Bringing Rosie Home

by Loree Lough

  “What I’m sorry for, Rena, are all the ugly things I’ve said to you.”

  Her green eyes widened and sparkled in the fluorescent light. She licked her lips. Took a deep breath. Sat up as tall as her five-foot-two-inch frame would allow. He could hardly blame her for feeling uneasy. The apology had been a long time coming. And she had no reason to believe its sincerity.

  “I understand. It’s all right,” she said slowly, quietly.

  “See? There you go again, making excuses for bad behavior.”

  She stared at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap.

  “I just wanted to get that out in the open, so you’ll believe me when I say I’m going to work with you on this. We’re in it together, for better or worse.”

  When she met his eyes, Grant held his breath. Oh, to have mind-reading powers. He would give anything to know if she’d zeroed in on his “better or worse” comment. Was she wondering why he hadn’t paid more attention to that, years ago?

  And did she realize how beautiful she looked, sitting there in her peach-colored dress and matching shoes? If she kept staring at him that way... It made him want to draw her close and kiss away all the sadness and bitterness of the past few years. A lot of water had rushed under the proverbial bridge. Enough water to rock its foundation?

  “What did you think about Robson’s suggestion, that we tell Rosie the truth?” Grant asked. He’d made his opinion clear, but Rena’s lack of response hadn’t escaped his notice.

  “About our separation? Absolutely not! She isn’t ready for another shock, especially not so soon.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” He uncapped the toothpaste, squirted a line onto the bristles.

  “I’ll give you some privacy,” she said, opening the bathroom door.

  A mere two feet separated them. One sideways step and—

  She tiptoed into the hall. “Don’t rush on my account. I’m fine.”

  Grant sped it up anyway. He still had a lot of thinking to do, but he could do it in bed. It wasn’t likely he’d sleep at all tonight. A good thing. He needed to figure out how to keep his promise—to cooperate on every level—without taking advantage of her loving, giving character. Or getting hurt himself.

  Because much as he’d missed her, much as he loved her, Rena was still the reason he’d lost so many years with his Rosie-girl.

  * * *

  IN THE MOMENTS it took Rena to come fully awake, she didn’t know which disturbed her more, Rosie’s quiet moans or the distance between her and Grant. She’d grabbed his extra pillow and clutched it to her. A pathetic substitute for his arms?

  Rena shook her head and slipped slowly from the bed, wincing when its springs squeaked, and went to her deeply sleeping daughter’s side.

  A slice of brightness from the parking lot lights slipped through a gap in the curtains, illuminating one side of Rosie’s face. Brow furrowed and lips pursed, she issued another quiet moan.

  Rena pulled the covers higher then sat on the edge of the mattress. “What are you dreaming about, sweet girl, to put such a look on your pretty face?” she whispered, finger-combing nearly-blond bangs from the child’s forehead.

  Rosie’s frown deepened as a quiet whimper passed her lips.

  “Shh, honey. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be home, sleeping in your own bed. No need to worry anymore because your dad and I will take care of you.”

  Rosie stirred, and Rena froze, concerned that she’d disturbed the girl’s much-needed sleep.

  Then Rosie extended her arms, as if inviting a hug. And Rena was more than happy to oblige. She lay down beside her and drew her close, pressing tender kisses to her temple, her forehead, her cheek. Snuggling closer, Rosie buried her face in the crook of Rena’s neck. The sound of her steady breaths brought thankful tears to her eyes. “Oh, how I love you, Rosie-girl,” she said on a sigh.

  How ironic, Rena thought, that she and Rosie had both reached out for warmth and comfort during the night. It seemed wrong that Grant had no one to offer the same solace to him.

  Then, a startling question surface in her mind: What if Rosie had been reaching out for Barbara? Would it upset her, upon waking, to realize whose arms had cradled her as she slept?

  Eyes shut tight, Rena willed the possibility from her mind. Not a difficult feat, if she allowed herself to focus on the treasure wrapped in her arms.

