Bringing Rosie Home

by Loree Lough

  Grant slapped a hand to the back of his neck. It’s what he’d always done when frustration got the better of him. Robson had warned them that Rosie’s behavior might be less than ideal as she grappled with her new circumstances, yet the two of them had no power to do anything about it. At least, not yet.

  “It’s one of those just-in-case things,” Grant told her. “I’m a restless sleeper. So if I get to tossing and turning, Mom can sleep on the cot.”

  Rosie looked suspicious.

  “I snore, too, so...”

  Rena had no memory of him tossing and turning. Or snoring, for that matter. He’d given her the perfect excuse to get out of sharing the bed. Either that, or it was his polite way of saying he wouldn’t mind one last night alone.

  Rena had slept in the bed nearest the window last night. Once they got back to the house, Rosie would expect them to sleep in the same bed. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid.

  The image of him in his usual nighttime attire, boxer shorts and a T-shirt, brought back so many happy memories. Rena had often teased him, saying he could wear oil-streaked coveralls and look handsome.

  Get hold of yourself, you ninny. What she needed, Rena decided, was a distraction. Reaching into her purse, she withdrew a packet of disinfectant wipes and proceeded to clean the remote control, the doorknobs, the light switches. While in the bathroom wiping the faucet, toilet handle and vanity, she heard Rosie’s quiet voice: “Does she do stuff like this all the time?”

  Rena tensed.

  “Look at it this way, Rosie-girl. If the people who rented the room before us were sick, we could get sick, too. Mom’s just looking out for us. It’s what she does.” He paused, then added, “I think that’s pretty nice, don’t you?”

  Instead of answering his question, Rosie said, “Will you read to me?”

  “Sure, but how ’bout you take that shower and get into your PJs first.”

  Rena exited the bathroom and went directly to Rosie’s bag. The hearts-and-flowers pajamas she'd bought looked two sizes too big. The cuffs were frayed, and a button was missing. She held them to her face, relieved that at least they smelled clean.

  “Here you go, sweetie,” she said, placing them on the bed.

  Rosie gathered them to her chest and headed for the bathroom. “And in case you’re wondering, I don’t need any help, because I’m not a baby.” With that, she closed and locked the door.

  Rena slumped onto the foot of the bed and massaged her temples. “Dr. Robson said this might be difficult, but I had no idea it’d be this difficult.” She met Grant’s eyes. “Rosie hates me.”

  He sat beside her. “Nah. She’s just confused. Barbara’s gone, and she’s been shuttled from the mall to the police station to the FBI to Robson’s office, with a foster home in between. And let’s not forget that until a couple days ago, she thought we were dead.”

  “You’re right, of course. I can barely make sense of it all, and I’m not nine years old.”

  There was a knock on the door. Grant rose slowly, saying, “Give her time, Rena. She’ll come around.”

  He placed both pizza boxes on the low-slung bureau beside the TV cabinet then rapped on the bathroom door. “Pizza’s here, sweetie. C’mon out before it gets cold.”

  “Okay, Dad.” Rosie emerged a moment later in her oversized PJs. “Did Mrs. Miller pack my toothbrush?”

  Rena rummaged through the bag and found it. “Yes, she did, but I don’t see toothpaste. It’s okay. I brought plenty.”

  The child took care not to touch Rena when accepting the toothbrush. She looked at Grant. “Do you have some, or do you have to use hers, too?”

  He’d packed his own bag. Of course he had toothpaste.

  Placing a hand atop her head, he winked. “When we get home, we’ll get you your own tube, but for now, it’s okay to share. We’re a family, kiddo, and families share things.”

  Rena quickly found her toothpaste.

  Rosie rolled her eyes. “All right,” she said, hand extended. “But I think it's weird to shower and brush my teeth before we eat. Really weird.” One slender shoulder rose. “I guess I'd be looking for things to say if I was you, too.” She held out her hand, and waited for Rena to give her the toothpaste.

