Bringing Rosie Home

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.

And then there was the time when he’d promised to leave work early to take Rosie to her well visit at the pediatrician’s. A full-of-questions client and an accident on the Beltway, he’d all but shouted, were to blame. Not his forgetfulness. It wasn’t until he’d noticed Rosie’s teary eyes that he softened his tone and offered a half-hearted apology.

Stop dwelling on the negatives; there are plenty of good things about Grant...

His love of family gatherings, for one thing. And he’d never admit it, but Grant enjoyed chick flicks almost as much as she did. And what about his fondness for puns? When she brought home a copy of How Weather Works to read with Rosie, he sat down beside them and said, “I’m reading a book about anti-gravity. It’s impossible to put down.” And while replacing the doorknocker on the front door, he’d said, “Bet you didn’t know that the guy who invented this contraption got a no-bell prize...”

The memories should have lifted her spirits. Instead, they woke a deep sadness. Rena hung her head. In the blink of an eye—literally—she’d lost their only child, and the man Grant used to be.

She’d missed him. Missed him during those many difficult months after Rosie was taken. Missed him every day that she’d been gone. Missed him now, even though he was arm’s length away.

“Why so quiet?” he wanted to know.

Rena exhaled. “Just thinking.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot to take in.”

Reaching across the console, he patted her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. “Stop worrying, Rena. We’ll get through it. We have to. Rosie’s counting on us.”

In other words, he’d make the ultimate sacrifice and put up with her...for Rosie’s sake. Oh, how she wished she knew how to make amends so he could see his way clear to forgiving her. How she wished she could get that life-changing moment back...

He maneuvered the car into a space at the airport’s Quick Park, and before she managed to gather her enormous purse and jacket, he’d opened the passenger door. In her hurry to exit the vehicle, she dropped the bag, spilling the contents onto the blacktop.

Squatting, she grabbed a ballpoint, a tube of lipstick, her compact. “Sorry,” she said, stuffing them back into the bag. “I need to remember to zip this stupid thing.”

What was truly stupid, she thought, were the tears that filled her eyes, just as they had in Rosie’s room. And, as he’d done earlier, Grant took a knee and helped her clean up the mess. He got to his feet and held out a hand. Rena hesitated, then let him help her up. His fingers, strong and warm, wrapped around hers, and for a moment, there under the streetlamp, he looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time since she’d left for Fenwick Island.

“You look bone-tired,” he said, shoving the envelope into her bag.

“Wow. Aren’t you good for a girl’s ego.”

One corner of his mouth lifted with the hint of a smile. “Didn’t mean it that way. You’re gorgeous, as always. Just...” His lips formed a taut line as he zipped the bag. “Maybe you can grab a quick nap during our flight.”

In all their months apart, she’d barely slept more than four hours a night. A nap, seated beside him on a crowded plane? Impossible. But as the airport shuttle rolled to a stop behind his car, Rena said, “Maybe.”

Grant slid their suitcases into the luggage rack, then took her elbow and guided her to the only empty seats, all the way in the back of the bus. Last time he’d done such a thing had been when they took Rosie to Disney World weeks before the abduction. Once they’d settled into their seats, he’d pulled Rosie into his lap and, grinning, pressed a kiss to her cheek. Pressed one to Rena’s, too. “Mickey Mouse, here we come!” Judging by the excitement in his voice and the delighted glint in his eyes, one might have thought the trip was for him, not their daughter.

A car pulled out in front of the shuttle, forcing the driver to slam on the brakes...and causing Rena to lose her balance. If Grant hadn’t wrapped a protective arm around her, she’d have ended up on the gritty black floor.

“Idiot,” the driver muttered, then quickly added, “Everybody okay?”

As a chorus of yeses filled the shuttle, Grant continued to hold her. It felt good. Felt right. In a perfect world, she could pretend his reaction meant he still cared for her. But their world hadn’t been perfect in years.

“Thanks. You saved me from skinned knees, or worse.”

Leaning back, he withdrew his arm. “No problem. I would have done it for anyone.”

Yes, he would. Rena’s heart ached a little that he’d felt it necessary to point that out.

“We’ll have some time to kill once we get to the gate,” he said. “Think I’ll call Mom, bring her up to speed on...everything.”

“Good idea. I know how she worries.” Rena looked toward the shuttle’s windshield and added, “How much does she know?”

“Pretty much what we do. That Rosie is in Chicago, and we’re going to bring her home.”

