by Loree Lough
He helped her to her feet and she put the bear back where she’d found it.
“You did a wonderful job in here,” she admitted. “Maybe a little too wonderful.”
Standing beside her, Grant nodded. “Think she’ll still want us to sit in the window seat and read to her? It’ll be a tighter squeeze, now, but...”
“Or kneel on either side of her as she says her bedtime prayers?”
Grant exhaled a shaky sigh and pointed toward the dainty hall tree in the corner. “Remember when you sewed her that tutu, for her first dance performance?”
“She hovered like a mother hen the entire time I worked on it...”
“...to make sure you didn’t forget to add the sparkles at the hem.”
“She’s probably outgrown that little table, too, where she hosted tea parties for us and her dolls.”
“We’ll get her a bigger one. A bigger tea service, too...if she hasn’t outgrown her love of tea parties...”
“I have a confession to make, Grant,” Rena said softly.
For the first time since joining her in the room, he met her eyes.
“Oh?”
“When I changed everything and you saw it for the first time, your mom told you I did it for your sake. ‘Get rid of all the reminders, so he can adjust once and for all.’”
“I remember.”
And from the look on his face, it wasn’t a pleasant memory.
“Truth was—is—I was only too happy to pack up the things that were such stark reminders of...of what happened.”
“I know.”
She looked up at him. “You do?”
“Mom told me, the afternoon you left.” He focused on Mr. Fuzzbottom. “Then she told me to go after you.”
Rena waited, hoping he’d explain why he hadn’t followed her. Then again, perhaps she didn’t want to hear him repeat all the angry, hurtful things he’d said that day.
“I should never have left you. If I’d stayed, maybe we could have—”
“Let’s not go there, okay? It’ll be tough enough making this work without dredging up ugly ghosts.” Grim-faced and gruff-voiced, he added, “Your stuff is still in the guest room. I thought you might need something from the big suitcase for tonight. You didn’t take much with you when you left, and I haven’t gotten around to packing up your clothes, yet, so feel free to add what’s in your suitcase to the stuff in your closet and drawers.”
Any “welcome home” his suggestion might have held was doused when he added that stern yet. And it made Rena realize that Grant—perhaps subconsciously—really did see her as a guest in his house. She needed to put a stop to that now, not later.
“I think I’ll leave that chore for the time being and fix us something to eat, instead. That’ll give you time to gather up all the paperwork you were talking about earlier.”
“But I was planning on making us grilled cheese sandwiches with macaroni and cheese and tomato soup.”
One of her favorite quick-fix meals. A gesture of kindness?
“Who knows how many days they’ll keep us in Chicago,” she said. “We’ll be eating deli and fast food for the duration. I’ll whip up something more substantial and healthy.” She took note of his who-do-you-think-you-are expression and added, “You said I should make myself at home...”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll be in the family room. Holler when it’s ready.”
Rena watched him walk away, the way he had when she announced her plan to leave. She didn’t think it was possible to hurt him that way again. She’d been wrong.
Chapter Four
“THE CHICKEN IS DELICIOUS. I haven’t had it made this way since...”
He trailed off, and Rena must have sensed his discomfort. “Since I left? I imagine you’ve shared more than a few meals with Tina in the past few years.”
He’d given her that opening. Shouldn’t have dredged up the past. Not even the good stuff.
Rena sat back. “I should have called her, invited her to supper.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. You and I have stuff to hash out.” Too much honesty, too soon? Grant wondered. He cleared his throat. “Besides, she’s at Muriel’s tonight.”
“Oh, that’s right. This is Tuesday, her bridge night.” Rena ran a fingertip around the rim of her wineglass. “I think it’s great that she’s still doing all the things that bring her so much pleasure.”
Was that a hint for him to take a lesson from his mom, step out and live life to its fullest, even after the loss of a loved one? He took a bite of buttered wild rice to stop himself from saying something rash. Did she feel that way because she’d moved forward? Had she left a guy behind on Fenwick Island?
He’d tried dating a time or two, nice women he’d met through coworkers, and blind dates set up by former frat brothers. But because he and Rena had never pursued a divorce, being with another woman always felt just plain wrong. Plus, despite everything, he loved Rena, and probably always would. He’d always blame her, too, for what happened to Rosie. And since the blame outweighed the love—
“So do you think Rosie will have questions for us?” Rena asked.
For you, maybe, he thought, since Rena had been the reason the kidnapper had succeeded in the first place.
“She must. I know I have a thousand questions,” she pressed on.
Grant lifted his glass to his lips. “Such as?”
“Such as where she went to school. If she went to school. What sort of house she lived in. Were there other children? Did they feed her healthy meals? Did she see a pediatrician regularly, and is she up to date on all her immunizations? And if she did, how did the kidnapper hide the truth from the doctor, from the principal and teachers, from neighbors and friends and fam—”
“I’m sure the psychiatrist will fill us in on all that.” During their phone call, he’d told her what the agent said. An abbreviated version of the facts, but enough information to give her the gist of things. Maybe, under the stress of it all, she’d forgotten. “She was found wandering alone in a mall, remember, after that...that woman died of an aneurism?”
