A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(9)

The warm chips and salsa were already there. Bethanne’s stomach growled as she reached for one, wondering if the salsa was still as spicy as she remembered. One bite assured her it was.

“The menu’s almost unchanged after all these years,” Grant said as he sat down across from her. He held her look for a moment before opening his menu again.

Obviously, this place brought back memories for him, too.

“I see the prices have changed,” she remarked, scanning her own menu. A picture of the Mexican general adorned the plastic front.

He smiled. “Well, I guess we can afford it now.”

Bethanne didn’t recognize any of the staff. The waitress brought two margaritas over ice, each with a thick ring of salt around the rim of the glass.

“At least we can have two drinks this time around,” Grant said, watching her lick the salt off her glass and take a sip.

His familiar use of we made it sound as if they were a couple again, but she didn’t react. “I hope the same holds true for dinner,” she said mildly.

“I believe anything you order will fit into my budget,” Grant murmured, still studying the selections.

“I don’t think I ever told you I don’t like bean burritos,” she blurted out.

“You don’t?” He sent her a shocked look over the top of his menu. “But…but we ordered it every time we came here.”

Bethanne said nothing. In their dozens of meals at Zapata’s, not once had he asked why she never ate her half of the burrito.

“I thought you were just being generous,” he said. “You know—saving more for me, the way you did for the kids.” He set down the menu, genuinely crestfallen. “I’m sorry, Bethanne, for being so oblivious.”

Bethanne was relieved that the waitress returned at that moment for their order. She chose the Tex-Mex salad, while Grant ordered chicken enchiladas and a bean burrito combination plate.

As soon as the waitress left the table, Bethanne took a long drink of her margarita, savoring the warmth spreading through her. She sat back in her chair and waited. Grant had asked for this meeting. She was curious to hear what he had to say.

“I’ve met Courtney a couple of times now,” he began, referring to their son’s fiancée. “I like her a great deal. She’s very down-to-earth, a good match for Andrew, I think.”

“I think so, too,” Bethanne murmured.

“I understand that Andrew and Courtney are planning the wedding themselves, and that you’re helping them, which makes sense.” It was rare to see Grant visibly nervous, but he seemed to be so now, fiddling with his silverware and avoiding eye contact. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to contribute.”

“You’ll need to take that up with Andrew and Courtney,” Bethanne said.

He nodded absently. They both knew that Andrew had ambivalent feelings toward his father. Bethanne felt a pang of sorrow for Grant. She knew he hoped the wedding would provide him with a means of getting closer to Andrew. “So, is there anything I can do?” Grant asked.

“I’m not sure…. I’ve given Andrew and Courtney contact information and steered them toward people I trust.” The couple had made their own decisions, and while Bethanne had offered suggestions, this was their wedding. She’d walked a fine line, trying to advise them without being controlling.

“Weddings are expensive,” Grant observed.

“True enough.” Bethanne had seen people spend upward of thirty thousand dollars.

“I’d like to help financially.” He rested his hands on the table.

She sipped her margarita. “That’s kind of you, Grant, but you should be telling Andrew and Courtney this, not me.”

“I wanted you to know.”

“You’ve always been generous with the children,” Bethanne conceded. A slight exaggeration, but close enough to the truth.

“I almost lost them,” Grant muttered, staring at his hands. “I wasn’t sure, you know, if it was a good idea to tell Andrew I wanted to help financially… I thought it might be better coming from you.”

Bethanne waited until he met her eyes. “No, you tell Andrew,” she said. “He loves you, Grant. You’re his father.”

Grant bowed his head in a gesture of agreement or maybe just avoidance.

“Is that the reason you asked me to dinner?” she asked. Might as well be blunt—it would’ve saved her a lot of angst if he’d come right out and said so.

He didn’t answer for a moment. “I have something else I’d like to discuss,” he said quietly. She strained to hear him over the raucous mariachi music.

“What is it?”

“At the wedding…do you think—” He hesitated. “Would you object if the two of us sat together at the church? As Andrew’s parents?”

“Sat together?” Bethanne kept her expression neutral.

“Most divorced couples don’t,” he acknowledged.

“True.”

“I’d like to present a united front to our guests and, more importantly, to our families and our children.”

She tried not to grimace. He hadn’t been concerned about this “united front” when he’d abandoned them. Oh, why was it so hard to truly forgive? She was shocked by how easily her anger still surfaced, when she’d assumed that she’d moved past the pain.