A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(75)

“His grandson is with him, and he’s bringing him along for you to meet.”

Annie smiled, clearly intrigued by this unexpected turn of events. “Was he happy to hear from you?”

Ruth blushed. “I think so,” she said.

“Told you,” Annie crowed, collecting a fresh set of clothes and heading for the shower.

“I need to change, too.” Ruth looked down at what she was wearing. She brushed an invisible speck of dirt from the front of her blouse. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see Royce again,” she muttered, her forehead wrinkling.

“Yes, you are,” Bethanne insisted, amused and deeply touched at the sight of her mother-in-law in such a state.

Ruth immediately started riffling through her clothes, searching for the perfect outfit in which to rendezvous with her high school sweetheart. With both Annie and Ruth occupied, Bethanne grabbed her cell and stepped out onto the patio, closing the sliding glass door carefully behind her. The waves breaking on the beach were hypnotic, and the ocean breeze dispelled the intense heat and humidity of late afternoon.

Sitting in one of the patio chairs, Bethanne punched out Max’s cell number. She had no idea if she’d reach him. If she didn’t, she’d leave a message.

Max picked up on the fourth ring, just before the call went to voice mail.

“Max…it’s Bethanne.”

“Bethanne.” His voice was low.

“Where are you?”

“On the way to California.” He paused. “Are you in Florida yet?”

“We arrived about thirty minutes ago.”

“Is Grant there?”

“Not yet. He’s meeting us later.” She didn’t want to think about Grant right now. “How are you?”

“Miserable.” He laughed hoarsely.

“Are you really?” Bethanne hugged the phone tighter.

He muttered something under his breath. “You don’t need to sound so happy about it.”

“I can’t help it. I’m feeling exactly the same without you.”

“How was New Orleans?”

“We ate beignets at Café du Monde yesterday morning. Last night we listened to jazz on Bourbon Street. After that, I ended up drinking some wicked alcoholic concoction in a hurricane glass. It knocked me for a loop.”

“You three didn’t get into any trouble, did you?”

“None that I care to mention,” she joked. “I’d always heard that New Orleans was famous for its food, and it was fantastic.” She found herself chattering on. “Annie talked Ruth and me into trying a mint julep—”

Max snorted in amusement. “Were you able to walk back to the hotel afterward?”

“No…” Bethanne giggled. “We had to get a taxi.”

She paused as their laughter died away, then said quietly, “I wish you’d been there.”

“I do, too,” he told her. “Maybe one day we’ll go back together.” Grant had said that, too…. Just then, Annie opened the sliding glass door, wearing a sleeveless summer dress Bethanne had never seen before. She must have purchased it in Branson.

“I need to go,” Bethanne said hurriedly.

“I’m glad you called.”

“I am, too. Give my best to Rooster.”

As she ended the call, she experienced a piercing sense of loss. Instead of feeling better, she felt worse.

“Was that Max?” Annie asked.

Bethanne nodded.

“Dad called,” Annie continued. “His flight landed on time and he’s on his way to Vero.”

“Okay.”

“Grandma suggested he join us for dinner,” Annie said, leaning against the glass door.

Bethanne’s voice was cool. “What about the conference? Won’t he be missing that?”

Annie shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him.”

For a moment, Bethanne wondered if there even was a conference. It had certainly come up very conveniently.

“Aren’t you going to get ready for dinner?” Annie prompted.

Reluctantly, Bethanne stood up and prepared to go back inside the room.

“Mom,” Annie murmured, putting a hand on her arm. “Grandma’s pretty nervous about seeing Royce. You might want to help her.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Bethanne searched Annie’s face.

“I don’t know. You always managed with me.” Annie smiled.

“But…Ruth isn’t my daughter.”

“Pretend she is.” Annie glanced over her shoulder. “Someone’s got to do something. She’s pacing back and forth, and I’m afraid if she sprays on any more cologne she might set off the fire alarm.”

Sure enough, Bethanne found her pacing the length of the room, pausing only to gnaw on her cuticles.

“Give me fifteen minutes,” she told Ruth.

“Fifteen minutes for what?”

“To take a quick shower and change clothes.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’m taking you to the bar.”

“I can’t let Royce find me in the bar!” she cried.

“Yes, you can.” Bethanne adopted her firmest parental tone. “Now, don’t argue with me.”