A Turn in the Road. Debbie Macomber

a thick ring of salt around the rim of the glass.

      “At least we can have two drinks this time around,” Grant said, watching her lick the salt off her glass and take a sip.

      His familiar use of we made it sound as if they were a couple again, but she didn’t react. “I hope the same holds true for dinner,” she said mildly.

      “I believe anything you order will fit into my budget,” Grant murmured, still studying the selections.

      “I don’t think I ever told you I don’t like bean burritos,” she blurted out.

      “You don’t?” He sent her a shocked look over the top of his menu. “But … but we ordered it every time we came here.”

      Bethanne said nothing. In their dozens of meals at Zapata’s, not once had he asked why she never ate her half of the burrito.

      “I thought you were just being generous,” he said. “You know—saving more for me, the way you did for the kids.” He set down the menu, genuinely crestfallen. “I’m sorry, Bethanne, for being so oblivious.”

      Bethanne was relieved that the waitress returned at that moment for their order. She chose the Tex-Mex salad, while Grant ordered chicken enchiladas and a bean burrito combination plate.

      As soon as the waitress left the table, Bethanne took a long drink of her margarita, savoring the warmth spreading through her. She sat back in her chair and waited. Grant had asked for this meeting. She was curious to hear what he had to say.

      “I’ve met Courtney a couple of times now,” he began, referring to their son’s fiancée. “I like her a great deal. She’s very down-to-earth, a good match for Andrew, I think.”

      “I think so, too,” Bethanne murmured.

      “I understand that Andrew and Courtney are planning the wedding themselves, and that you’re helping them, which makes sense.” It was rare to see Grant visibly nervous, but he seemed to be so now, fiddling with his silverware and avoiding eye contact. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to contribute.”

      “You’ll need to take that up with Andrew and Courtney,” Bethanne said.

      He nodded absently. They both knew that Andrew had ambivalent feelings toward his father. Bethanne felt a pang of sorrow for Grant. She knew he hoped the wedding would provide him with a means of getting closer to Andrew.

      “So, is there anything I can do?” Grant asked.

      “I’m not sure…. I’ve given Andrew and Courtney contact information and steered them toward people I trust.” The couple had made their own decisions, and while Bethanne had offered suggestions, this was their wedding. She’d walked a fine line, trying to advise them without being controlling.

      “Weddings are expensive,” Grant observed.

      “True enough.” Bethanne had seen people spend upward of thirty thousand dollars.

      “I’d like to help financially.” He rested his hands on the table.

      She sipped her margarita. “That’s kind of you, Grant, but you should be telling Andrew and Courtney this, not me.”

      “I wanted you to know.”

      “You’ve always been generous with the children,” Bethanne conceded. A slight exaggeration, but close enough to the truth.

      “I almost lost them,” Grant muttered, staring at his hands. “I wasn’t sure, you know, if it was a good idea to tell Andrew I wanted to help financially … I thought it might be better coming from you.”

      Bethanne waited until he met her eyes. “No, you tell Andrew,” she said. “He loves you, Grant. You’re his father.”

      Grant bowed his head in a gesture of agreement or maybe just avoidance.

      “Is that the reason you asked me to dinner?” she asked. Might as well be blunt—it would’ve saved her a lot of angst if he’d come right out and said so.

      He didn’t answer for a moment. “I have something else I’d like to discuss,” he said quietly. She strained to hear him over the raucous mariachi music.

      “What is it?”

      “At the wedding … do you think—” He hesitated. “Would you object if the two of us sat together at the church? As Andrew’s parents?”

      “Sat together?” Bethanne kept her expression neutral.

      “Most divorced couples don’t,” he acknowledged.

      “True.”

      “I’d like to present a united front to our guests and, more importantly, to our families and our children.”

      She tried not to grimace. He hadn’t been concerned about this “united front” when he’d abandoned them. Oh, why was it so hard to truly forgive? She was shocked by how easily her anger still surfaced, when she’d assumed that she’d moved past the pain.

      “It won’t be awkward, if you think about it,” Grant reasoned. “You haven’t remarried and I’m single again. Wouldn’t it feel a bit odd for the two of us to sit separately?”

      “You’re single now, but you haven’t always been,” she said tartly.

      Grant stiffened. “All I’m asking is that you consider it. We’d sit together during the ceremony and stand together in the receiving line. If you agree, I’d appreciate it, but if not …” He took a deep breath, as if to calm himself. “Well, if not—I’ll understand. I guess what I’m trying to say, and doing a rather poor job of it, is that I’ll accept whatever you decide.”

      Bethanne couldn’t suppress her retort. “In other words, you want the world to know all is forgiven? That we’re still friends? That’s a noble thought, but I’m not sure it sends the right message.”

      He looked down at his drink. “I know it may not be possible for you to ever completely forgive me.”

      Bethanne felt a twinge of shame. She sighed heavily. “I apologize, Grant,” she said. “I don’t hate you. Really.” She’d given him twenty years of her life. He was the father of her children. And there was a part of her that still loved him.

      Grant’s eyes flickered with hope. “Can we do that? The two of us together for Andrew’s sake on the most important day of his life?”

      “I’ll think about it,” she promised.

      “That’s all I ask,” he said, and didn’t raise the subject again.

      Their meals arrived shortly afterward. Grant spooned salsa over his enchiladas. Bethanne remained silent as she waited for him to hand her the bowl.

      “I understand Annie’s got a hot date tonight,” he said.

      Although Annie rarely mentioned her conversations with her father, Bethanne knew the two of them spoke regularly these days.

      “What’s your impression of Vance?” Grant asked, sliding his fork under the steaming enchilada.

      Bethanne finished spooning salsa over her own dish as she gathered her thoughts. “He’s a good kid … a bit immature, I’d say.” She paused. “But then, so is Annie.” She took another sip of her drink. “He’s an archaeology major and graduated this year. As far as I know, he’s going to graduate school.”

      “Annie seems to think he’s about to pop the question.”

      “So she said.” Bethanne set her fork down. “Frankly, I feel they’re both too young for marriage. If they do become engaged, I hope they decide on a lengthy engagement.”

      Grant frowned. “You don’t feel Vance is a good choice for our daughter?”

      “I didn’t say that.”

      “It’s