A Turn in the Road

“I wonder what Marie’s doing these days,” Ruth said thoughtfully.

“Well, we’ll find out,” Annie responded.

“We can have a light lunch when we hit the Tri-cities,” Bethanne suggested, “and once we reach Pendleton we can look for the café your friend’s family owned.”

“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 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.