Andrew snickered. “I bet she loved that.”

“Not so much, I'm afraid.” He inhaled softly. “Listen, has anyone said anything to you about those bikers they met along the way?”

“Max and Rooster?”

He was shocked that his son knew their names. “What have you heard?” He felt guilty pumping Andrew for information. But what else could he do? He'd advised Annie not to spy on her mother or try to influence her. That nobility was costing him now. He felt at a real disadvantage, being miles away while this Max character was right there on the scene.

“Mom called a couple of days ago and told me about the car breaking down and how these bikers stopped to help her.”

“How come you know their names?”

“Mom told me.”

He wasn't exactly free with his information. “Did she mention that she met Max and Rooster in Vegas?”

“She might have.”

“I see.”

“Are you worried, Dad?”

Grant frowned. His son sounded pleased, almost gleeful, that Grant was concerned. “Yes, I guess I am,” he said honestly. “I haven't made a secret of the fact that I'm hoping to get back with
your mother.” He paused, hoping his son would offer him a word of encouragement.

“Mom said something about that.”

“Any advice you'd care to give me?” Grant asked.

“Not really. Mom's done well for herself.”

As if he didn't know. “I'm proud of what she's accomplished,” he said.

Andrew didn't appear to have anything to add.

“Is there some way I can help with the wedding?” His son hadn't asked a single thing of him from the moment Grant walked out of the house. Andrew hadn't even invited him to attend his high school graduation. Bethanne was the one who'd let Grant know the time of the ceremony. His son's graduation from college hadn't been much different. Annie had hand-delivered the invitation; Grant suspected that had she not done so, he wouldn't have been included. Bethanne was kind enough to invite Grant to the party she threw afterward. He felt out of place and miserable in the home he'd once shared with his family. Former friends seemed to avoid him. He did his best to socialize, but the situation was painfully awkward. Rather than ruin the day for Andrew or Bethanne, Grant had quietly slipped away.

That afternoon had been pivotal for Grant. It was then that he'd realized how badly he missed being part of the family.
His
family. He felt like an outsider and, with his son, an outcast.

“I don't need anything, Dad, but thanks for offering.”

“What about money?” He'd never known a kid to turn down financial help.

“Thanks, no. Courtney and I have it covered.”

“I'm happy to do what I can,” Grant rushed to say, feeling the pain of his son's rejection. “Anything you ask.”

“Actually, Dad, I think you've done enough.”

The words stung and Grant was forced to swallow a retort.

They chatted a bit longer and then Grant disconnected. If anything, he felt worse than he did before he'd phoned.

Disheartened, Grant returned to his recliner and the TV. He had
a lot of ground to recover with Andrew. His son wanted vindication, and the sad part was, Grant knew he was entitled to feel that way. Like his mother, Andrew was intensely loyal.

Leaning forward, Grant pressed his head into his hands. He wanted his family back and he wasn't sure how he was going to make that happen. All he could do, he figured, was show them, by whatever means possible, that he loved them and longed to be with them again.

If only Bethanne…

 

…Bethanne. Max couldn't get the image of her out of his mind. It used to be that he'd close his eyes and Kate's face would flash before him. For three years she'd been foremost in his thoughts.

The police had never determined whether the car accident was suicide or simply an error in judgment. Max knew. Kate, distraught over the death of their daughter, had fallen into a deep, lingering depression. She'd chosen to take her own life. He didn't know if he could ever accept that. He'd lost so much—his daughter, his wife…his reason for living.

The shock of her death had numbed him for the first few weeks. Then came the anger. Didn't she understand what her death would do to him? She'd deserted him, left him desolate and alone. The anger had been all-consuming. He couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. More than once he'd driven to the cemetery and raged at her.

Then his anger had been joined by guilt. A guilt so intense he couldn't function anymore. For days he'd stayed home, staring at the wall, unable to cope with even the most mundane tasks. He should've known Kate would do something like this. The signs had been there. Because he'd buried his own grief over the loss of their daughter in his work, he hadn't recognized those signs until it was too late. He should've gotten Kate the help she needed. He should have demanded she see a counselor, that they both see one. Nightmares had plagued him. He'd ignored what should have been obvious, convinced everything would get better with time.

But it hadn't. It'd gotten worse. Much worse.

