"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 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. 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 gla.s.s 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 a.s.sure 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.

"Of us?" he asked quietly.

"No...my son. What Grant failed to realize when he left Bethanne was that she was the secret behind his success. She filled the same role for him that I did for Richard." Ruth shook her head. "It's easy to take a wife for granted, I suppose." She raised her eyes to meet Royce's. "Bethanne gave everything she had to my son, and he tossed her aside for a younger woman."

"He wouldn't be the first man to make that mistake," Royce said.

"And I doubt he'll be the last." Ruth sighed.

Royce wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. "We still worry about our children, don't we?" he murmured in her ear. "No matter what their ages."

"I can't help myself," Ruth admitted miserably, leaning into Royce's comforting bulk. Grant wasn't her only concern. Robin was so similar to her father, and Ruth often feared her daughter would end up just like Richard, consumed by her job. In her darkest moments, Ruth imagined Robin dying young from a heart attack, without ever having really lived. lived.

"Tell me about your children," she said, hungry to learn everything about him.

"Well...Peter, my oldest, is an attorney. He's married and has two children. Maureen is a pharmacist who was playing doctor with her dolls from the time she was two years old. She was constantly scribbling prescriptions and taking them to the drugstore. Our youngest son, Kent, went into the ministry, serving G.o.d in Haiti."

"Oh, Royce, it sounds like you have an incredible family." Ruth looked up at him.

He nodded. "I'm truly blessed."

"You had a good wife," Ruth said.

"I did," he agreed. "The kids turned out well, mostly because of Barbara-I miss her every single day."

"Who does Craig belong to?" Ruth asked.

"He's Maureen's son. He works with Kent part of the year in Haiti. He's still got a year of medical school. He has a true commitment to serving those who are suffering and in need of healing."

"He seems like a wonderful young man."

"He is, and he was quite taken with Annie." Royce winked as he said it.

Ruth beamed. "She liked him, too."

"Last night when I asked Craig to join us for dinner, he said yes, but I could tell he wasn't keen on the idea. When I woke up this morning, he'd left a message on my phone, thanking me for introducing him to Annie."

Ruth laughed delightedly. Annie was going to have plenty of male choices, she thought. That boy in Europe had some real compet.i.tion now.

Royce turned to her, smiling. "Would you like a ride down the river?"

Ruth clutched at his hand, her face alight with pleasure. "Oh, Royce, could we really?"

"Maybe we could take a stroll down memory lane, as well."

"That sounds heavenly."

"Do you remember John Bolinger?" he asked as he led the way to the river dock.

"Of course. He was a good friend of yours."

"Still is. He'll be at the reunion."

"What about Connie Keenan?" Ruth wondered.

"Last I heard, she'd signed up, too."

Ruth clung to Royce's arm as they stepped carefully across the planks of the dock. He stopped just short of the motorboat anch.o.r.ed at the end of the walkway. Turning to face her, he lifted his free hand to touch her cheek.

"For me, the most important name on that list was yours. Oh, Ruth, I can't tell you how happy I am to see you again."

Ruth couldn't speak for the emotions that flooded her. Tears p.r.i.c.ked her eyes and she lowered her face so Royce wouldn't see.

"So am I," she finally managed. "So am I."

Twenty-Six.

Bethanne spent a lazy morning at the hotel, sleeping in late, while both Annie and Ruth went out for the day. Annie took off early with Craig, and Ruth was with Royce. Those two had been inseparable almost from the moment they'd seen each other the night before. Bethanne hoped they could resolve the past. It seemed promising because they obviously both wanted the same thing.

Young love, first love. Grant had been Bethanne's first love, and Ruth was right. There was indeed something special about giving your heart away for the first time. While it might not be possible to recapture what they'd once shared, she'd always have her memories of loving Grant. Grant had been Bethanne's first love, and Ruth was right. There was indeed something special about giving your heart away for the first time. While it might not be possible to recapture what they'd once shared, she'd always have her memories of loving Grant.

Grant.

Max.

All at once Bethanne was too confused to know what she wanted. With Max everything was fresh and new. With Grant she carried-and would always carry-the baggage of his infidelity. Someone looking at the situation from outside might feel a decision between the two men was simple because of that painful history. It wasn't. She and Max hadn't even had their first disagreement. To this point all was bliss, but she was mature enough to understand that wouldn't last.

Bethanne had the whole morning to herself. After a leisurely breakfast of orange juice and toast by the pool, she took a long walk on the beach. She'd purposely left her cell phone behind, hoping to duck any and all responsibilities for the next hour or so.

The surf pounded the sh.o.r.e as she strolled down the sandy sh.o.r.eline, which was nearly deserted. The breeze offered a respite from the heat and humidity. She wore a large straw hat she'd bought at the hotel gift shop and walked barefoot, her feet making soft indentations in the wet sand.