  * * *

  ROSIE MUTTERED QUIETLY in her sleep. If Grant had been sleeping deeply, himself, he probably wouldn’t have heard it at all. He looked her way, saw that she lay perfectly still, and decided not to nudge her awake.

  Rena rolled close to the edge of the mattress. So close that he caught a whiff of her lavender-scented shampoo. The familiar scent was strangely soothing and took him back to a time when he'd loved the way she smelled, fresh from a shower...and right before they fell asleep in one another’s arms. He smiled a bit at another memory... Rena, rolling her eyes at a young couple giving in to a very public display of affection. “They’re trying too hard to make others think they’re so in love that they can’t keep their hands off each other.” She’d stood on tiptoe and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “Aren’t we lucky? We show our affection for one another...in private.”

  She hadn’t exaggerated.

  Warmth rushed through him. He blamed too much time alone, too many months of missing her for his intense reaction to her nearness. Her fingers, splayed across her pillow, brought back yet another recollection; if things were good between them, that delicate hand would lie on his chest, instead.

  She stirred, then stiffened. Probably sensing that she’d inched so close to the edge of her mattress that she risked ending up on his bed. Then, as though his fretfulness had woken her, Rena tossed her covers aside and slid out of bed.

  “What are you dreaming about, sweet girl, to put such a look on your pretty face?”

  So, he thought, she’d heard Rosie’s whimpers, too...

  Silhouetted as she was by light from the parking lot below, he could see her tuck the covers under their daughter’s chin and smooth wayward locks back into place. He couldn’t make out what she said next, but there was no mistaking her last words: “...no need to worry anymore, because your dad and I will take care of you.”

  Then Rosie’s arms lifted, and Rena lay down and filled them. He could watch with eyes wide open now because her back was to him. And what a picture! Grant smiled to himself.

  Singing softly, Rena stroked their girl’s hair. He recognized the tune as one Rosie had asked her mother to sing when she wasn’t feeling well.

  He’d forgotten what a lovely voice she had, but remembered well that Rena’s songs had the power to soothe and calm.

  And then all was silent, save the tick of his wristwatch on the nightstand. Good, he thought, they’re both sleeping peacefully.

  It dawned on him that Rena had nothing to keep her warm. He got out of bed and gathered up the blanket from her cot and eased it over her.

  She exhaled a soft sigh and snuggled deep into its warmth, momentarily capturing his hand between her chin and the blankets. Oh, how tempting it was to lie down beside her and embrace them both.

  Get a grip. What if Rena woke to find him there, and recoiled from his touch? They couldn’t risk Rosie seeing something like that.

  He needed to get control of his emotions. Otherwise he wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through the next days...weeks...

  He’d manage. What choice did he have?

  “We’re not so naïve as to believe this will be easy,” she’d told Robson.

  Grant scrunched the too-soft pillow and burrowed into it. “When you’re right, you’re right, Rena,” he whispered.

  She’d reassured him when upcoming exams left him feeling dumber than a block of wood, nursed him back to health the year he came down with pneumonia, tended him after he’d rolled d
own a ski slope and broken his leg. For as long as he’d known her, Rena had been right there beside him. He’d been proud to call her his wife, but never more proud than when she tucked that tiny pink-blanketed bundle of energy into his arms that rainy night in May.

  Drowsiness settled over him and he closed his eyes, knowing even before he drifted off to sleep that she’d be in his dreams.

  Chapter Nine

  FOR DAYS, ROSIE talked about her first-ever plane trip. The minuscule bathroom, the comical guy who taught passengers how to buckle their seat belts, the pretty flight attendant who gave her a faux gold pin. She wore it for more than a week, on T-shirts and sweatshirts, and if Rena hadn’t pointed out that the wings could scratch her, Rosie would have worn it to bed, too.

