A Turn in the Road

by Debbie Macomber

  “I’d like that,” Ruth said, “but we all know there’s no guarantee the café will still be there.”

  “Right, but we can look, can’t we?” Annie said. “Then, after we eat, can you show me the house you lived in when Dad was born?”

  “Sure thing,” Ruth said, “but again you have to remember that was a long time ago.”

  Bethanne didn’t understand Annie’s sudden interest in her father’s birthplace. Ruth, however, seemed happy to stroll down memory lane. Annie was encouraging her, and this exchange of questions and anecdotes was probably good for both of them.

  Annie’s cell phone rang when they stopped for lunch in Richland. They found a chain restaurant off the freeway and each ordered soup.

  “Oh, hi, Dad,” Annie said, and her gaze immediately went to Bethanne. “Yeah, we’re in Richland.” She smiled and added, “We made good time. Mom’s driving—and guess what?”

  Bethanne was determined not to listen, but she couldn’t avoid hearing Annie’s side of the conversation.

  “Mom’s right here. Do you want to talk to her?”

  Bethanne shook her head vigorously. Annie ignored her reaction and handed over the cell.

  Reluctantly, Bethanne accepted it. “Hello, Grant,” she said without enthusiasm.

  “You turned your cell phone off,” he said, although his words lacked any real censure.

  “I’m driving,” she pointed out. The rental car didn’t have a Bluetooth connection.

  “That’s what Annie said.”

  Silence.

  “How’s it going so far?”

  “Fine.” She resisted telling him that they’d left just that morning and were only about two hundred miles from Seattle.

  “What’s this I hear about you spending the night in Pendleton? Did you know I was born there?”

  If she’d forgotten, she’d received plenty of reminders in the past few hours. “Annie mentioned it.” Bethanne wondered if Grant had put their daughter up to this. She was well aware that Annie had her own agenda. But then, perhaps she was becoming paranoid.

  “I hoped you’d call and check in every now and then,” he said in a hurt-little-boy voice that was meant to elicit sympathy.

  “You should talk to Annie or your mother,” she told him. “If you’d like, I’ll remind Ruth to check in with you or Robin every day so you can rest assured that all is well.”

  “Yes, please do.”

  “Here’s your mother.” She passed the phone across the booth to her mother-in-law.

  Annie waited until their soup arrived before she spoke. “Honestly, Mom, you could be a bit friendlier to Dad.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. You know how he feels.”

  Bethanne did. “This is about more than feelings, Annie.”

  “At least let him prove himself. You don’t need to be so...” She couldn’t seem to find the right word. “Unfriendly,” she said, repeating herself.

  “Did I sound short with your father?” she asked.

  “A little.”

  Bethanne looked at Ruth, who shrugged. “Just a tad, honey.”

  Bethanne exhaled and forced herself to remember that she was traveling with two of his staunchest advocates.

  “Is there any possibility the two of you might reconcile?” her ex-mother-in-law asked, eyes wide and hopeful.

  “Of course there’s a chance,” Annie answered on Bethanne’s behalf. “There’s always a chance, right, Mom?”

  Bethanne took her time answering, apparently longer than Annie liked, because both her daughter and Ruth stopped eating and stared at her intently. “Yes, I suppose there is,” she finally agreed.

  Seven

  “Look, the café’s still there!” Ruth called from the back seat. Annie had been driving since Richland, with Bethanne knitting beside her. Ruth leaned forward, thrilled about the opportunity to see her old friend again. When she’d met Marie, she’d been pregnant, away from family and friends, and in a marriage that hadn’t started out in the most positive way.

  They’d moved to Pendleton because that was where Richard’s first job was. He’d wanted to make a good impression on his employer; he’d been young, ambitious and eager to prove his worth. Her husband of less than a year had worked long days, abandoning Ruth to countless hours alone in a rental house in this town where she didn’t know a single soul. Meeting her neighbor, Marie, had been a lifesaver. Ruth had needed a friend, a connection with someone. She hadn’t really been prepared for the pregnancy, and she suffered from violent bouts of nausea that lasted through most of the day.