Rena nodded. “Yes. I remember. But...” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Oh, I know she’ll be taller—of course she’ll be taller. She’s nine years old. And naturally, she’ll weigh more, too. But—and I know this might sound silly—but does she still have all that beautiful, long blond hair? Did they cut it or dye it? And...how many times has the Tooth Fairy visited?” She shook her head, frowning slightly. “After all she’s been through, she sure doesn’t need a bunch of doctor appointments while she’s trying to settle in here at home.” Rena paused, as if to catch her breath. “And what about us? What does she remember of us?”
This one, Grant could answer. At least in part. “She was told that we were killed in a drunk-driving accident,” he said. “And that we’d named this...that nut job as Rosie’s guardian. Unless something is seriously wrong—and I doubt it, since Agent Gonzalez didn’t pass that info along to Detective Campbell—we’ll take her to see a specialist. After she’s had some time to adjust, I mean.”
Rena wouldn’t have to wonder about any of this if she’d been paying attention during the field trip.
Fair or not, it was how he felt. How he’d felt since she’d called the office that day, crying so hard he could barely understand a word she said. But they had to at least try to get along, for Rosie’s sake. Grant knew he’d better keep his lips zipped.
“You probably won’t believe this,” she said, “given some of the, ah, discussions we had before I left, but...”
Discussions. He nearly chuckled. They’d had bitter quarrels. Full-blown shouting matches. Well, he’d shouted. A lot. Told Rena she was responsible for what happened to Rosie.
“...but I always held on to a thread of hope that someday, someday, she’d be found. I know it goes against ev
erything I said back then, because I was trying so hard to accept things, to adjust and adapt, for both of our sakes, but I can’t tell you what a relief it is, knowing she’s coming home.”
She’d held on to a thread of hope? It was all Grant could do to keep from groaning. Rena had been way too eager to pack up all their girl’s things and stow them in the attic, beside his dusty childhood toys, her grandpa’s steamer trunk and her grandmother’s hope chest—the one that still housed Rena’s wedding dress—his dad’s tattered college textbooks, and Christmas decorations. Out of sight, out of mind, apparently. How could she feel that way about their sweet Rosie?
Plus, how many times had she accused him of living in the past, of refusing to accept that Rosie was gone? And all this time, she’d clung to hope, too? A hope, she’d told him often, that was impossible.
And then there was the way she’d pestered him to have another kid...and how he’d accused her of being cold, indifferent, heartless to think the birth of another child could blot out the agony they’d suffered. Rosie couldn’t be replaced that easily. Why hadn’t he been able to make her see that?
Grant put down his fork. He’d been famished when he sat down. Now, his appetite was gone. He started to push back from the table.
“Oh, don’t leave yet,” Rena said, a note of pleading in her voice. “I made dessert.”
“I’m really not hungry, Rena.”
He hadn’t intended for the comment to sound harsh. But what did she expect? They hadn’t shared a meal—or anything else—in years! Surely Rena didn’t they’d simply pick up where they’d left off.
“Not even for chocolate pie?”
His favorite dessert. She’d only had an hour to throw dinner together, so she must have bought it when she’d stopped at the Giant for groceries. What the heck. Maybe something sweet would turn his sour mood around...
“Okay, but just a small slice.”
“Whipped cream on top? I made plenty when I was beating up the filling.”
So she’d made the pie, just for him? He marveled that she’d had time.
“Sure. Why not.”
Rena got up and cleared their plates, and quickly replaced them with dessert.
“There’s coffee—decaf—if you’d like some,” she said.
“Well, since it’s already made, no sense wasting it.”
She poured them each a cup. Placed the sugar bowl and creamer near his elbow.
So. His favorite meal. His favorite dessert. And she’d remembered exactly how he liked his coffee. He could accuse her of trying to soften him up. But for what? They were supposed to put on a united front, right? How could they accomplish that without courtesy and the occasional nicety?
He felt a pang of guilt. Had she really believed Rosie had been murdered? If so, she’d suffered those thoughts alone. Even if she hadn’t left, Rena couldn’t have talked to him about it. He could barely stand to look at her let alone talk about the kidnapping. She’d made the right move, leaving when she did, because if she’d stayed, their relationship would only have deteriorated further. He’d drawn some comfort from missing her now and then, even though it made him feel a little crazy. Because no rational man could love and miss his wife...and deeply resent her, all at the same time.
“Pie’s good,” he said, mostly to fill the brittle silence.
“I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure I remembered how to make it.”
“You like it, too. You never made it for your...guests?”
Man, talk about being obvious. If he wanted to know if she was seeing someone, why not just ask?
Because he didn’t want to picture her in the arms of another man. She was still his wife, after all.
“I didn’t have much company. My cottage is tiny. Barely enough space for a table for two. And my life there is mostly work and the occasional visit from Lilly, my landlady, who lives in the big house next door. She’s a retired school bus driver. Trust me, I don’t invite a lot of interaction with her, lovely as she is. Being around her, listening to her talk about her tiny passengers only reminds me of...” She looked away.
