“What makes you ask?” She’d been careful not to let Grant know she was speaking to Max. He might have overheard but she doubted it.
“Dad said he thought you might’ve been.”
Bethanne didn’t respond.
“It really threw him after the week in Florida.”
“Oh?” So all this house business had to do with Grant’s insecurities. But until Andrew’s wedding, her decision was on hold. Her first priority was seeing their son happily married. Only then would she address these uncomfortable issues.
“The cruise, the house—it’s all a bit much,” she said.
Annie smiled. “Dad means well.”
Bethanne nodded. “I know.” She kept thinking about their meal at Zorba’s. The recipes were the same as they’d been years ago, but the experience wasn’t. Grant had wanted to recapture the past and his attempt had fallen short. Neither of them had acknowledged it, though. It might not be a good analogy, but Bethanne feared the same thing would happen with their relationship. Even if they both wanted a reconciliation to work, it might not. Too much time had passed. They no longer had the same interests or, she suspected, the same values. Bethanne liked quiet evenings at home, reading and knitting. From what Grant had told her, he often went out nights, to network, meet with clients and make connections. She, too, was required to spend a certain number of evenings at work-related occasions, but more and more she preferred to be by herself or with family and friends.
Another thought had come involuntarily when Grant suggested Zorba’s. Had he dined there with Tiffany? She didn’t ask. For a moment, she’d felt a fresh stab of pain but then shoved it from her mind, determined to enjoy the dinner.
During their conversation, she’d realized that the Bethanne he wanted back was the old Bethanne, the woman who’d supported and encouraged him. She couldn’t slip into that role again, nor did she want to. She had her own business now. Grant was ambitious; so was she. Frankly, she didn’t know if there was enough room in a marriage for that much ambition.
“What are you thinking about?” Annie murmured.
Bethanne sighed. “I want it to work with your father, but I don’t know if it will. Five or six years ago, I would’ve moved to the moon if Grant asked it of me. Not anymore, Annie. Seeing this house is a waste of time. I know it and so do you.”
Her daughter didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You’re right. I do.”
Still, some part of Bethanne must have been trying to please Grant; she’d agreed to view this property simply because he’d been excited about it.
“Do you want me to call Dad and tell him you’re too busy?”
“No.” She weighed her options. Checking the time, she realized Grant was probably at his office already, waiting for her. “I’ll go. Do you want to come with us?”
Annie’s face instantly lit up. “I’d love it. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“I’m more than sure.” In truth, Bethanne welcomed the company. With Annie accompanying her, she might be able to avoid an awkward discussion with Grant.
They drove to Grant’s office in their own cars. He greeted Annie and introduced the listing agent, Jonathan Randolph, who was going to show them the property. Annie rode with Jonathan, and Bethanne and Grant followed in his car.
“How was your day?” Grant asked as soon as they were alone.
“Frantic,” she said. “What about yours?”
“Also busy.” He glanced away from the road and smiled at her.
“You’re going to love this house,” he said as they entered the circular driveway that led to the double front doors.
Just looking at it from the outside, Bethanne had to admit this was a stunning home. “This has got to be way beyond anything you...either of us could afford.”
Bethanne understood what Grant was doing. She hadn’t been married to him all that time without knowing how his mind worked. He hoped once she saw the house she’d have a change of heart. He was counting on it.
And yet, after those same twenty years of marriage, Bethanne was astonished that he didn’t know her better. She’d never longed for things. What mattered to her were the emotions and experiences they represented. Family night playing board games with their children, or a vacation that included Andrew and Annie, meant more than a diamond tennis bracelet or a pricey dinner.
“I know you love the old house,” Grant said, coming to stand at her side. “I realize you have no intention of moving. All I want you to do is look at this place.”
Annie was already out of Jonathan’s car and eager to explore. Bethanne wished she shared Grant and Annie’s enthusiasm.
True to her word, Bethanne toured the house. She had to agree it was everything Grant had claimed and more. The views of the lake and surrounding area were breathtaking. And the inside—had she designed a dream home it would have looked almost exactly like this. A huge walk-in closet, the washer and dryer on the second floor and a deck off the master bedroom.
Grant hardly said a word as Jonathan escorted them from room to room, detailing the unique features, of which there were many. He waited until they were back in the car before he spoke.
“Well, what did you think?”
Bethanne took a moment to collect her thoughts. “You’re right. It’s perfect—”
“I knew you’d feel that way once you saw it,” he said, nearly exploding with enthusiasm.
“But—” she continued.
It was as if he hadn’t heard her. “I could see your eyes light up every time Jonathan showed us another room, especially the kitchen. Didn’t you love that huge gas stove? I have to tell you, Bethanne, I could just see you roasting our Thanksgiving turkey in that oven. Plus, the house is a steal and—”
“A steal?”
