A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(87)

Max heard the hesitation in his friend’s voice. He didn’t know what he was supposed to think, what he should feel. Closing his eyes he tried to remember what it was like when he’d lived here with Kate and their daughter. Happy. He’d always love Kate, but she was gone and he was alive. He hadn’t realized how much life he was capable of until he’d met Bethanne and discovered he could feel again, love again.

“This is a beautiful house,” Rooster commented.

“Kate loved it,” Max said. And so had he. Their home had been a place where friends and family gathered, where they enjoyed good food and wine and one another’s company. “I did, too.”

He moved into the kitchen, and then the family room. Portraits of Katherine at different ages lined one wall; her wheelchair and special computer had been stored in her bedroom.

“I kept an eye on the wine cellar,” Rooster said.

Despite himself, Max grinned. “I assumed you would.”

“Do you want me to get us a bottle?”

That sounded like a good idea. “Go ahead.”

Rooster disappeared, and Max found two wineglasses in the alcove off the kitchen and brought them out. One day he’d share a bottle of exquisite wine with Bethanne….

The minute she came to mind, he experienced a burning need to hear her voice. He missed her smile, her scent, missed being with her. Before he could continue with these thoughts Rooster returned with a bottle of expensive French Bordeaux.

“Are we celebrating?” Max had to ask. The wine wholesaled for one hundred and fifty dollars, or it had three years ago. It was probably more now.

“Yes, we are. We’re celebrating the fact that you’re home.”

“Home,” Max repeated. He hadn’t expected to feel this sense of welcome. He was really, truly back, and it felt damn good.

Rooster opened the wine and left it to breathe as they wandered from room to room, inspecting the house.

Max paused just inside the master bedroom door. The walk-in closet was filled with Kate’s things—her clothes, shoes, jewelry. Seeing it gave him an emotional jolt. Automatically, he turned and walked away. He’d deal with that later. It was still too soon.

By the time he returned to the living room, Rooster had poured the wine. They sat across from each other in a comfortable silence. With a friend as good as Rooster, words weren’t necessary. They savored the wine; Max decided it was worth every penny.

“Have you heard from Bethanne?” Rooster asked after a while.

“No, have you?”

Rooster chuckled. “Not lately.”

“She’s with her ex.”

His friend’s eyebrow arched. “You worried?”

Max could brush off his concern but Rooster would see through that easily enough. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.” He tried not to think of Grant and Bethanne together. No one needed to tell him that the ex would do everything in his power to persuade Bethanne to give him another chance. For that matter, maybe she should. They had plenty of reason to try again.

“Are you going to do anything?”

“Like what?” Max reached for his wine goblet, holding the stem as he studied the dark purplish liquid. It helped if he focused on something like the rich color of the wine rather than his feelings for Bethanne.

“You could always call her. It wouldn’t hurt to keep in touch, you know. Her ex phoned her every day, sometimes more than once. Fair is fair.”

Max didn’t remember it that way and said so.

“Okay, so Grant talked to the daughter, but you can bet Annie relayed every message.”

Annie was definitely Grant’s ally, as she should be. With Max out of the picture and Grant pleading his case, Max had to wonder if he stood a chance. “There’s a good possibility I’ll lose her.”

“You okay to sit back and let that happen?”

“I don’t have any choice.” Before they parted, Max had told her he’d give her breathing room, and he was keeping his word.

“What do you mean?” Rooster argued. “The least you can do is tell her how you feel. Fight fire with fire.”

Max mulled over his friend’s advice. “I’ll take it under consideration.”

“Do.”

Rooster left a little while later. Max remained in his chair, the wineglass in his hand. His cell phone was attached to his belt, within easy reach. Not once since they’d parted had he called her, although she’d phoned him that one time. Their conversation had been far too short—and then silence. And he knew why. Grant was being persuasive. No doubt about it, the ex had the advantage.

He unclipped his phone, punched out the number and closed his eyes as he waited for her to answer.

“Hello.”

She sounded busy, harried.

Background noise made it difficult to hear. “It’s Max.”

“Max. Oh, Max…”

This wasn’t the warm reception he’d been hoping for. The tension between his shoulders increased.

“Can you talk?” he asked.

“Give me a minute,” she said. “I need to go out on the patio. I’m in a restaurant and it’s hard to hear you.”

The background clatter died down as Bethanne apparently stepped outside. “Where are you?” she asked.