  Instead of giving it to her, Rena put it on the vanity counter. Granted, the child had been through a lot. That didn’t make it any easier to pretend the disrespect didn’t bother her. Perhaps her behavior would improve once Rosie was home, surrounded by familiar things. A gal can hope...

  She got busy setting the small round table near the window. There were only two chairs, so Rena placed her own paper plate, napkin and soda on Rosie’s nightstand. The distance between the bed and the table couldn’t be more than three feet. Enough to satisfy Rosie, who’d been working hard at keeping a careful distance.

  She let you hold her hand in the parking lot. And she called you Mom. That’s a good start...right?

  Grant found an animated movie on TV and kept Rosie distracted by mimicking the characters’ voices. Hearing her sweet, little-girl giggles did Rena’s heart good. She enjoyed seeing her husband happy and having fun, too. The poor guy had been sad far too long.

  Rosie devoured two big slices of pizza and half an apple tartlet. Then, stretching, she said around a yawn, “Now will you read to me, Daddy?”

  “You bet I will, kiddo. Where’s your book?”

  She slid a tattered copy of The Velveteen Rabbit from her satchel, and after handing it to him, climbed under the covers. She patted the space beside her. “Sit right here, so I can see the pictures.”

  Grant toed off his shoes and obliged her.

  Rena turned off the TV and cleaned up the pizza mess as Grant read, content to listen as his melodic baritone filled the room.

  “Remind me...what’s charming mean?” Rosie asked when the word came up.

  Rena thought she detected something sly in Rosie’s tone, but Grant handled it well. He rubbed his chin and said “It has a couple of meanings, actually. Sometimes it means delightful and pleasant, sometimes it means a person is likeable, or good-looking. Adorable, even!”

  Rosie smiled up at him. “Just as I thought. You’re charming.”

  He gave her a sideways hug. “Thanks, kiddo.” He chucked her chin. “You’re pretty charming, yourself.”

  Rosie turned the page. “My...my other mother only read to me if I did all my chores and got all the right answers on my homework. I hated when she gave math homework. I’m not very good at math.”

  According to the file, Rosie had been homeschooled. Rena wondered if Barbara had been a good teacher.

  “Your mom is a math whiz. It's one of the reasons she's such a great nurse,” Grant said. “She’s an excellent teacher, too, so I’m sure she’d love to help you with your school work.”

  As Rena tossed napkins and paper plates into the trash can, she felt Rosie’s eyes on her. Should she chime in and offer to work with Rosie? Or was it smarter to pretend she hadn’t overheard the conversation, and avoid another cold-as-ice confrontation?

  “Well? Would you do that?” Rosie prompted.

  Rena hesitated. Just dive in, you ’fraidy cat. From the moment she and had Grant walked into the playroom, the girl had let dozens of zingers fly. Rena had earned them, and then some. So what’s one more?

  “I’d love that.” She wanted to hold Rosie close, to prove how much she meant it. All in good time, she told herself.

  “Are you going to homeschool me, or can I go to a real school, with other kids and stuff?”

  Soon, summer vacation would begin. Rena would make appointments with the principal and guidance counselor at Sentinal Lane Elementary, and with one of the therapists Dr. Robson had recommended. In a few weeks, they’d have an answer to that question.

  “Your dad and I haven’t had a chance to discuss it yet, but it seems to me that
getting you enrolled in—as you put it—a real school, with kids your own age, would be a very good thing.”

  Using his thumb, Grant marked their page in the book. “I agree, a hundred percent.” He gently elbowed Rosie. “How ’bout you, kiddo? What do you think?”

  “Oh, I’d love that!” She clasped her hands. “Are there other kids in your...I mean, in our neighborhood?”

  Rena smiled. “As a matter of fact, there are, all walking distance from our house, and I just know they’re going to love you!”

  “I used to watch kids from my bedroom window. They looked like they were having a lot of fun. My other mother didn’t like playdates. She said it messed up the house. But it made me sad.”

  It made Rena sad, too, but admitting it might make Rosie feel the need to defend the horrid woman. It was bad enough hearing her refer to Barbara as her “other mother.”

