A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(71)

“I’ll call him,” Ruth volunteered, and reached for Annie’s cell phone, which rested on the console between them. She’d come to use it quite a bit this trip. Bethanne wouldn’t be surprised if she bought one of her own.

Mother and son spoke about the trip for a few minutes before she turned around to hand the phone to Bethanne.

“Hello, Grant,” Bethanne said.

“Hi,” he said back. “How was Branson?” He sounded tentative, unlike his usual confident self.

“Wonderful.” If he was waiting for her to fill him in about her time with Max, then he’d be disappointed.

“When do you plan to get to Vero Beach?” Grant asked.

“No later than Monday, although it depends on how many stops we make along the way,” Bethanne told him.

“I’ve always wanted to visit New Orleans,” Grant said. “It would mean more if I could see it with you.” He paused. “Do you think that might be possible someday?”

“I don’t know…” And she didn’t. Rather than dwell on that, she asked, “When do you fly into Orlando?”

“Monday afternoon.”

“Great.”

“Do you mean that, Bethanne?” he asked in a husky whisper. “Do you honestly mean that?”

“I do,” she said. Being away from the demands of her business and the wedding plans would give her a chance to assess their relationship and decide if it was possible to step back in time. She wondered if she’d changed too much—and if Grant had changed enough.

“Tell Dad hello for me,” Annie said.

“I will,” Bethanne promised, and she did. She was grateful for the closeness father and daughter shared. She hoped that one day Andrew and Grant would find a common bond, too, and that her son would be able to forgive his father.

They spoke for a few more minutes and then Bethanne passed the phone back to Ruth.

They arrived in New Orleans around five-thirty that afternoon. For the past three or four hours, Ruth and Annie had traded off driving. By the time they got to their hotel on Canal Street, Bethanne was more than willing to call it a day. She was tired and uncharacteristically cranky.

After they’d checked in and had their suitcases brought up to the room, Annie and Ruth convinced her to explore the French Quarter with them, despite her protests.

“You’ll feel better once we have something to eat,” Ruth said.

They had no difficulty finding a fabulous restaurant. New Orleans was legendary for its food, and anyone they asked was willing to make recommendations. Bethanne loved the bistro’s shaded courtyard and enjoyed every bite of her pecan-coated catfish and every sip of her Sazerac, a classic New Orleans cocktail. And the bread pudding with bourbon sauce… As Annie said, it was to die for.

Afterward, although she was tired and eager to get back to the room, Bethanne wandered into an antiques store in the Quarter and studied the cameos. She owned a couple of them, which she treasured, but didn’t intend to collect more.

“May I help you?” a pleasant clerk inquired.

“Just looking, thanks,” Bethanne said as she continued down the aisle. Both Annie and Ruth had followed her inside. They each found a different area to explore. The wooden floors creaked with age as Bethanne examined the contents of a display case.

“We recently got in something quite unusual, if you’re interested in a memento that’s out of the ordinary,” the clerk said. She moved behind a glass counter and brought out a small box.

Inside was a plain fabric button. Bethanne couldn’t see anything special about this particular button, other than its obvious age.

“This was sewn in the collar of a Confederate uniform,” the woman said as she reverently took the button from its protective box and held it in the palm of her hand. “I have a photograph of it here.” The clerk laid a picture of a tattered gray uniform beside the now-empty box. “When young men left for the War Between the States, their sweethearts would often soak a button in perfume. Once it was dry they’d sew it into their loved one’s uniform collar, reminding the soldier of all he’d left behind. That way, whenever he was lonely for his home and his sweetheart, all he had to do was breathe deeply.”

“That’s so romantic,” Annie said, coming to stand next to her mother.

“How much is it?” Bethanne asked.

The clerk named a price that shocked her. “For a button? Thank you, but no. That’s way out of my price range.”

“Mom, you should get it,” Annie urged.

Bethanne shook her head. “What would I do with it?”

“Keep it as a souvenir of our trip,” Annie said. “It’s different and historical and so romantic.”

Bethanne considered it for a moment. “I think I’d rather buy something else.”

“Something more reasonably priced, you mean,” Ruth commented, having joined them, as well.

The three shopped a bit longer. Annie bought a number of small items for her girlfriends and Ruth purchased pralines to bring to her own friends at home. In the end, Bethanne didn’t get anything; she wasn’t in much of a buying mood. She missed Max.

As soon as they returned to their hotel room, Ruth changed into her pajamas and was asleep almost immediately.

Annie was busy on her iPhone, answering emails. Taking the opportunity to soak in the tub, Bethanne sought a quiet thirty minutes to herself. A bubble bath was a luxury she hadn’t enjoyed in a while. As she lay in the hot bubbly water, she closed her eyes.