“Yes, the owner’s been transferred and is anxious to sell. The house has been on the market nearly six months and he wants it to move. He’s making double house payments, so he wouldn’t reject any reasonable offer.”
Bethanne sympathized with the owner’s predicament.
“I figure we could get the price down another ten percent,” Grant said. “Jonathan suggests, and I agree, that we go in low and be willing to dicker. Banks prefer twenty-five percent down, and I can handle that. I’ll have to sell a few of my stocks, but I feel this house might be an even better investment than what I can expect to do in the market.”
“Then you should make that offer.”
“I plan to, but living here on my own won’t mean a thing if you aren’t with me.”
“Grant, please...”
“I’m not trying to pressure you, and I apologize if it feels that way.”
“I’d rather not discuss this now, all right?”
He looked crestfallen. “Okay. I hope we can start over, Bethanne, and I thought a complete break with the past would be best.”
“I’m not saying I don’t want us to have a second chance,” she clarified, “but it’s premature to make that decision. I told Max, and I’m telling you, I want to wait until after Andrew’s wedding.”
“The old house is filled with memories,” Grant argued. “Some of them must be painful, particularly for you. The only reason I wanted you to see this house is so you’d know I’m willing to invest everything in creating a new life with you.”
“What you don’t seem to understand,” Bethanne said, speaking slowly, hoping he’d listen and understand, “is that I risked everything when you left so I could keep the house. I was the one who held our family together. I kept up the house payments and started a business. At the beginning of each month I calculated how many parties I’d have to hold in order to get the mortgage payment in on time.”
“I know the first couple of years were rocky for you.”
“Rocky?” The man didn’t have a clue.
> “Okay, I can see I stepped on a hornet’s nest. How many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry?” he muttered, and she could see how difficult this was for him. Well, it was for her, too.
“So you don’t want to move and start fresh,” he said. “Fine. We won’t.”
She didn’t know if he meant they wouldn’t move or wouldn’t start over, and she didn’t ask. They drove back to his office in silence. The tension in the car was so high she almost expected the windows to shatter under the weight of it. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was incapable of freeing herself from the bitterness of his betrayal. She thought she had; she hoped she had. Apparently not.
Grant pulled into his assigned parking spot at the office and the two of them sat in the car. Neither seemed capable of moving. Bethanne hated the fact that they were fighting. When they were married, she was invariably the one who sought a reconciliation when they’d disagreed. Discord had always upset her.
“Bethanne,” Grant said after an awkward moment. “I spoke out of turn. I apologize.”
She took a shaky breath and forced herself to relax. “I do, too. I don’t know why we lashed out at each other like that.”
He reached for her fingers and wrapped his own hand around hers. “I’ll do whatever makes you happy. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. What’s important is your happiness. If you’re still dealing with issues about me, then that’s understandable. I deserve it.”
“It isn’t that...” Maybe it was, but only to a degree. “I don’t want to give up my home.”
“Then we won’t,” he said softly. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
Thirty-Three
Andrew got to the house early on Thursday evening, the day after Bethanne had seen the Lake Washington house with Grant. Courtney would be joining them later. She had a dinner meeting with her bridesmaids, including Annie, who’d most likely come to the house with her afterward.
Bethanne had Andrew’s favorite made-from-scratch black bean soup simmering in the Crock-Pot and corn bread baking in the oven. She’d purposely put on the apron Andrew had sewed in his high school Family and Consumer Science Education class. When she was in school, the class had been called Home Ec and it was for girls only. Times had definitely changed. Andrew had done a good job on the apron and she wore it with pride.
Her son breezed into the house, hugged her and then immediately lifted the lid on the Crock-Pot. “I was hoping you’d make the black bean soup.”
“I’ve already passed the recipe on to Courtney.”
“What about the one for rhubarb crunch?”
“That, too,” Bethanne said, unable to hold back a smile. In fact, she’d put together a small family cookbook of recipes for every season. The black bean was Andrew’s all-time favorite, and she used to have a huge batch going every college break. That soup alone was practically enough to bring him home.
He slid onto a stool at the kitchen counter and watched her for several seconds. “I got a surprise phone call on Monday.”
“Oh? Who from?” she asked absently as she stirred the soup.
“Your friend Max.”
Bethanne dropped the spoon, which clanged against the side of the ceramic pot. “Max called you?” She wondered how he’d gotten Andrew’s number, then realized it wouldn’t have been difficult.
“He wanted to send a case of champagne for the wedding.”
Bethanne’s mouth went dry. She tried to speak but couldn’t get her tongue to cooperate.
“First, I told him I’d talk it over with you, but then I went ahead and made a decision. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind. Whatever you decide is up to you and Courtney.” Bethanne managed to speak, although her voice echoed oddly in her ears.
“It’s really generous of him to offer. We haven’t met, but I like him, Mom. He sounds like a cool guy.”
Bethanne just nodded.