  According to the pediatrician, Rosie showed no signs of having been physically abused or mistreated in any way, and though they still had to wait for the labs to come back, she didn’t appear to suffer from any vitamin deficiencies. Barbara hadn’t allowed her to socialize with kids her age, but at least she’d provided healthy food and a safe environment. Rosie knew how to read and, as evidenced by the captions on her construction paper drawings, how to write. Whether or not Rosie was on par with other children her age remained to be seen, since Barbara either hadn’t kept or had destroyed any records of homeschool lessons and activities.

  “Will I be allowed outside to play?”

  Rena tensed. Rosie would probably love to visit the O’Brien kids, two doors down, or the Citerony twins, directly across the street. She’d have to bake some cookies, bring a plate to each neighbor. Getting to know them was step one in learning to trust that they’d watch over Rosie. Besides, keeping her in a bubble wouldn’t guarantee her safety...

  “Sure you can,” Rena said, looking to Grant. “They’re great kids, around your age, I think. I’m sure you’ll all have fun together.”

  “And they’ll be allowed to come into our house, too?”

  “That’ll be wonderful. I’ll even bake cookies for the bunch of you!”

  “Oatmeal raisin,” Rosie said slowly, her gaze drifting to a spot over Rena’s shoulder. “I remember those.” She met Rena’s eyes. “They were my favorite.”

  Did she also remember standing on the kitchen step stool, cracking eggs into the mixing bowl? Or Rena, steadying her tiny hands as she added baking powder and vanilla, as she tried to maneuver the big wooden spoon through the thick batter? Rosie had always taken pride in arranging balls of dough in straight rows on the baking sheets, and loved sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching through the oven’s window as the cookies turned golden brown.

  “I’ll tell you what. Once we’re all settled in at home, we’ll bake a batch, together.”

  “My other mother didn’t let me do things like that. She said the kitchen is a dangerous place for children.”

  Her expression and posture made it clear that Rosie hadn’t approved of the rule. But no matter how she responded, Rena risked destroying the harmony they’d established these past few moments: disagree with Barbara and underscore Rosie’s belief that Rena was incapable of keeping her safe; agree and give her daughter the impression that the unreasonable regulations would continue.

  “I promise, we’ll be very, very careful.”

  Rosie bobbed her head. “Okay.”

  How could one upbeat, agreeable word make her so happy she could cry?

  Now, yawning and stretching, Rosie leaned into Grant. “Can we finish the story tomorrow, Dad? I’m sleepy.”

  “Sure thing, kiddo.” He placed the book on the nightstand between the beds. “I’m going to have another slice of pizza while your mom tucks you in, all right?”

  Rena could have kissed him for that.

  “Okay,” Rosie repeated, hopping from the bed. “But first, I need to brush my teeth.”

  She could have kissed him twice.

  Chapter Eight

  “I DON’T HAVE any floss...”

  Rena found hers and handed it to Rosie.

  “Thanks...”

  Rosie’s lips had formed the beginning of the word Mom. At least, that was the way it looked to Grant. Wishful thinking or not, it gave him hope that the wall between them had begun to crumble.

  Sitting on either side of Rosie’s bed, he and Rena listened to her prayers and tucked her in. Moments later, when the sounds of her soft, steady breaths told them she was fast asleep, Grant helped himself to one of two leftover slices of pizza.

  “Want one?”

  Rena shook her head. “No, I’m stuffed. But thanks.”

  He waved her to their side of the room, and she sat beside him at the foot of the bed.

  “Was I imagining things, or did Rosie almost call you mom?” he said quietly.

  “I thought I was seeing things! Yes, that’s how it looked to me, too.”

  He bit off the point of the slice. “It’s a good sign,” he said around it, “especially so early in the...what did Robson call it?” He made air quotes with his free hand. “‘The process.’”

  “Oh, I hope you’re right, Grant. It hurts, knowing she doesn’t trust me, but in her shoes, I’d probably feel the same way.”

  “No you wouldn’t.”

  She shifted to face him, pressing her knee against his thigh. Was that intentional?

