A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(81)

Grant.

Last evening he’d been so good with both Annie and Ruth, and yes, with her, too. He seemed sincere in his desire to make amends. As Ruth had said more than once, it took a big man to admit when he was wrong. Grant wanted her back and yet she had to ask herself: Could he still bring her happiness? Could they be happy together again? She’d forgiven him to the best of her ability, but she wasn’t confident she could trust him. Whenever he came home late, how would she know he hadn’t been with another woman? She’d never asked if there’d been anyone before Tiffany. In truth, she didn’t want to know, and chose to believe Tiffany had been his only indiscretion.

Sitting on the beach, she brought her knees up and dragged her fingers through the sand while her thoughts darted like bumblebees, flitting in one direction and then another. This decision was the most difficult she’d ever had to make.

Giving Grant hope for a reconciliation meant she’d have to forget about Max. If they were to have any chance of being a couple again, she’d have to give the relationship one hundred percent. That probably required counseling, for him and for her.

Bethanne wasn’t so naive that she didn’t realize she’d played a role in the breakdown of their marriage, too. She’d become complacent, too involved in her children and their activities. Grant left it up to her to arrange their social outings and she’d grown lax about setting aside time for just the two of them. They hadn’t done anything to nurture their marriage. The blame for that, she knew, should be equally divided.

Another flaw on her part was her inability to recognize what was happening in Grant’s life. In retrospect she must’ve been blind not to have noticed the signs. They’d all been there, as blatant as could be—almost as if Grant had wanted her to know. Perhaps he did, so she’d do something to stop him, something to show how much she loved him. But Bethanne had been oblivious to it all. She’d ignored the significance of countless late nights at the office and some imaginary big deal that never took place. Ignored the extra time Grant spent on his grooming each morning. She’d taken everything at face value, including the small unexpected gifts he brought home for no particular reason, gifts no doubt motivated by guilt. She’d ignored all of these signs, content to go blindly about her life, wrapped up in her daily routines.

Andrew had pitched for his high school baseball team that spring and Grant had attended only one game. Not once did she question his excuses. Their son was about to head into his senior year of high school and she was working on the grad night committee and—

Oh, what good did it do to dredge up ancient history? Closing her eyes, Bethanne fought back waves of regret, determined not to let them drown her in sadness and confusion. She was past this, past Grant.

Wasn’t she?

“Bethanne?”

At the sound of her name, she turned to find her ex-husband walking toward her. He looked relaxed and fit and—all right, she’d admit it—handsome. He wore white cotton pants and a printed floral shirt that showed off his tanned arms.

Bethanne glanced at her watch. It couldn’t possibly be one o’clock yet. Wrong. It was almost one-thirty.

Grant sat down in the sand next to her. “I didn’t know what to think when I couldn’t get ahold of you.”

“I had no idea so much time had passed.” She’d been on the beach for more than two hours. Thankfully, she’d lathered on sunscreen; otherwise, she would’ve burned to a crisp.

“Have you had lunch?”

She shook her head.

“There’s a fish-and-chip place down the beach. Royce mentioned it yesterday. How about that?”

“Sure.” She wasn’t hungry but he probably was.

Grant helped her to her feet, and they started walking along the beach in the opposite direction. He took her hand, intertwining their fingers.

“Do you remember our first date?” he said.

Of course she did. “We had fish and chips on the Seattle waterfront.”

“And I didn’t have enough money for two orders so we shared the one,” he said, grinning down at her.

“And the seagull stole your french fry.” She smiled at the memory of Grant chasing after the bird, demanding his french fry back. She’d laughed herself silly and recalled thinking she could really fall for this guy. “We were so young.”

Grant’s eyes smiled back at her. They reached the small restaurant and chose to eat indoors in the cool, air-conditioned room. The tables were mismatched but the aromas that filled the place were enough to convince Bethanne she had more of an appetite than she realized.

They shared an order of fish and fries, for old times’ sake. When their meal was delivered, Grant said, “That wasn’t the only time I was short on cash. Remember the night Andrew was born?”

As if she could ever forget. “What I remember is your panic when I told you I might be in labor. You immediately started doing the breathing exercises I was supposed to do until I thought you were about to hyperventilate.” Bethanne had been afraid they’d have to call an Aid Car for her husband.

“What you didn’t know was that I hadn’t paid the doctor everything we owed him and I was worried he wouldn’t deliver the baby without being paid.”

“Dr. McMahon never said a word.”

“Thank goodness.” Grant slathered a french fry with ketchup and popped it in his mouth.