A Turn in the Road

“What will you do this morning?”



Bethanne climbed out of bed. “I thought I’d laze by the pool and read. I have my knitting, too, so I’ve got plenty to do. Don’t worry about me.” She waved a hand at Ruth. “Enjoy your day with Royce.”



“I will.” Ruth glanced at her watch.



“Everything all right between you?” Bethanne asked Ruth in a meaningful tone.



Ruth shifted uncomfortably. “I…I don’t know yet. I haven’t really had a chance to talk to him…about everything.” She shot Bethanne an anxious look. “I’ll call you this afternoon, okay?”



“Of course.” Bethanne blew her a kiss and Annie sent her off with a big smile. Certain that she was a few minutes early, Ruth headed into the lobby in search of a newspaper and a cup of coffee. To her surprise, Royce was already waiting, his newspaper unfolded in front of him.



“Good morning,” she said. Just seeing him made her pulse race uncontrollably. It seemed impossible that fifty years had passed. Being with him felt so familiar, like rediscovering a language she’d spoken as a child. But could he ever forgive what she’d done?



Royce refolded his newspaper and stood. “Ruth…” he began, and then fell silent.



“You’re early,” Ruth said nervously. “I hardly slept last night,” she confessed, hoping he could read what was on her mind.



Royce frowned and looked away. “I didn’t sleep much myself.”



“I’m hoping we can really…talk this morning.”



He nodded. “I suppose we should.” Reaching for her hand, he tucked it in the crook of his arm. “We have a lot to discuss, but before we do, I want you to know what bliss it’s been to see you again.”



“I feel the same.” Ruth had never expected to have a second chance with him, and this time she was determined not to ruin things between them.



He escorted her to his car, and opened her door the way he had when they were teenagers. Royce had always been a gentleman, even as an impoverished boy of eighteen.



Instead of driving to his home on the river, he went in the direction of Orchid Island.



“Where are we going?” Ruth asked.



“I thought we’d start the day with a glass of freshly squeezed Indian River orange juice.”



She guessed he was taking her to his childhood home. “Your father sold the groves, didn’t he?”



“He did.” Royce grinned over at her. “My brother bought him out.”



“Arnie?” She squinted at him in astonishment.



“Benny,” Royce corrected. He was the oldest in the family. Arnie, she recalled, was the youngest.



When they got to the property, he drove right in, along a row of perfectly aligned orange trees, stopping at the end. “Remember our prom night?” he asked.



Ruth laughed. “How could I forget it?”



“Even my children and their children know the story of how we arrived at the dance looking like a pair of miserable water rats.”



“Mine, too.”



Royce glanced at her. “Did I understand you right? Didn’t you say that Bethanne and Grant are divorced?”



“They are.”



“They looked like a couple to me.”



Ruth hugged herself. “They did, didn’t they? I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to see the two of them together again. We came upon some bikers—motorcyclists—on the road… Well, Bethanne seems to have taken a liking to one of them. I have to tell you how concerned I am that she might actually be falling for this guy.”



“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 to be shocked.



“I’m no dummy. I was hoping you were going to kiss me and I didn’t want to ruin my chances.”



Royce opened the car door for her. “As I recall, I was all teeth and no finesse.”



“As I recall,” she countered, “the minute your lips met mine, my toes curled up and I nearly swooned.”



Royce laughed and Ruth did, too. He raised her hand to his lips and gently pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “I can assure you I’m a much better kisser these days.”



“For that matter, so am I,” she said archly.



They drove back across the Seventeenth Avenue bridge, heading south once they reached the island. Royce’s home presided over a narrow strip of land, with a view of the Atlantic Ocean from the front door and the Indian River from the back. Parking in the circular driveway outside his two-story house, he led her up the brick steps. When he ushered her in, the first things she saw were the large French doors that offered an expansive view of the Indian River. It wasn’t really a river, she knew—it was part of an inland waterway that stretched from Florida to Maine. Filled with brackish water, the waterway teemed with fish and fowl and was home to various marine animals. As a child she could remember lying on her belly on the dock, petting the manatees. Before the days when such contact was frowned upon, Ruth had discovered that manatees and dolphins were intensely curious creatures, apparently as eager to learn about humans as humans were to learn about them.



“Oh, Royce, this is magnificent.” She stepped around the table in the center of the foyer, barely noticing the huge floral arrangement that dominated it. “How long have you lived here?”



“A while now…” Royce gestured around him. “Ten years, I’d say. Since I retired from the math department at the University of Florida.”



“You always wanted a home on the river,” she reminded him. In their teens they’d spent many afternoons talking about their future. Naturally they’d be married. They’d chosen to ignore the fact that her family disapproved of him. They’d blithely planned to have two children and had even chosen their names: Molly and Royce, Jr.



“You were going to be a stewardess, remember?” Royce stared out over the water. “Sorry, I guess these days they’re called flight attendants.”



“Oh, yes.” That would’ve been a dream job, being able to travel around the world. “Instead, I stayed home and brought up my children. Richard was a good provider and wanted it that way,” she said matter-of-factly. “Later, after they were grown, I did tons of volunteer work.”



Following his father’s example, Grant had wanted the same for his wife and children. Bethanne had only worked outside the home briefly, before Andrew was born. From then on, her daughter-in-law had been an energetic and committed homemaker. It had been a rather old-fashioned choice, perhaps, and at odds with the times, since those years were the height of the women’s movement. Still, Bethanne had seemed content, throwing herself into supporting Grant’s career and being an ultra-attentive mother. Oh, how Ruth wished Grant had appreciated his wife more.



“What are you thinking?” Royce asked, moving to stand close beside her.



“Oh, nothing…just getting caught up in memories.” She shrugged, the silk of her blouse whispering against Royce’s arm.