A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(78)

Royce frowned and looked away. “I didn’t sleep much myself.”

“I’m hoping we can really…talk this morning.”

He nodded. “I suppose we should.” Reaching for her hand, he tucked it in the crook of his arm. “We have a lot to discuss, but before we do, I want you to know what bliss it’s been to see you again.”

“I feel the same.” Ruth had never expected to have a second chance with him, and this time she was determined not to ruin things between them.

He escorted her to his car, and opened her door the way he had when they were teenagers. Royce had always been a gentleman, even as an impoverished boy of eighteen.

Instead of driving to his home on the river, he went in the direction of Orchid Island.

“Where are we going?” Ruth asked.

“I thought we’d start the day with a glass of freshly squeezed Indian River orange juice.”

She guessed he was taking her to his childhood home. “Your father sold the groves, didn’t he?”

“He did.” Royce grinned over at her. “My brother bought him out.”

“Arnie?” She squinted at him in astonishment.

“Benny,” Royce corrected. He was the oldest in the family. Arnie, she recalled, was the youngest.

When they got to the property, he drove right in, along a row of perfectly aligned orange trees, stopping at the end. “Remember our prom night?” he asked.

Ruth laughed. “How could I forget it?”

“Even my children and their children know the story of how we arrived at the dance looking like a pair of miserable water rats.”

“Mine, too.”

Royce glanced at her. “Did I understand you right? Didn’t you say that Bethanne and Grant are divorced?”

“They are.”

“They looked like a couple to me.”

Ruth hugged herself. “They did, didn’t they? I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to see the two of them together again. We came upon some bikers—motorcyclists—on the road… Well, Bethanne seems to have taken a liking to one of them. I have to tell you how concerned I am that she might actually be falling for this guy.”

“That didn’t seem to be the case last night.”

“From your lips to God’s ear,” Ruth said fervently. “Grant went through a midlife crisis,” she said by way of explanation.

“Which led to the divorce, I take it?”

“It did, but thankfully he realized how foolish he’s been. I’m grateful that he’s smart enough to see what’s truly important. He’s doing everything he can to get his family back.”

“I wish him well.”

“Thank you.” Ruth drew in a deep, fortifying breath and forged ahead, fearing that if she put this off any longer, she wouldn’t have the courage to say it later. “Speaking of being foolish, I—I want to apologize for the way I ended things….” She turned in her seat to face him, twisting the strap of her handbag. “I’ve agonized over my actions all these years, wishing I could rewrite that part of our history….” She let her words trail off. A knot had formed in her throat. She didn’t list her offenses; he knew them as well as she did. “More than anything, I regret causing you pain. I was young and so foolish and I wish—” Her voice cracked.

In the silence that followed, Royce placed his hand over Ruth’s, which still clenched her purse strap.

“I forgave you a long time ago,” he said slowly. His gaze flickered to hers, serious and tender. For a moment Ruth was speechless.

“But how could you?” she finally croaked out.

He smiled wistfully, staring at the orderly stretch of trees. “I won’t say it was easy…” he began. “For a while I was convinced I’d never love any woman again.” He shook his head at some unnamed memory. “Fortunately, I was wrong.”

So he’d loved his wife. Ruth was relieved to know that.

“Life has a way of setting things right,” he continued with a philosophical shrug. “I married Barbara, and we had three remarkable children. I have no regrets.” He squeezed Ruth’s hand lightly. “I don’t want you to have any, either. You and Richard were happy, weren’t you?”

She nodded. She had been happy—as happy as she’d made up her mind to be. She and Richard both had their faults, but they’d created a good life together. And while she’d often wondered what would’ve happened if she’d married Royce, she hadn’t allowed herself to obsess over it.

“Do you think we can really put the past behind us?” she ventured. “Can you accept my apology?”

Royce looked over at her.

“Of course,” he said. His eyes brimmed with forgiveness, and something more. Ruth released her death grip on her purse and let her fingers curl around Royce’s. For long minutes, they sat there in silence, each afraid to break the spell.

Royce’s brother Benny met them soon after. They exchanged greetings, and then Benny gave Ruth a short tour, which concluded with Benny pouring them each a glass of fresh-squeezed, extra-sweet orange juice.

Ruth sipped hers, savoring this reminder of her childhood. “I’d forgotten how good Indian River oranges are.” She sighed. This was orange juice at its finest; after all, Floridians took pride in the fact that it had been served at the White House.