  She loved running back and forth between their house and Tina’s, usually leaving home with a favorite stuffed animal and returning with cookies, brownies or fudge. During meals, she entertained Grant with knock-knock jokes and silly faces. At bedtime, she amazed them with sweet, childlike prayers, and woke them with an off-key rendition of the “Good Morning” song. And many times a day, she delighted Grant with surprise hugs.

  It hurt Rena like crazy, watching Rosie interact with Grant, while sharing none of the sweet gestures with her. Though she pretended not to notice how deliberately Rosie ignored her, Rena was determined to mention her concerns at their first meeting with Dr. Danes.

  The psychologist spent forty minutes alone with Rosie, but during the time allotted to her and Grant, Rena grew impatient. Why was he so determined to learn about their childhoods when the only childhood that mattered was Rosie’s!

  “I can see you have something on your mind, Mrs. VanMeter. Care to talk about it?”

  “I just think we should be talking more about Rosie and less about us.”

  “Good point,” Grant said.

  Danes nodded. “I see. Anything specific that concerns you?”

  “For one thing, Rosie only mentions Barbara to let us know what she cooked, or which books she read to her, that she believed student-teacher ratios in public schools are horrible, that TV is the ruination of today’s youth.”

  Grant said, “Rena is right. Good or bad, Barbara was pretty much the only person Rosie interacted with. Shouldn’t she be...shouldn’t she be mourning her death?”

  Danes nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll be honest. That day is coming. No doubt about it. But for now, I see no reason to kick up dust.”

  Rena couldn’t believe her ears. “Kick up dust! What does that mean?”

  Grant sent her a look that said, “easy, now.” Their relationship had improved considerably in the past couple weeks, due in large part to Rosie’s antics and mostly happy mood. Too often, though, when he thought she wouldn’t notice, he watched her through narrowed, suspicious eyes, as if waiting for her to say or do something that might put Rosie in harm’s way.

  Now he leaned forward. “Sorry if we seem thickheaded, Dr. Danes, but how are we supposed to prevent problems if we don’t know what to look for?”

  “You can’t. Eventually, Rosie will come to terms with what happened to Barbara. Children don’t cope with grief in the same way adults do. Add to that the fact that she’s been through a lot of changes in a short period of time. In a word, she’s overwhelmed. She’s still processing, learning what does and doesn’t please you, teaching herself ways to fit in her new environment. Sooner or later, she’ll feel comfortable enough—and she’ll trust you enough—to deal with her past.”

  He walked around to the front of his desk and leaned against it. Rena frowned. What was it with psychiatrists and their penchant for perching?

  Danes removed his glasses. “At that point, you may see changes in her behavior.” He counted on his fingers. “Spending more time alone in her room, bursting into tears for no apparent reason. She might sulk, or lash out at you. Those will be signs that she has questions, but doesn’t know how to ask them.” Using the glasses as a pointer, Danes added, “That’s when you’ll need to coax information from her. Not by mentioning Barbara’s death, mind you, because that may not be the cause of the new behavior.”

  Grant blew a stream of air through his teeth. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying we play the waiting game, keep a close eye on her, and if she starts acting out—or even looks like that’s what she’s doing, we get her to talk.” He slapped a hand to the back of his neck. “I don’t mind telling you, doc, that sounds counterproductive. Why not just sit her down and ask her how she’s doing with the whole losing Barbara thing, and deal with it in an honest, straightforward way?”

  “My house is for sale,” Danes said.

  Rena and Grant exchanged a curious glance.

  “My Realtor loves to say ‘location is everything.’ Well, in cases like this, timing is everything.”

  Grant shook his head. “I thought that’s what actors said about comedy.”

  Arms crossed, Danes said, “Mr. VanMeter, I realize that you and your wife are under a lot of stress, too, but I’m sure you’ll agree that our main goal is helping Rosie deal with her past and adjust to her present.”

  Rena knew that look. Grant’s frustration had just about reached its height. Any minute now, he’d jump up and leave the office. If that happened, he’d stubbornly refuse to return, which meant finding another therapist. And yet another change that wouldn’t be good for Rosie.