After months of being unable to function, of drinking too much and taking stupid risks, Max talked to his brother and asked for some time away. Originally, he'd thought all he'd need was three months, six at the most. But once he was on the road he found peace. Rooster, his lifelong friend, had come with him. They'd ridden bikes since Max was in his teens. Rooster had provided companionship when he'd needed it most. He hadn't tried to tell Max how he should feel but was there to listen when he wanted to talk. Best of all, life on the road was simple. Even though he moved from place to place, there was a predictability that calmed him and, surprisingly, friendships that gave him purpose. This solace was still shaky but at least he was able to sleep. At least the nightmares had stopped. Everything was going smoothly until this summer.

When he met Bethanne.

Now she was all he could think about. An hour after he'd returned to his room he still couldn't sleep. He'd ridden more than twenty hours with only short breaks for the opportunity to be with her again. It was a testament to Rooster's friendship that he'd traveled with him. Both Willie and Skunk had taken off, which was fine with him. Max had met them along the way. They'd traveled together for a week or so and they might meet up again sometime. If not, it wouldn't bother him.

Rooster seemed to enjoy watching him make a fool of himself over a woman. Max closed his eyes. Some nights he talked to Kate, relaying details of where he was and the people he'd met on the road. The people he'd helped or tried to help. He did that whenever he could. It was a penance of sorts, he supposed, for having failed his wife. These friendships, most of them brief, allowed him to make up for what he hadn't done. They silenced the accusations inside his head.

Instinctively, he knew Kate would have approved of Bethanne. He liked to think she'd approve of the fact that he was getting involved with life again.

Max didn't know what it was about Bethanne that appealed to
him so strongly. He'd met other attractive women, but none had stirred him the way she did.

He'd been faithful to Kate from the moment they'd met and he'd been faithful since her death, too. Like Bethanne, he wasn't the type to fall in and out of bed, driven by hormones and the need for sexual satisfaction.

He'd sensed Bethanne was someone worth knowing the first time he'd laid eyes on her in that café near Pendleton, Oregon. They'd looked at each other when he placed his order and he'd experienced a strong physical reaction. Almost a feeling of
recognition.
He wasn't sure what else to call it. There was attraction, of course, but it was more than that.

She must've felt it, too, because when they met again at the lake, she told him she'd thought about him that night. The way she'd touched his hand… It was as if she'd identified the pain he carried inside and somehow known how to ease it. He usually tried to avoid being touched but with Bethanne it was different.

Yes, this woman belonged in his arms. In his life. He knew it then. He knew it now.

Apparently, he fell asleep soon after he'd decided that. What seemed like minutes later, Rooster was knocking at his door, waking him. Max had no idea how it could be morning already, but the clock radio in his room confirmed that it was. He staggered to the door and unlatched it to let him in.

Rooster had showered, shaved around his neatly trimmed white beard and changed clothes. “You look like hell,” he said with a grin.

Max grumbled some meaningless reply and went into the bathroom. By the time he'd finished, Rooster had coffee brewing in the small pot provided by the hotel.

“What are you and Bethanne up to today?” he asked, making himself at home in the room's only chair.

“I don't know yet.” They hadn't made plans to meet in the morning, although it was understood that they would. Maybe he'd
take her to Al and Susie's place, which wasn't far away. When he'd learned Bethanne was in Branson, he'd called them.

“You mean you traveled all this way and you're not even going to see her again?”

Of course he was, but he didn't answer. He poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Rooster, then poured his own.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Max sipped the hot liquid and hoped it would restore his composure.

“You've got it bad,” Rooster commented.

No sense denying it. Max hadn't spent twenty hours on his bike for the fun of it. He'd come for Bethanne.

“What have you told her?”

“She knows about Kate, just not the suicide.”

“She knows about the wine business, doesn't she?”

Max nodded. “Yeah.”

Rooster braced his elbows on his knees. “You've told her more than I figured you would.”

“Bethanne might go back to her husband,” Max murmured. His stomach tensed at the thought. The possibility was real, and he needed to prepare himself for whatever she decided.

Rooster immediately shrugged off Max's concern. “You didn't see the way her face lit up the second she saw you. The girl's got it as bad as you.” He drank his coffee. “It's a good thing she sent you that text message.”