  Not only did Marie become her friend, she’d taken Ruth under her wing, recommended her own obstetrician and driven Ruth to and from her first few appointments. She’d shared baby clothes and maternity outfits with her. Best of all, she’d taken time for long afternoon chats, despite the fact that she had children of her own and often helped her parents at the roadside restaurant.

  Ruth had lived in Pendleton for only a couple of years, but she never forgot Marie, even though her own life had changed—and improved—soon after. The effort to stay in touch lasted several Christmases but eventually they’d lost contact. Still, Marie’s friendship had brought her comfort and support all those years ago.

  The café sat back from the road, surrounded by a gravel parking lot, just outside the Pendleton city limits. The white paint had long since grown dingy, and the windows looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in months. A sign out front announced Home Cooking.

  “Looks like it’s still in business,” Ruth said, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.

  “I told you this was a good idea,” Annie said. “You’re glad we came this way, aren’t you, Grandma?”

  “Very glad,” she said, and it was true.

  “The sign on the building says it’s Marie’s Café,” Annie pointed out.

  “She must’ve taken over from her parents,” Ruth commented. She grabbed her purse and was practically out of the car before Annie had pulled to a complete stop. She didn’t wait for the others.

  The café door creaked as she opened it—and then came to an abrupt halt. It was as if she’d stepped back fifty years. The café was the same as she remembered, right down to the aluminum paper napkin dispensers and the tabletop jukeboxes. The booths had the identical red vinyl upholstery, but surely the seats had been recovered, probably more than once. The plastic-covered menus were tucked behind the ketchup and mustard containers, which stood next to the salt and pepper shakers.

  More afternoons than she could recall, Ruth had sat in one of these very booths with her infant son at her side as she drank a cherry soda and talked over life’s challenges with her friend.

  At one stage, soon after Grant’s birth, Ruth had been ready to admit her marriage was a huge mistake. She wanted to end it. Marie had listened and been sympathetic to her tales of woe. Richard spent so little time with her and their son that Ruth was convinced he didn’t love her, that he never really had. Their marriage was a sham, she’d told her friend, and it was better to own up to her mistake and get out now before their lives became even more complicated.

  Marie didn’t attempt to talk her out of her decision; all she’d really done was ask Ruth a few questions. As she answered, Ruth realized how important it was to do whatever she could to make this marriage work. Not only because of their son, but because marriage was supposed to be a partnership and that required something from her, too. An honest commitment, a genuine effort... In the back of her mind, and it embarrassed her now to admit this, she’d felt she could always go home, back to Florida...

  Back to Royce Jameson. She suspected Bethanne had picked up on the fact that there was more involved in this reunion than meeting her high school friends, much as she looked forward to that. Royce would be there, too
; Jane had written her with the news. The possibility of seeing him again had everything to do with wanting to return to Florida. They’d been high school sweethearts—an old-fashioned term, perhaps, one Annie might have scoffed at, but it was true. They’d been so young and so deeply in love. But she’d hurt him terribly and even after all these years she wasn’t sure he’d forgiven her.

  The last time they’d stood face-to-face was the summer after their high school graduation. They’d held each other and they’d kissed, vowing that nothing would ever come between them. He was leaving for boot camp and she was heading off to college. They’d promised to love each other forever and ever. Six months later she was engaged to Richard.

  Their final conversation had been horrific. Ugly. She’d taken the coward’s way out and written him from college that she was marrying Richard. Back then Royce was in the marines and stationed in California before being deployed. When he received her letter he’d phoned her at her college dorm, angry and hurt. She’d listened while he accused her of terrible things. The conversation was one of the most painful of her life, and she’d sobbed for hours afterward.

  All she knew of Royce’s life in recent years was that, like her, he hadn’t attended any of the previous reunions. And, like her, he’d lost his spouse.