  “We’re just confused,” she interjected. “Say too little, Rosie pays the price. Say too much—or at the wrong time...” She extended her hands, palms up. “What we need from you, Dr. Danes, is applicable advice. Without that, we might as well flounder around on our own.”

  The doctor pressed his palms together. “Do you realize what’s just happened?”

  Again, Rena and Grant exchanged a puzzled look.

  “You got back together to present a united front to Rosie, and from what she has told me, it’s working.” He smiled. “This exchange makes that even more clear. Your reactions show me that you’re true partners in this.”

  Partners. Would she and Grant find their way back to the beginning, when they’d been that for each other? Or had too many hurts and disappointments, too many harsh words and resentments ruined what they'd had? They’d shared a few lighthearted family moments since Rosie’s return, and yet, crossing that bridge seemed an unlikely dream...until the memory of Grant, tenderly covering her with the comforter, surfaced.

  Danes returned to his chair, rousing her from the daydream.

  “She’s going to be fine,” he said, “with you two looking out for her.” He tapped his watch. “On that note...”

  This was Rena’s chance. “I have another question, Doctor. It’s about the way Rosie has been treating me. She isn’t rude, exactly, but for the most part, she pretty much ignores me. Do you feel, as I do, that it’s because she blames me for the kidnapping?”

  Danes frowned. “It’s definitely possible. Although, it might give you some relief to know she didn’t say anything of that sort when I spoke with her.”

  Rena didn’t understand, and said so.

  “When I asked how you two are getting along, she told me you’re a hard-working mother, preparing meals, keeping the house and yard tidy, making sure she wears clothing that’s appropriate for the weather.” He paused, his frown deepening. “I suppose that could mean that Rosie realizes it isn’t in her best interest to point out any negatives about you.”

  “That’s what it could mean?” Grant scowled.

  “You’ve noticed this behavior, too?”

  “I’d have to be deaf and blind not to have noticed, Doc.”

  “And what are you doing to make your wife a part of things that you and Rosie do?”

  Now, he looked annoyed. Because he didn’t believe he should be responsible for Rosie’s behavior? Or because he felt bad that he hadn’t done enough to include Rena?

&nb
sp; In place of an answer, Grant stood and made his way to the door.

  “Will we find Rosie in the playroom?” he asked.

  “Yes. She’s with Meredith, who’s conducting a few tests. Soon as I’ve had a chance to study the results, she and I will devise an action plan. I’ll call you so we can discuss how I believe we should proceed.”

  Muttering something about plans and proceedings, Grant walked into the playroom. The doctor stared after him in bewilderment. Why should we be the only ones who are confused? Rena thought. It seemed a shame Grant hadn’t been there to enjoy the moment.

  “Same time next week?” she asked.

  “I’ll have Meredith call you with some days and times.” He patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mrs. VanMeter. Rosie is going to be fine. Barbara did a terrible thing, taking her from you—there’s no getting around that. But it appears she did a fair-to-middlin’ job of caring for her. Resent her if you must—that’s a normal reaction—but at the same time, acknowledge that things could have been a whole lot worse.”

  A myriad of dark possibilities flitted through Rena’s brain. Danes was right. Rosie had come home to them without any obvious physical or mental scars. Rena’s loathing for Barbara lessened slightly.

  Danes nodded toward Grant and Rosie. “Your family is waiting for you...”

  Her family. Oh, how she loved the sound of that! Rena looked over her shoulder and saw them, standing hand in hand, Grant grinning and Rosie doing her best to fake a smile.

  * * *

  DANES MUST HAVE mentioned something about school during his meeting with Rosie, because the whole way home, she asked about Sentinal Lane Elementary.

  “Do they have sports, like soccer and softball?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll ask when we’re getting you signed up.” Rena had done some online research and learned there would likely be tests to determine whether Rosie belonged in fourth or fifth grade. Athletics hadn’t even crossed her mind.