A Turn in the Road

There was polite laughter. Jane and Diane and their dates—their husbands—gathered around Ruth and Royce.

“The ballots have been tallied and the decision made.” When he announced Royce’s name, a loud round of applause was followed by shouts and cheers.

“Speech, speech,” the crowd chanted.

Royce stepped forward, and Grant placed a crown on his head, then handed him the microphone. “There’s only one woman I want by my side this evening, and that’s Ruth,” he said.

“Then so be it.” Grant held a second crown as Craig escorted Ruth to the small stage. Grant carefully set the crown on her head as tears glistened in her eyes. Then, right in front of everyone, Royce kissed her full on the lips.

The crowd loved it. So did Bethanne, who exchanged a warm look with Grant. They’d done this. It hadn’t been easy, but all their effort was worth seeing the joy on Ruth’s face. And on Royce’s…

The music started again, and the “royal” couple walked onto the dance floor, soon to be joined by others. Without conscious thought, Bethanne moved toward Grant.

He slipped his arms around her as if they’d never been apart. As if they were still a couple. A team. The two of them against the world.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Grant whispered as he drew her close.

“You worked as hard as I did.”

“I wasn’t talking about redoing Mom’s prom night.”

“Oh?” Bethanne wasn’t sure what he did mean, then.

“I want to thank you for being the incredible woman you are, for giving my life meaning and for offering me hope that there’s a chance for the two of us again.”

She smiled up at him and closed her eyes as she allowed the rhythm of the music to carry her. Their steps matched easily, smoothly, as innate as breathing. They used to dance together like this, but that was in another lifetime….

Twenty-Eight

Max Scranton pulled his motorcycle into the driveway of the home he’d once shared with Kate and their daughter. He hadn’t been here in more than three years. This was the first time he’d come back to Monterey since climbing on his Harley. He’d never intended to stay away this long, but there’d been no reason to return.

Until now. Until he’d met Bethanne.

Time lost all meaning as he sat on the bike in his driveway and stared at the house. He’d expected a flood of grief and regrets, but he felt almost nothing. No guilt, no heartache, no melancholy. His overwhelming emotion was sadness for what no longer existed. The life he’d known here was gone. He’d handed the business over to his brother and had lost touch with the majority of his friends.

Shutting down the engine, he climbed off the bike and removed his helmet. The key to the house was hidden under a fake rock near the front door. His brother and Rooster routinely stopped by to check on the place and give him updates, although he wasn’t all that interested. He’d wanted to put the house on the market, but that would’ve meant returning and cleaning it out. He’d found the task too daunting.

The car pulling in behind him took him by surprise.

Rooster.

He should’ve realized his friend would show up. Rooster looked quite different in slacks and a shirt with a button-down collar than he did in his leather vest and chaps. Max wondered what Ruth and Annie would think if they could see Rooster now. They probably wouldn’t recognize him; the biker bore little resemblance to the successful advertising executive he was for most of the year.

Rooster got out of his car and closed the door, the sound reverberating in the stillness of the late afternoon. His friend joined him on the porch.

“What are you doing here?” Max demanded.

Max had phoned Rooster a few hours earlier, when he’d arrived in town. They’d parted ways the week before because of Rooster’s business commitments. He should’ve known his friend wouldn’t leave it at a simple call. “I was in the neighborhood.”

Max didn’t bother to respond to the obvious lie.

“Okay, I wasn’t. I figured you might need some company.”

“I’m fine.”

Rooster’s skeptical look revealed his doubt. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

Max studied the locked door as he considered his reply. He wasn’t ready to face this alone. He appreciated the fact that Rooster was with him, although he’d be hard-pressed to admit it.

He finally inserted the key and opened the door. For an instant he stood there paralyzed. Moving forward required an effort so great he began to sweat. He went in and, after three steps, again stood motionless.

Noticing that Rooster was watching him intently, Max advanced another step. The house was exactly as he’d left it, exactly as he remembered. Directly in front of him was a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean through the floor-to-ceiling windows. White leather furniture was tastefully displayed; a black grand piano rested in one corner of the living room and a huge natural-rock fireplace took up the far wall. The original artwork was worth ten times what Kate had paid for it. She’d always had an eye for talent.

“What are you thinking?” Rooster asked. “How do you feel?”

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.

“Monterey, California. At the house where Kate and I lived.”

“Are you okay?”

Funny how that was the first question everyone seemed to have.

“So far. What about you?”

“I’m fine. Everything’s good. Annie, Grant and I threw prom night for Ruth and Royce yesterday evening—they’re out with friends right now. We fly home next Sunday, after the reunion.”

“Prom night?” He frowned. “You arranged a prom night for your ex-mother-in-law and her high school boyfriend?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll explain later.”

So there’d be a later for them. Or at least it sounded that way. “Bethanne, listen, there are things I need to tell you, things I should’ve told you before.”