A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(48)

Indeed, Bethanne mused. What could be more perfect?

Fifteen

They spent the night in Flagstaff, Arizona, and were up early Monday morning, waking to sunshine. By seven, Annie had dragged the suitcases out to the car, while Bethanne dealt with the hotel.

“I’ll drive so you can knit,” Ruth volunteered.

Bethanne let her take the wheel, sitting beside her, while Annie climbed into the backseat. A little more than two hours later, they were in Albuquerque, New Mexico. They stopped for breakfast at a restaurant just off Interstate 40.

They were seated in a booth and reading over the menus when Annie said, “Dad told me he called while we were at the Grand Canyon.” The comment was directed at Bethanne.

“He did,” she confirmed without adding any details.

Annie set her menu aside. “Did he say anything about the Realtors’ convention?”

In response, Bethanne looked at Ruth. “Grant will be in Orlando next weekend, the same time as your reunion.”

“How far is Vero Beach from Orlando?” Annie asked.

Bethanne referred the question to her mother-in-law, who was far more familiar with Florida than she was. Ruth glanced over her menu. “About two hours, I think—but it’s been a long time since I made the drive.”

“So Dad will be only two hours away,” Annie said, sounding downright gleeful.

“Do you think he’ll come to Vero Beach?” Ruth asked hopefully.

“I’m sure he will.” Bethanne kept her feelings well under control. Actually, she’d be happy to see Grant. Maybe she could finally come to some conclusion, some decision; maybe she could finally say yes to a reconciliation. She’d been giving their situation a great deal of thought. Grant had been persistent, determined to regain her love and trust. The problem—and this had only recently become a problem—was the way Bethanne felt about Max. Every time she considered what her life would be like if she and Grant were to reunite, Max was there, competing with those visions, those possibilities.

Max of the rare smiles, grinning at her. Memories of riding on his Harley, her arms hugging his waist. Memories of dancing and kissing. With Grant it was expensive champagne, classical music, two children and a twenty-year history. With Max it was cold beer, loud country music and one night in Vegas. No, it was time to put him out of her mind. He was little more than a drifter running from life. Deep down she suspected that her fascination with him was prompted by her fear of facing the issues she needed to confront regarding her ex-husband. She’d forgiven Grant—hadn’t she? Forgiveness, as she’d discovered, could be deceptive.

She didn’t know if it was possible to trust him again. Grant was sorry. He’d admitted he’d been wrong and accepted full responsibility for the pain he’d inflicted on her and their children. Ruth had a point; that couldn’t have been easy, especially for a proud man like Grant.

If only she could forgive wholeheartedly and forget the past…

And then there was Max. Gentle, loving Max, devoted to his wife. He’d never cheated on Kate. He loved beyond the grave. Instinctively, she knew she could trust him.

“You ladies ready to order?” asked the waitress, who appeared to be somewhere between Ruth’s age and Bethanne’s. She stepped up to their table, pad and pen in hand.

“I’d like French toast,” Annie said, and gave the woman her menu.

“One poached egg on dry wheat,” Ruth said.

“Max.” Bethanne closed the menu and held it out to the waitress—and found three women staring at her. “What?” she asked, not understanding why her scrambled eggs had elicited all this attention.

“There’s no Max on the menu,” the waitress said, grinning.

“I said Max?” Bethanne asked, startled to realize she deserved the looks Annie and Ruth were sending her.

The waitress continued to grin. “I guess one of you ladies is missing her man.”

“My mother is not missing that…biker,” Annie snapped.

Ruth refused to meet her eyes.

Bethanne’s hand tightened on the menu. “Would you both feel better if I said Grant’s name?” The answer was obvious. Then, glancing at the waitress, she said, “Grant is my ex-husband.”

“But he wants to get back together with my mom,” Annie explained.

“My son was an idiot, but he’s regained his sanity just in time for my daughter-in-law to lose hers,” Ruth said in a disgruntled voice.

The waitress stood there, holding the pad and pen, her gaze wandering from one to the other. “Ladies, I’m no Dr. Laura. All I do around here is take orders and fill coffee cups. If you want advice, I suggest you turn on the radio.”

“I’ll have a latte.” Bethanne decided to forgo the scrambled eggs, as her appetite was gone.

The waitress wrote down the order, hesitated a moment and then slid into the booth next to Bethanne. “You really should have some protein for breakfast.”

“All I want is a latte.”

“You got man problems, don’t you, sweetie?” she said, ignoring both Ruth and Annie. “I don’t normally get involved with customers but I’ve been married a time or two myself, and it seems to me it takes a real man to admit when he’s wrong.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t happen often.”