A Turn in the Road. Debbie Macomber

that between four and six hours on the road would be my limit. I wanted to make it a leisurely trip.”

      “We’ve been to Spokane at least a dozen times,” Annie complained. “I’ve seen everything there is to see.”

      Bethanne had, as well. “This is your grandmother’s trip, Annie,” she reminded her daughter. “If Grandma Hamlin wants to spend the night in Spokane, then that’s what we’ll do.”

      “Okay.” Annie slumped back and folded her arms. “Does the hotel have a swimming pool?”

      “I don’t know.” Ruth flipped open her itinerary.

      “Tell me the name of the hotel and I’ll look it up on my phone.”

      “You can do that?” Ruth sounded impressed.

      “As long as they have a website I can.”

      Ruth gave Annie the hotel name, and Annie immediately started clicking away. Judging by her sigh, the hotel was pool-less.

      “We’ll have lunch, and then check out the local attractions. There’s a mall close by, isn’t there, and a movie theater? No reason we have to stay in the room.” Bethanne offered what she hoped were helpful suggestions.

      She assumed they’d reach Spokane a little after one. The truth was, Bethanne agreed with Annie. She was certainly willing to drive beyond Spokane. However, this was Ruth’s trip, as she’d pointed out, and she was reluctant to do anything that would diminish her mother-in-law’s enjoyment. Ruth had waited years for this opportunity, so Bethanne refused to cheat her out of even one second of her carefully planned adventure.

      “I … I suppose we could go a bit farther,” Ruth murmured after a while. “I’m anxious to get to Florida.”

      “Have you heard from anyone there?” Bethanne asked.

      “Just Jane and Diane.”

      “Wow, fifty years,” Annie said. “That’s a long time.”

      “It is.” Ruth nodded slowly. “The funny thing is, it doesn’t seem that long ago—it really doesn’t.”

      “How many years has it been for you, Mom?”

      “Let me see. I graduated in …” Bethanne quickly calculated the years, astonished that it’d been twenty-nine years since she’d left high school. “Twenty-nine years,” she whispered, hardly able to believe it.

      “Did you ever go to your reunions?”

      Annie certainly seemed to be in an inquisitive mood. “No. Your father—” Bethanne paused, about to lay the blame at Grant’s feet. While it was true that Grant hadn’t been enthusiastic about attending her high school functions—or, for that matter, his own—she’d consented. She could’ve gone by herself, and hadn’t. It wasn’t like Eugene, Oregon, was all that far from Seattle. “No, I never did,” she said.

      Her father, an English professor now retired, had taught at the University of Oregon. Her mother had died a couple of years ago. Bethanne was proud of the way her father coped with being a widower. Despite his grief he hadn’t given up on life; in fact, he was currently in England with a group of students on a Shakespearean tour.

      They spoke and emailed regularly, and she’d recently learned that he was dating. Her father had a more active social life than she did, which actually made her smile.

      “Wasn’t Dad born in Oregon?” Annie asked.

      “Yes, in Pendleton,” Ruth confirmed. “Richard and I were newlyweds, and he was working on a big engineering project there. I don’t remember exactly what it was now. We moved around quite a bit the first few years we were married.”

      “How far is Pendleton from here?”

      “Oh, dear, I wouldn’t know.”

      “I’d like to see the town where Dad was born,” Annie said. “Couldn’t we spend the night there instead?” She reached for her phone again. “It would mean we’d need to change our route, but it wouldn’t be that much out of our way.”

      “We were only in Pendleton for the first year of his life,” Ruth said.

      “Do you have any friends living there?” Annie pressed, but before Ruth could answer, she asked another question. “I’ll bet it’s been ages since you connected with them, isn’t it?”

      “Well, that was forty-nine years ago. I’m sure they’ve moved on.”

      “What are their names?” Annie’s fingers were primed and ready as she held her cell phone. “I’ll look them up and find out for you.”

      “Annie,” Bethanne warned. Her daughter seemed to be taking control of the trip.

      “Okay, okay, I’ll shut up and we can spend the night in Spokane and sit around the hotel room all afternoon.”

      Bethanne cast Ruth an apologetic look.

      “I had a friend by the name of Marie Philips.” Ruth’s voice was tentative, uncertain. “She was married and a young mother herself. Her parents owned a small café on the outskirts of town. I’m sure it’s long gone by now.”

      “We need to eat, don’t we?” Annie said triumphantly.

      “The café might not even be in business anymore,” Bethanne felt obliged to remind her.

      “Is her name listed on that computer phone of yours?” Ruth asked, sounding more interested by the minute.

      Bethanne could hear Annie typing away.

      “P-h-i-l-i-p-s?” Annie spelled it out. “With one L?”

      “Yes. The café was where the bus stopped, too. They served the most wonderful home cooking. Marie was a real friend to me, but we lost contact after Richard and I moved.”

      “What was the name of the café?”

      “Oh, dear.” Ruth shook her head. “I don’t remember, but I do know where it is … or was.”

      “So, can I see the town where Dad was born?” Annie asked eagerly. “Even if we spend the night in Spokane, I’d still like to visit Pendleton.”

      “I don’t see why we couldn’t,” Ruth said, apparently catching Annie’s enthusiasm. “My goodness, I haven’t thought of Marie in years. She had a son around the same age as Grant. I wonder what became of him. Marie had an older boy, as well. Like I said, she was so helpful to me. She’s one of those salt-of-the-earth people.” Ruth seemed immersed in her memories.

      Bethanne continued driving in silence. They passed Ellensburg and were headed toward the bridge that spanned the mighty Columbia River, on the way to Moses Lake. All of this was familiar territory. If they made the decision to go to Pendleton, they’d need to change course after crossing the bridge.

      Annie was still typing. “The Pendleton directory lists a Marie Philips.”

      “It does?” Ruth’s voice rose excitedly. “Let’s call her.”

      Annie called and left a message on the woman’s voice mail. When she’d finished, she asked, “Do you want me to see about changing our hotel reservations?”

      “I’ve already made a deposit at the hotel in Spokane,” Ruth lamented.

      Bethanne hated to admit it, but even she was disappointed. She was enjoying the drive and it did seem a waste of time to arrive in Spokane for lunch and call it a day.

      “It’s a chain hotel,” Annie said. “If there’s one in Pendleton, I bet they can switch reservations without a penalty.”

      Ruth was quiet for a moment. “Okay, call and see if the hotel is willing to do that.”

      “When you’re ready, give me the phone number.”

      Ruth