A Turn in the Road - Debbie Macomber [95]
“That didn’t seem to be the case last night.”
“From your lips to God’s ear,” Ruth said fervently. “Grant went through a midlife crisis,” she said by way of explanation.
“Which led to the divorce, I take it?”
“It did, but thankfully he realized how foolish he’s been. I’m grateful that he’s smart enough to see what’s truly important. He’s doing everything he can to get his family back.”
“I wish him well.”
“Thank you.” Ruth drew in a deep, fortifying breath and forged ahead, fearing that if she put this off any longer, she wouldn’t have the courage to say it later. “Speaking of being foolish, I—I want to apologize for the way I ended things….” She turned in her seat to face him, twisting the strap of her handbag. “I’ve agonized over my actions all these years, wishing I could rewrite that part of our history….” She let her words trail off. A knot had formed in her throat. She didn’t list her offenses; he knew them as well as she did. “More than anything, I regret causing you pain. I was young and so foolish and I wish—” Her voice cracked.
In the silence that followed, Royce placed his hand over Ruth’s, which still clenched her purse strap.
“I forgave you a long time ago,” he said slowly. His gaze flickered to hers, serious and tender. For a moment Ruth was speechless.
“But how could you?” she finally croaked out.
He smiled wistfully, staring at the orderly stretch of trees. “I won’t say it was easy…” he began. “For a while I was convinced I’d never love any woman again.” He shook his head at some unnamed memory. “Fortunately, I was wrong.”
So he’d loved his wife. Ruth was relieved to know that.
“Life has a way of setting things right,” he continued with a philosophical shrug. “I married Barbara, and we had three remarkable children. I have no regrets.” He squeezed Ruth’s hand lightly. “I don’t want you to have any, either. You and Richard were happy, weren’t you?”
She nodded. She had been happy—as happy as she’d made up her mind to be. She and Richard both had their faults, but they’d created a good life together. And while she’d often wondered what would’ve happened if she’d married Royce, she hadn’t allowed herself to obsess over it.
“Do you think we can really put the past behind us?” she ventured. “Can you accept my apology?”
Royce looked over at her.
“Of course,” he said. His eyes brimmed with forgiveness, and something more. Ruth released her death grip on her purse and let her fingers curl around Royce’s. For long minutes, they sat there in silence, each afraid to break the spell.
Royce’s brother Benny met them soon after. They exchanged greetings, and then Benny gave Ruth a short tour, which concluded with Benny pouring them each a glass of fresh-squeezed, extra-sweet orange juice.
Ruth sipped hers, savoring this reminder of her childhood. “I’d forgotten how good Indian River oranges are.” She sighed. This was orange juice at its finest; after all, Floridians took pride in the fact that it had been served at the White House.
As they walked back to the car, Royce pointed to a gnarled, fruit-laden tree at the edge of the grove. “I kissed you there for the first time,” he said, nostalgia coloring his voice.
“Not there,” Ruth said. “It was the second tree back.”
Royce stared at her in amazement. “You remember?”
“Of course I do.” Royce had always been—and evidently still was—a hopeless romantic. “I’d dropped by on some pretext about bringing your homework to you or something equally inane.” She rolled her eyes at the transparency of it. “You walked me out to the car and asked if I’d ever been in an orange grove before.”
“You hadn’t, so I offered to show you around,” he went on. His face lit up at the memory.
“I lied,” Ruth crowed. “Good grief, Royce, I’d grown up around the groves!”
“You lied?” He pretended