A Turn in the Road - Debbie Macomber [63]
But his infatuation with his new wife hadn’t lasted long. Only a few months after they’d married, there’d been trouble in that relationship.
Bethanne knew nothing about Grant and Tiffany’s divorce settlement, but she did know that Grant had paid dearly—and not just financially. Soon after he left her he’d been passed over for a huge promotion and changed companies as a result. She assumed he was doing well, since he never seemed to be strapped for money whenever the children needed it, although that wasn’t often these days, other than their college expenses.
“Mom?” Annie said, straightening and rubbing her eyes. “Where are we?”
“We’re near Amarillo, Texas,” Bethanne told her.
“Texas? We can’t be that far from the Alamo, then. It would just be a short side trip, wouldn’t it?”
“A short side trip like Vegas?” Ruth said, obviously awake now. “There’s a lot of miles between Amarillo and San Antonio, and this time I’m not giving in. We’re going to Branson, and that’s it.”
“Okay.” Annie sighed. “But I really don’t think the Alamo is that much out of our way.”
Bethanne handed her daughter the map. “You might want to take a look to get an idea of how big Texas is.”
“Mo-om, I know my geography.”
“How far is Amarillo from Branson?”
“According to MapQuest,” Annie said a few minutes later, studying her phone, “it’s almost nine hours.” She groaned with frustration.
“We’ll need to find a place for the night,” Ruth said, arching her back. “I’m beginning to go stir-crazy in this car.”
“We should spend a couple of days in Branson,” Bethanne suggested. “Shake off the road dust and let down our hair.”
“Two days.” Annie flopped back in her seat.
“I’ve always dreamed of seeing Andy Williams in concert,” Ruth said wistfully. “And now it’s about to become a reality.”
“That’s always been my dream, too,” Annie muttered sarcastically.
“Annie,” Bethanne said. “This is your grandmother’s trip.” Those words were a now-familiar refrain.
“I suppose I’ll have to wait until I’m in my sixties before I see the Alamo?”
Bethanne smothered a laugh. “Then you’ll appreciate it all the more, the same way your grandmother’s looking forward to seeing her teenage idol.”
“Whatever.” Annie slouched down in the seat. “I wrote an essay on it, you know,” she said righteously. “I got an A.” She closed her eyes, apparently picturing Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie making their last stand.
Just before they left the state of Texas, Bethanne stopped at a Dairy Queen for ice cream, which made for a small break. Several police and fire department vehicles were parked outside. Long ago Bethanne had read a comment that Dairy Queen restaurants were like city halls in Texas—the one establishment where everyone convened.
For reasons she didn’t even want to consider, she removed her cell from her purse and typed a text message to Max. She didn’t know if he’d receive it or if he’d respond. All she said was:
Spending two nights in Branson, MO.
She hesitated before she pushed the send button, but sent it, anyway.
What was she doing? She felt like a first-time shoplifter certain to be caught. Regardless of all her assertions that what she did was her own business, she didn’t want Ruth or Annie to know.
“You okay?” Annie asked.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Bethanne realized that, once again, she must look guilty. Why else would Annie question her? In fact, she felt guilty. She’d resolved to reconcile with Grant, or at least try, and yet she’d impulsively contacted Max….
“Mom!” Annie nudged her. “Your ice cream’s melting all over your hand.”
“Oh.” She looked down to discover that Annie was right. In the warm sun the soft-serve ice cream had melted and dripped down her wrist.
“Here.” Ruth passed her a wad of napkins.
Bethanne licked away at the cone but soon realized it was a lost cause and tossed the entire mess into a nearby garbage can.
Back on the road