  In the end, of course, Ruth had stayed with Richard and later given birth to Robin. She’d heard from Diane, her high school friend, when Royce had married. It’d been a good time in her own marriage and she was happy for him. She wished him well.

  “Can I help you?” A woman in her late sixties or early seventies hurried out from the kitchen, wearing a white apron. Yellow rubber gloves covered her hands; she appeared to be the dishwasher.

  “Marie?” Ruth asked tentatively. “Is that you?”

  Marie came a step closer. “Ruth? Ruth Hamlin?”

  They both gave a shout of recognition and advanced toward each other, arms outstretched, laughing and talking at the same time.

  “I’d recognize you anywhere,” Marie claimed.

  “You look wonderful.”

  “I’m an old bat,” Marie countered, still laughing.

  “Me, too.”

  They embraced like long-lost sisters, hugging each other and clinging hard.

  * * *

  Bethanne followed Ruth into the café and watched the two women embrace. When Annie had suggested they spend the night in Pendleton, Bethanne had her doubts. She was loath to disrupt Ruth’s careful plans. Yet from the moment they’d crossed the Columbia River, her mother-in-law had been animated, reminiscing about the early years of her marriage, the cities in which she and Richard had lived and the friends she’d made.

  “Bethanne, Annie,” Ruth said, turning to them, her face aglow. “Meet Marie. She was one of my dearest, dearest friends all those years ago.” She shook her head, then hugged Marie again. “Annie’s my granddaughter and Bethanne, her mom, was married to Grant.” She lowered her voice but Bethanne could hear every word. “Officially, they’re divorced, but I have high hopes of a reunion now that my son has come to his senses.”

  “Hi,” Annie said, and raised her hand in greeting.

  Bethanne decided to pretend she hadn’t heard Ruth’s comment and smiled at the other woman, who seemed five or ten years older than Ruth. Marie’s hair had gone completely white and her face was heavily wrinkled. The years hadn’t been nearly as kind to her as they had to Ruth.

  “Where is everyone?” Ruth asked, looking around the café. Many of the tables had yet to be bused. The counter was cleared, but a couple of syrup bottles remained, standing in sticky puddles.

  “When Richard and I lived here, there wasn’t a seat to be had, day or night. Don’t you remember we used to quote Yogi Berra? We said the place had gotten so popular, no one went there anymore.” She giggled like a schoolgirl and so did Marie.

  “Everyone wants to stay close to the freeway these days,” Marie lamented. “Thank goodness the bus still stops here. Otherwise, I’d be out of business for sure.”

  “Your mom’s chicken-fried steak was the best I ever ate,” Ruth said. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted gravy that good, before or since.”

  “It’s still on the menu. A heart attack on a plate, as they say, but it’s my bestseller.”

  “No wonder.”

  “I was about to close up shop,” Marie said, drying her hands on her apron. “Maggie phoned in with the flu and my dishwasher’s out sick, too. I don’t have any choice.”

  “I thought the bus stopped by every day.”

  “It does, but I can’t cook, wait tables and wash dishes all by myself.” She frowned, shaking her head helplessly.

  “Has the bus come by today?” Ruth asked.

  “Not yet.” Marie glanced at her watch. “It’s due in another forty minutes.”

  Annie tugged at Bethanne’s sleeve and whispered, “We could pitch in.”

  Marie stared at them. “Could you? I mean, I’d be willing to pay you. I’m afraid if I close for even one day, the bus company might not renew my contract and then I’d be flat out of business.”

  Ruth shoved her sweater sleeves up past her elbows. “I’m a champion dishwasher, at your service.”

  “I can bus tables,” Annie offered.

  “Uh.” Bethanne hesitated. She was thinking she should wash dishes.

  “Come on, Mom, you’d make a great waitress.”

  “Nothing like a pretty girl to build up business,” Marie told her, grinning as she said it. “And I could certainly use the help.”

