A Turn in the Road - Debbie Macomber [93]
The Ocean Grill boasted an interesting assortment of wrought iron, stained glass and other collectibles. While they were being seated at their table next to the window, Grant wangled a seat next to Bethanne. Outside, the surf roared against the sand and groups of tourists walked the beach, waves crashing at their feet.
Bethanne felt Grant’s hand touch hers beneath the table. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured.
She gave him a fleeting smile but kept her eyes on the menu. The truth was, he’d been in her thoughts more than she wanted to admit. Despite her reservations, his familiar presence brought back the glow of happier times. Grant slipped comfortably into his role as father and son—something that Max, for all his intensity, could never do. She studied him as he chatted effortlessly with Royce and Ruth, full of high spirits and completely at ease. Grant was family, and that was difficult to ignore or dismiss.
The wine flowed as the evening progressed, and Bethanne relaxed. At Royce’s urging, she ordered the pompano with apricot sauce and found it outstanding. As was typical, Grant and Annie both ordered the same entrée—the stone crab claws—which they ate with gusto.
After dinner Annie and Craig went for a walk along the beach. Royce and Ruth did, too, leaving Grant and Bethanne alone at the table. Bethanne stirred her coffee, suddenly self-conscious.
“I brought you something,” Grant said.
“From Seattle?”
“Not exactly.” He reached inside his dinner jacket and took out a small wrapped package.
“You don’t need to buy me gifts,” she protested, although she couldn’t suppress her curiosity. Grant had always been a generous and original gift-giver; it was one of his talents. He never once forgot an anniversary or her birthday, and outdid himself from year to year in the extravagance and thoughtfulness of his presents.
“I wanted you to have this,” he said as she untied the bow and removed the paper.
The instant she saw the box, Bethanne knew.
Nestled inside was the button she’d seen in the antique store in New Orleans. Annie had obviously mentioned it to him; he must have ordered it that same night.
“Do you like it?”
“Very much,” she breathed, recalling the story about the soldiers and their sweethearts.
“Every time you look at that button,” he said, his head close to hers, “I want you to think of me.”
Twenty-Five
That evening with Royce, Ruth felt as if the years had evaporated, and they were eighteen again. They talked nonstop without a trace of awkwardness, until Ruth realized it was midnight—and they were alone.
Bethanne and Annie had turned in for the night. Craig must have gone home. Apparently, Grant had driven back to Orlando, although she didn’t remember him leaving. All Ruth could see, the whole night long, was Royce. All she’d heard was what he said. Everything else was a blur.
Before he left her at the door of her room, Royce had asked if he could pick her up the next morning and take her to his home on the Indian River. Ruth had agreed. Not once had he mentioned the circumstances of their parting fifty years ago, but she felt its shadow, even in their happiest recollections. Ruth wished they could leave the past buried, but she knew that unless they confronted it now, it could destroy any hope of a future. All that shame and pain…
Unable to sleep with such thoughts chasing through her head, Ruth rose before Bethanne and Annie and dressed, taking special care with her hair and makeup. The humidity in Florida during summer was unrelenting. She didn’t expect her hair to stay in place, but felt she had to make the effort.
For Royce.
“Grandma, what are you doing up so early?” Annie asked groggily as Ruth came out of the bathroom.
“It’s almost eight.”
“That’s early for you,” Annie observed. Generally, Ruth was the one who lingered in bed. “Have you done your exercises?”
“I did.” Ruth smoothed a stray curl into place. “I’m seeing Royce this morning.”
“That