Mainly, her mind was occupied with thoughts of Max. Other than their brief conversation the day before, they hadn't spoken again. She realized he was giving her this time with her family, in much the same way Grant had given her time with Max. Was respect between rivals like honor among thieves? That concept made her smile, even if the comparison didn't quite quite work. work.

She tried to be sensible and realistic about Max, and yet whenever she thought about never talking to him again, never seeing him again, an instant sadness settled over her. It didn't seem possible that she'd come to care for a man so quickly and yet she had.

No one had made her feel the way Max did-at least not since the divorce. After six years of grief and anger, six years of forgettable relationships, Bethanne felt she might be incapable of giving her heart to another man...ever. She'd loved Grant completely, totally. When she spoke her wedding vows she'd meant them to be forever. Until death do us part... Until death do us part... Not Not until someone better, cuter, younger or s.e.xier comes along. until someone better, cuter, younger or s.e.xier comes along. Forever. Forever.

Grant.

Last evening he'd been so good with both Annie and Ruth, and yes, with her, too. He seemed sincere in his desire to make amends. As Ruth had said more than once, it took a big man to admit when he was wrong. Grant wanted her back and yet she had to ask herself: Could he still bring her happiness? Could they be happy together again? She'd forgiven him to the best of her ability, but she wasn't confident she could trust him. Whenever he came home late, how would she know he hadn't been with another woman? She'd never asked if there'd been anyone before Tiffany. In truth, she didn't want to know, and chose to believe Tiffany had been his only indiscretion.

Sitting on the beach, she brought her knees up and dragged her fingers through the sand while her thoughts darted like b.u.mblebees, flitting in one direction and then another. This decision was the most difficult she'd ever had to make.

Giving Grant hope for a reconciliation meant she'd have to forget about Max. If they were to have any chance of being a couple again, she'd have to give the relationship one hundred percent. That probably required counseling, for him and and for her. for her.

Bethanne wasn't so naive that she didn't realize she'd played a role in the breakdown of their marriage, too. She'd become complacent, too involved in her children and their activities. Grant left it up to her to arrange their social outings and she'd grown lax about setting aside time for just the two of them. They hadn't done anything to nurture their marriage. The blame for that, she knew, should be equally divided.

Another flaw on her part was her inability to recognize what was happening in Grant's life. In retrospect she must've been blind not to have noticed the signs. They'd all been there, as blatant as could be-almost as if Grant had wanted wanted her to know. Perhaps he did, so she'd do something to stop him, something to show how much she loved him. But Bethanne had been oblivious to it all. She'd ignored the significance of countless late nights at the office and some imaginary big deal that never took place. Ignored the extra time Grant spent on his grooming each morning. She'd taken everything at face value, including the small unexpected gifts he brought home for no particular reason, gifts no doubt motivated by guilt. She'd ignored all of these signs, content to go blindly about her life, wrapped up in her daily routines. her to know. Perhaps he did, so she'd do something to stop him, something to show how much she loved him. But Bethanne had been oblivious to it all. She'd ignored the significance of countless late nights at the office and some imaginary big deal that never took place. Ignored the extra time Grant spent on his grooming each morning. She'd taken everything at face value, including the small unexpected gifts he brought home for no particular reason, gifts no doubt motivated by guilt. She'd ignored all of these signs, content to go blindly about her life, wrapped up in her daily routines.

Andrew had pitched for his high school baseball team that spring and Grant had attended only one game. Not once did she question his excuses. Their son was about to head into his senior year of high school and she was working on the grad night committee and- Oh, what good did it do to dredge up ancient history? Closing her eyes, Bethanne fought back waves of regret, determined not to let them drown her in sadness and confusion. She was past this, past Grant.

Wasn't she?

"Bethanne?"

At the sound of her name, she turned to find her ex-husband walking toward her. He looked relaxed and fit and-all right, she'd admit it-handsome. He wore white cotton pants and a printed floral shirt that showed off his tanned arms.

Bethanne glanced at her watch. It couldn't possibly be one o'clock yet. Wrong. It was almost one-thirty.

Grant sat down in the sand next to her. "I didn't know what to think when I couldn't get ahold of you."

"I had no idea so much time had pa.s.sed." She'd been on the beach for more than two hours. Thankfully, she'd lathered on sunscreen; otherwise, she would've burned to a crisp.

"Have you had lunch?"

She shook her head.

"There's a fish-and-chip place down the beach. Royce mentioned it yesterday. How about that?"

"Sure." She wasn't hungry but he probably was.

Grant helped her to her feet, and they started walking along the beach in the opposite direction. He took her hand, intertwining their fingers.

"Do you remember our first date?" he said.

Of course she did. "We had fish and chips on the Seattle waterfront."