A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(42)

“Okay.”

When they went outside, the summer sun beat down on them. The heat hadn’t reached its zenith and wouldn’t for several hours, but the sun shone with a brilliant intensity. Bethanne put on her sunglasses as they walked. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“A place I know not far from here.”

It turned out to be an ice cream shop a couple of blocks off the Strip. Bethanne slid into the booth and Max took the seat across from her. He ordered a vanilla ice cream soda, while Bethanne had coffee.

They talked for four hours straight. Four hours. The conversation drifted naturally from one subject to another. They discussed music, politics, books and friends. She learned he was in the wine distribution business. That was the reason Rooster had commented on her preference for wine over beer. Rooster owned an advertising agency and had worked with Max on his company’s account.

He asked her plenty of questions, too. He wanted to know about her children and she described Andrew and Annie with pride. In fact, they talked about everything—except Grant or Kate or his daughter. It was as though the subject of the people they’d once loved was strictly taboo.

About halfway through their conversation, Ruth phoned to say she was feeling a bit under the weather. Too much sun, too much food and her dismay that Vanna was a lot greedier than she’d expected. Bethanne was concerned, but Ruth claimed she’d feel better if she didn’t interrupt Bethanne’s fun with her Texas oilman. Bethanne didn’t enlighten her mother-in-law about where she really was or who she was with.

“Tell me more about your business,” Max said after she’d put away her cell. He held her card in his hand and turned it over two or three times as if there was some invisible message scrawled across the back.

“I never dreamed Parties would be as successful as it is. All I set out to do was make enough money to take care of my children and keep our home. The shock was how timely this idea turned out to be.” She smiled. “There was an article about me in the Wall Street Journal when we added birthday parties for cats and dogs.”

“You’re joking, right? Parties for dogs?”

“Cats, too, and the idea’s really caught on. Baby boomers love their pets and are willing to spend hundreds of dollars to throw them birthday parties.”

“That I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to, but trust me, it’s big business. I’ve had offers to franchise, but it doesn’t feel right. Not yet. The problem with so many companies is that they expand too quickly. I don’t want to do that. Once the five stores are all operating at a comfortable profit margin, I’ll look into it again, but for the moment, I’m content.”

“It sounds as if you have a good head for business.”

“I like to think so.” She didn’t mention that most of what she’d learned had been gleaned from her years with Grant. She’d often remained in the background, but she’d absorbed a lot of business strategy and financial wisdom.

“So the divorce is actually responsible for your starting up the business?”

She nodded. “I had help.” She told him the story of the knitting class she’d joined and the friends she’d made, including Elise Beaumont. “Elise’s husband, Maverick, was a professional gambler—and he took a gamble on me.”

“One that paid off.”

“Yes, thankfully. So you’re right. Grant was indirectly responsible for my decision to start this business.”

“And now he wants to get back together with you?”

She cradled her mug with both hands and looked down into the cooling coffee. “He does, and I’m having a hard time deciding. I was with him for twenty years. We have a long, shared history, two children and a lot of happy memories. He realized he made a mistake and will do anything he can to rectify it…. I just don’t know if it’s possible to go back. I’ve changed and so has he.”

“Have you forgiven him?”

“I hope so.” She paused, then resumed, speaking slowly. “About a year after the divorce I woke up feeling miserable and depressed. Annie had let it slip that Grant and Tiffany were in Paris. Paris. I’d longed to visit Paris, and Grant knew that.

“All I could think about was how unfair it was that I should be alone, while Grant and Tiffany were off having the time of their lives. I buried my face in the pillow and just sobbed.” The memory of her grief and her tears that bleak morning was fresh in her mind even now. “I realized then that I had to forgive him.”

“What made you decide right then that you had to forgive him? And how did you manage it?”

“At first, I thought it would be impossible. I thought no one could forgive what Grant had done to me and our children. But then…” She bit her lip.

Max reached for her hand, gripping her fingers hard, silently encouraging her to continue.

“Then I understood that unless I freed my heart of the bitterness and resentment I felt toward Grant, I’d be incapable of ever loving again. I had to unclench my fist of anger in order to fill my palm with happiness, with joy…with love.”

“And you’ve done that?”

“Max,” she whispered, unsure how to respond. “I’ve done my best but I’ve discovered forgiveness is a lot harder than it looks. Just when I think I’m completely over what he did, something will happen that shows me how far I still have to go.”