  “You don’t have a mean bone in your body,” he continued. “It’s what makes you excuse just about every awful thing that’s ever happened to you.”

  “I don’t make excuses—”

  “Oh, really? What about when the guy at the grocery store put the canned goods on top of the bread, and you said something must have happened to distract him? Or the time the mechanic left loose nuts and bolts, and all the oil drained out of your car? You said maybe he hurt his wrist, and it hurt to tighten them.”

  “I scolded the girl at the dry cleaners for losing your favorite white shirt...”

  “Right. By telling her you realize she doesn’t run the operation, single-handedly, but...”

  Her nose crinkled slightly as she smiled at the memory. He’d always loved it when she did that. If he hadn’t been holding the pizza, Grant would have slid an arm around her, pulled her close and kissed her. And knowing Rena, she would have let him, even though he topped the list of people who’d hurt her. She could forgive near-strangers their transgressions, but she had every right to expect better from her husband. He’d promised to love and honor her, to make her feel safe, always.

  During those first weeks after Rosie was taken, he’d managed to keep a civil tongue. They were both in shock, after all. But as the months dragged on, and it became clear the cops probably wouldn’t find their girl, he’d let some terrible accusations fly. And Rena had taken them all on the chin. When she’d suggested having another baby, he’d called her selfish for using an innocent child to salve her guilty conscience. Didn’t she realize, he’d demanded, that even if he agreed—and he did not—another child could never replace his sweet girl? His words had cut deep. He knew, because he’d seen the pain in her eyes. And although he’d given her plenty of ammunition to strike back, she hadn’t. Following each attack, he’d spent countless hours rationalizing what he’d said, telling himself that Rena never fought back because she agreed with him.

  But he knew better. It simply wasn’t in her nature to lash out, even in self-defense.

  “She’ll come around,” he said.

  “I intend to do everything I can to make that happen, no matter how long it takes or how many bumps there are in the road.”

  She hadn’t said “try.” He remembered how frustrating it had been for her to listen to anyone say that word. “Either do a thing, or don't,” she’d say.

  “I know you will.” One more reason to
work on loving her again. It shouldn't be all that hard...if he focused on how sweet-tempered and caring she'd always been.

  He shook his head. Get a grip. She’s still the person responsible for the five years you lost with your little girl...

  Standing, he dropped the pizza crust into the garbage. “Think I’ll get ready for bed. We’ll need to get an early start in the morning.”

  “Right. I hear navigating O’Hare's terminals can be torture.”

  Not as torturous as wanting her and feeling like he might never truly have her.

  He looked over at their sleeping daughter. She seemed so peaceful and happy, so innocent and angelic. Wishful thinking? Or did they have reason to hope that was exactly how Rosie felt, now that she was reunited with them?

  He unzipped his bag, removed the deep purple Ravens PJ bottoms, his toothbrush and toothpaste. “I’ll only be a minute,” he said, stepping into the bathroom. Though he knew it’d be longer than that. Lots longer. He needed time. Time to shelve his resentment and focus, instead, on how hard Rena was trying...

  A soft knock at the door ended his reverie.

  “I hate to sound cliché, but you didn’t fall in, did you?”

  Grant opened the door. “Sorry.”

  “It hasn’t been that long, but I didn’t hear anything...water running, tooth-brushing... I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

  He grasped her wrist and pulled her inside. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward the toilet.

  She blinked in surprise and then grinned. “Who would have thought you’d put me on the throne!”

  “Ha ha. Very funny.” He closed the door and leaned against the vanity counter. Arms crossed, Grant said, “I need you to know I’m sorry, Rena.”

  She swallowed. “Like I said, you haven’t been in here all that long.”

  She knew as well as he did why he’d apologized. It was her sweet way of giving him an out, if he wanted one.

  Grant looked at the ceiling, where evidence of a leak had turned the corner tile a sickly shade of yellow. Good thing Rena hasn’t noticed, he thought, or she’d figure out a way to get up there and disinfect the thing. He could almost hear her as she scrubbed away, insisting that they couldn’t be too careful.