A Turn in the Road

“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 backseat. 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.”