“When I mentioned that you and I were getting together tonight to discuss the rehearsal dinner, he offered to send a couple cases of wine for that, too.”
Bethanne paid an inordinate amount of attention to the soup. “Your father might not appreciate your accepting either offer.”
Andrew considered that for a minute, then shrugged. “I say if Max wants to send us wine as a wedding gift, we should let him. Courtney agrees. I wouldn’t turn down anyone else’s gift—why should I reject his?”
He had a point.
“Does it bother you, Mom?”
“No... I think it’s a wonderful gesture.”
“Me, too.” Andrew slid off the stool and got two bowls, which he carried to the kitchen table, setting them on the quilted place mats.
“Did...did Max ask about me?”
Andrew appeared to find her question highly amusing. “He did.”
Apparently, her son was going to force her to beg for every scrap of information. Andrew pretended interest in collecting silverware from the drawer.
“Are you going to make me ask?” she demanded.
He grinned. “I shouldn’t be so cruel, should I?”
“No, you shouldn’t,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. She waited impatiently for him to fill her in on their conversation.
“He told me some more about how the two of you met.”
She smiled at the memory.
“You didn’t tell me you rode on the back of his bike.”
“More than once,” she admitted proudly.
“Now that’s something I’d like to see.”
In the beginning she’d been terrified by every bump and curve in the road, but gradually she’d learned to relax and enjoy the sensation of freedom. If the relationship between Max and her developed, and that remained a huge question, she might eventually learn to ride herself.
“He didn’t ask how it’s going with you and Dad, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Andrew said. “I think it’s been difficult for him not knowing, but he said he promised you this time with Dad and that he’s a man of his word.”
“Your father gave him the same opportunity,” she reminded Andrew.
“Well, sure, but he had Annie reporting to him every ten minutes. Max doesn’t have anyone feeding him information.”
That was true—and probably just as well.
“We only spoke for a few minutes. I told him I’d discuss the wine and champagne with Courtney and get back to him in the morning. But basically we’ve decided to accept.”
She felt her son’s scrutiny as if he expected her to weigh in with an opinion. Like she’d already said, the decision was up to him and Courtney.
“You’re sure you don’t have anything to say about this?” he pressed.
The doorbell chimed just then, and to her surprise it was Grant. Andrew tensed as his father followed Bethanne into the kitchen. She returned to the other side of the counter while Grant leaned against it.
Father and son eyed each other, and Bethanne sensed the sadness in Grant. He missed his son and wanted the situation to be different.
“I hope you don’t mind my dropping in like this,” Grant said casually. “Annie told me you were discussing the rehearsal dinner tonight and I thought I should be here, too. I’d like to be part of this wedding.” He risked a glance in Andrew’s direction. “If that’s all right.”
Andrew didn’t comment. “Mom and I were just talking about the wine.”
Bethanne sent him a warning look, which he ignored.
“I have a couple of friends who are familiar with wine varieties. Should I check with them?” Grant asked.
“I believe we’ve already got the drinks covered, Grant,” Bethanne said pointedly. “Thanks for offering, though.”
“Oh.” Grant looked somewhat taken aback. “I thought y
ou two were about to discuss the menu. How do you know if you want white wine or red? Actually, it might be a good idea to order a case of each.”
“Like Mom said,” Andrew told him. “We’ve got that covered.”
“It isn’t that we don’t value your input,” Bethanne was quick to add, wanting to avoid a disagreement.
“What kind is it? Sauvignon blanc? Merlot for the red? That’s what I’d recommend.”
Bethanne looked to her son for help.
“I’m not sure yet, but I know it’s going to be the best wine available,” Andrew said. “Along with the wine, the same person’s giving us three cases of champagne for the reception.”
“Someone’s giving you wine and champagne?”
Bethanne nodded.
“Really?” Grant’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s no small expense. Who’s being so generous?” He rested his hands on the counter behind him. “Is it one of my clients?”
Since he obviously wasn’t letting this go, Bethanne left it to her son to explain.
“It’s Max Scranton,” Andrew said after a brief hesitation.
“Who?” Grant asked, and then comprehension came into his eyes. “Max? That biker? You’ve got to be kidding!”
“Max owns a wine distribution company,” Andrew informed his father.
“His brother’s a partner,” Bethanne corrected.
“True,” Andrew said with a shrug, “but Max owns the larger part of the business.”
This was news to Bethanne. Max and Andrew’s conversation had obviously been longer than her son had implied.
“You aren’t going to accept it, are you?” Grant frowned at Andrew, then Bethanne. “How do you think that would look?” he asked. “The two of us are working on a reconciliation and another man gives our son all the wine for the wedding. This has the potential to be embarrassing. What are you going to tell people?” He seemed to expect Bethanne to second his objection.
“I wasn’t going to tell anyone anything,” Bethanne said. “It’s no one’s business.”
“Son,” Grant said, looking at Andrew, “are you really going to accept this?”