He’d avoided people—and places and things—that reminded him of Rosie, too. Even kept her bedroom door shut most of the time, so he wouldn't have to look at her toys and games, or the bed where he'd cuddled with her while reading bedtime stories. How much easier would everything have been if they’d found a way to hold each other up when the memories got tough to bear?
Water under the bridge, he thought. Deep, dark, murky water...
“Want some help with these dishes?” he offered.
“No, but thanks. I’ll have this cleaned up in no time. And then I’ll get busy in the bedroom, so if you need to get in there before we leave for the airport—”
“Don’t rush on my account. The Orioles are playing Detroit.” He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “Holler if you need anything.”
He'd given it a lot of thought. Rosie would have more than enough to adjust to without seeing him and Rena in separate bedrooms. But how would he introduce the subject of her moving back into the master? And how in God’s name was he going to share his bed with her again when he could barely tolerate sitting across the table from her?
Better figure it out, and fast, he told himself. Because tomorrow night, or the next, that was exactly what he’d have to do.
Or did he?
* * *
SEVERAL TIMES AS Rena moved her belongings into the master bedroom, she and Grant passed each another in the hall. He'd stuttered and stammered while explaining that, although he'd made up the guest bed for her, he hoped she'd give serious consideration to moving into their old room with him. For Rosie's sake. Every muscle in her had tensed, every nerve end jangled, yet she'd heard herself say “We can give it a try, I suppose.” Now, the way he scooted along the wall to avoid brushing up against her left Rena wondering how he’d get any sleep, sharing the same bed.
She’d play it by ear; if he seemed fitful and agitated, Rena could always sleep on the family room sofa, and explain any questions from Rosie by claiming to have fallen asleep reading or watching TV.
It was the least she could do for him, after all she’d put him through.
Rena tidied the guest room, the kitchen and the master bedroom—though there wasn’t much to do—mostly to stay out of his way until they had to leave for the airport.
Finally, it was time to head to BWI. At the start of the drive, Rena tested topics of conversation that wouldn’t add to the tension between them. Unfortunately, the sound of her voice seemed enough to stress Grant further. She could tell by the way he gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. It was what he’d done years ago in traffic jams, or if he made a wrong turn. Fortunately, she’d packed magazines and her e-reader along with his stack of important papers. At least she could pretend to have something to focus on during the three-hour flight besides his angry, stony silence.
Martha had posed a difficult question during their last session: “What will you do if Grant never forgives you?” Her answer had inspired the therapist’s disapproving frown. “Why should I expect him to forgive me when I’ll never forgive myself?”
Perhaps in time, they’d at least come to a meeting of the minds, find a certain peace with the living arrangements. But she wouldn’t drive herself mad hoping things would eventually go back to where they’d been before, when he’d been a chatty, friendly, fun and funny partner. Far better and healthier to simply accept the status quo. Besides, you'll have plenty to do, helping Rosie readjust.
“What kind of car do you think we should rent?”
The suddenness of his voice startled her, and she masked it by toying with the hem of her jacket.
“I’m not sure, but we should ask if they rent children’s booster seats.”
He didn’t respond at first. “I hadn’t even given that a
thought. But we’ll have to turn it in with the car. What’ll we do on the drive home from BWI?”
“It’s only twenty minutes. You’ll stay in the slow lane the whole way, and I’ll ride in the back with Rosie.” She chanced a peek at his stern profile. “Not that I think anything will happen—you’ve always been a good, safe driver. But on the off chance it does, I can protect her.”
He gave a tiny grunt. Rena braced herself for him to say, “The way you protected her years ago?”
“That’ll work, I guess,” he said instead, and Rena sighed in relief. “We can’t very well take her into a big box store and buy one.”
“Why not?”
“She’ll be overwhelmed, that’s why. Seeing that woman, lying dead on the mall floor. Being carted off by the cops, then interrogated by one shrink after another, then shuttled to a foster home. It’s too much.”
For Rosie, or for him? she wondered.
“We will need to take her shopping eventually, anyway. It isn’t likely she’ll have much to wear. We can pick up a few of the essentials, along with the car seat. You know, shoes. Underwear and socks. Pajamas and slippers. And the weather can get chilly in May.” Rena paused. Was he even listening? “She’ll need a jacket, too.”
He continued staring straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Was she strong enough to endure his loathing for...for who knew how long? She’d have to be, because Rosie should not be exposed to conflict of any kind. Rena didn’t need to think for very long to come up with examples of their little girl’s reaction to discord between her parents...
One snowy day, when Grant forgot that it was his turn to pick Rosie up at preschool, Rena had been forced to leave the hospital early, which hadn’t gone over well with the head nurse. Over supper that night, she’d pointed out that she’d grown tired of being called on the carpet by her boss every time a meeting took precedence over his duties as a father. “My boss,” Rena had told him, “made it clear that there are plenty of experienced nurses on the roster who can work a full, uninterrupted day.” Grant’s angry retort? He’d had clients, important clients, whose fees helped pay for day care, weekend trips to Ocean City, Christmas gifts and more. Rosie’s worried expression had stopped Rena from pointing out that her salary contributed to the family coffers, too.