A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(98)

He looked crestfallen. “Okay. I hope we can start over, Bethanne, and I thought a complete break with the past would be best.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want us to have a second chance,” she clarified, “but it’s premature to make that decision. I told Max, and I’m telling you, I want to wait until after Andrew’s wedding.”

“The old house is filled with memories,” Grant argued. “Some of them must be painful, particularly for you. The only reason I wanted you to see this house is so you’d know I’m willing to invest everything in creating a new life with you.”

“What you don’t seem to understand,” Bethanne said, speaking slowly, hoping he’d listen and understand, “is that I risked everything when you left so I could keep the house. I was the one who held our family together. I kept up the house payments and started a business. At the beginning of each month I calculated how many parties I’d have to hold in order to get the mortgage payment in on time.”

“I know the first couple of years were rocky for you.”

“Rocky?” The man didn’t have a clue.

“Okay, I can see I stepped on a hornet’s nest. How many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry?” he muttered, and she could see how difficult this was for him. Well, it was for her, too.

“So you don’t want to move and start fresh,” he said. “Fine. We won’t.”

She didn’t know if he meant they wouldn’t move or wouldn’t start over, and she didn’t ask. They drove back to his office in silence. The tension in the car was so high she almost expected the windows to shatter under the weight of it. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was incapable of freeing herself from the bitterness of his betrayal. She thought she had; she hoped she had. Apparently not.

Grant pulled into his assigned parking spot at the office and the two of them sat in the car. Neither seemed capable of moving. Bethanne hated the fact that they were fighting. When they were married, she was invariably the one who sought a reconciliation when they’d disagreed. Discord had always upset her.

“Bethanne,” Grant said after an awkward moment. “I spoke out of turn. I apologize.”

She took a shaky breath and forced herself to relax. “I do, too. I don’t know why we lashed out at each other like that.”

He reached for her fingers and wrapped his own hand around hers. “I’ll do whatever makes you happy. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. What’s important is your happiness. If you’re still dealing with issues about me, then that’s understandable. I deserve it.”

“It isn’t that…” Maybe it was, but only to a degree. “I don’t want to give up my home.”

“Then we won’t,” he said softly. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Thirty-Three

Andrew got to the house early on Thursday evening, the day after Bethanne had seen the Lake Washington house with Grant. Courtney would be joining them later. She had a dinner meeting with her bridesmaids, including Annie, who’d most likely come to the house with her afterward.

Bethanne had Andrew’s favorite made-from-scratch black bean soup simmering in the Crock-Pot and corn bread baking in the oven. She’d purposely put on the apron Andrew had sewed in his high school Family and Consumer Science Education class. When she was in school, the class had been called Home Ec and it was for girls only. Times had definitely changed. Andrew had done a good job on the apron and she wore it with pride.

Her son breezed into the house, hugged her and then immediately lifted the lid on the Crock-Pot. “I was hoping you’d make the black bean soup.”

“I’ve already passed the recipe on to Courtney.”

“What about the one for rhubarb crunch?”

“That, too,” Bethanne said, unable to hold back a smile. In fact, she’d put together a small family cookbook of recipes for every season. The black bean was Andrew’s all-time favorite, and she used to have a huge batch going every college break. That soup alone was practically enough to bring him home.

He slid onto a stool at the kitchen counter and watched her for several seconds. “I got a surprise phone call on Monday.”

“Oh? Who from?” she asked absently as she stirred the soup.

“Your friend Max.”

Bethanne dropped the spoon, which clanged against the side of the ceramic pot. “Max called you?” She wondered how he’d gotten Andrew’s number, then realized it wouldn’t have been difficult.

“He wanted to send a case of champagne for the wedding.”

Bethanne’s mouth went dry. She tried to speak but couldn’t get her tongue to cooperate.

“First, I told him I’d talk it over with you, but then I went ahead and made a decision. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. Whatever you decide is up to you and Courtney.” Bethanne managed to speak, although her voice echoed oddly in her ears.

“It’s really generous of him to offer. We haven’t met, but I like him, Mom. He sounds like a cool guy.”

Bethanne just nodded.

“When I mentioned that you and I were getting together tonight to discuss the rehearsal dinner, he offered to send a couple cases of wine for that, too.”