  “Then I’d be delighted.” The last time Bethanne waited tables had been the summer after she graduated from high school. She’d gotten a job working at the local Denny’s. The experience had convinced her that she wasn’t waitress material. It’d been hard work, lifting heavy platters and busing tables. In addition, she’d discovered that people could be demanding, rude and insensitive. But she’d be able to manage for a few hours.

  “I’ve got another apron in back. Let me get it for you.” And Marie bustled into the kitchen, with Ruth close behind.

  “I hope I don’t spill coffee on anyone,” Bethanne worried. “Or mix up all the orders.”

  “Mom, like Grandma always says, don’t borrow trouble. We’ll do great.”

  As little as ten minutes ago, Bethanne had been sitting quietly in the car knitting a wedding gift for her future daughter-in-law. Now she wore a pink apron with a frilly starched border. She looked like a character in some movie about a diner, and since she wore the uniform, she might as well play the role. She purposely tucked the pencil behind her ear, then reached for the order pad and slipped it in her apron pocket.

  “The specials are listed on the chalkboard outside,” Marie explained. “It might be a good idea to memorize them.”

  “Gotcha,” Bethanne said, and walked outside. She studied the blackboard. Ham and redeye gravy was first, followed by macaroni and cheese. The third special was pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy. Apparently, Marie was fond of smothering food in sauce.

  She’d finished familiarizing herself with the specials when she heard the roar of motorcycles in the distance. The sound was deafening as it drew closer. “What is it about men and motorcycles?” she muttered as she went back inside.

  “How long before the bus gets here?” Annie asked. She wore her own apron and carried a cleaning rag and a gray plastic tub piled high with dirty dishes.

  “About twenty minutes,” Marie called from the kitchen. “Listen, you might fill the water glasses now. It’ll save you time later.”

  “I’ll do that,” Bethanne said. She found a pitcher and set about pouring water into each glass. While she was at it, she figured out how to work the coffee machine. Meanwhile, Annie washed the counter, cleaned the tables and put out silverware.

  The roar of
engines thundered to a stop just outside the café and, shortly after, four burly men dressed in leather vests and calf-high boots walked in as if they owned the place.

  Bethanne stared at them. They paused by the door and looked around. Bethanne wasn’t easily intimidated, or so she’d always thought, but these men seemed like the real thing. Road warriors. They were everything Grant’s sister had warned them about. Not that Bethanne knew anything about biker culture, but to her inexperienced eye, two of them looked halfway decent and the other two looked suspicious. She certainly wouldn’t trust any one of them with her daughter. Come to think of it, they were four women alone...

  A prickle of fear went down her spine and she stood there paralyzed, unable to move or even breathe. She could imagine the headlines now. Four Women Raped and Murdered. Biker Gang Suspected. If anything happened, Robin would blame her. Not that it mattered, seeing as she’d most likely be dead.

  Annie’s eyes connected with hers. Deciding not to give in to her overactive imagination, Bethanne straightened. “You gentlemen can sit anywhere you want.”

  The older one, with the short, skinny ponytail, said, “We generally do.”

  The others laughed. The four of them slid into a booth and studied her as though she were a fresh piece of meat and they were hungry wolves.

  “I’ll take your order in just a minute,” she said, pretending to ignore their menacing demeanor.

  Annie held her mother’s gaze and then scurried into the kitchen. Bethanne trailed her at a more leisurely pace, unwilling to show how intimidated she actually felt.

  “Do you know those men?” Ruth asked her friend, peering into the café from the kitchen entrance. “They look like they belong to some rough-and-tumble gang.”

  “Bikers stop by here all the time. Don’t let them scare you,” Marie said. “They all like to act tough, but underneath they’re pussycats.” She was busy stirring a pan of gravy and didn’t even glance out. “Besides, their money is as green as anyone else’s.”

  “Right.” Trying not to reveal her fear, Bethanne removed the order pad she’d stuck in her apron pocket, took the pencil from behind her ear and headed back out.