“Southwest,” the driver called, rising to help Grant with the suitcases. “Have a safe flight,” he said, pocketing the bills Grant had pressed into his hand.

Gripping both suitcase handles, Grant led the way into the terminal.

“Here y’go,” he said, handing her the printout of her boarding pass.

She thanked him. “Let me know how much I owe you.”

His eyebrows drew together and his lips formed a thin line. “For Pete’s sake, Rena, You don’t owe me anything. You’re still my wife, like it or not.”

In her mind, she’d always be his wife, even if he filed for divorce.

Side by side, they moved a step closer to the check-in kiosk.

“I just didn’t want to start out on the wrong foot,” she explained.

“You’re not.” His expression softened slightly. “I’m glad you’re here. Don’t know how I’d get through this alone.”

It was the first kind thing he’d said to her in years. Don’t get all moony-eyed. It doesn’t mean there’s hope for a real reconciliation.

He took her boarding pass, and as he poked at the choices on the screen, she thought: It doesn’t mean there isn’t, either.

Chapter Five

“PLANE TAKES OFF in about an hour,” Grant said into the phone. “Just wanted you to know we’re on our way.”

“How does Rena look?” his mom asked. “I talk to her fairly often, but I haven’t seen her since the day she left.”

“She looks good.” He risked a glance over his shoulder to where she sat, flipping through one of the magazines she’d packed. Even from twenty feet away, he could see those long lashes, dusting her freckled cheeks.

“You’re being nice, I hope.”

“Mom. Come on. ’Course I am.” Nice as I can be, anyway, under the circumstances.

“Good. Because whether you admit it or not, what happened isn’t her fault. If I had a dollar for every time you got away from me when you were a boy—”

“You could buy us an order of French fries.”

Tina’s sigh filtered into his ear. Almost from the day he’d introduced them, his mom had thought of Rena as a daughter. Her moving to Fenwick Island hadn’t changed that. If anything, their bond had deepened, thanks to twice-weekly phone calls.

“Just promise me you’ll set aside your hatred and focus on all the good times you two shared before—”

“Mom, I don’t hate her!” he said, a tad louder than intended. Lowering his voice, he continued. “We’re getting along fine. I’m doing everything in my power to be civil.”

“Civil.” Tina sighed again. “That’s not good enough, Grant. She deserves better, and you know it.”

Okay, so Rena had been a good wife, and for the most part, a good mom, too. Not good enough to prevent the kidnapping, but...

“They’ll make the all-aboard announcement soon, and I want to find some coffee and something for us to eat during the flight.”

“Good idea. Get tuna. Rena loves tuna.”

He didn’t tell her that Rena hated the stuff, that she’d only pretended to like his mom’s recipe to spare her feelings.

“Call you soon as I know more.”

“Tell Rena I send my love.”

“I will,” he said, hanging up as he closed the space between him and Rena.

Using her thumb, she marked her page in the magazine. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s good. Excited to see Rosie. Told me to give you her love.”

Nodding, Rena smiled. Not enough to light up those amazing green eyes, but it sure beat the unhappiness that had been there before.

“How ’bout you stay with the bags while I scrounge up something for us to eat. Those puny bags of peanuts they serve on the plane won’t tide us over until breakfast.” He grinned. “Mom suggested tuna for you...”

Rena wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather make do with the peanuts.”

He pointed. “There’s a sandwich shop. You okay with a cheeseburgers and fries?”

“Sure. That’ll work.”

“What do you want to drink?”

“Surprise me.”

She looked so vulnerable in the harsh glare of the overhead lights. It made him want to sit down, wrap her in a comforting hug and remind her what he’d said earlier...that everything would be all right. Because the truth was, he needed the reassurance, too.

Ten minutes later, as they buckled up on the plane, their fingers touched. Hers were cold and trembly, but he resisted the urge to warm them between his own.

“Tell me again what Agent Gonzalez said about Rosie’s checkup?”

She’d crossed both arms over her chest, freeing the armrest for him. Why did she have to be so thoughtful? Didn’t she realize how tough she was making it to stay mad at her?

Grant took a deep breath, summoning patience. “He said she’s fine, physically. Not a scratch on her. And no evidence at all of...” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “...you know.”

She exhaled a shaky sigh.

“The psychologist said it’s too soon to tell if there’s any emotional damage.” He shrugged one shoulder. “But since Rosie wouldn’t talk much about this Barbara person...”

“I liked it better when she didn’t have a name. It made it easier to hate her.”

It seemed to Grant that Rena was thinking out loud, so he continued with the information Gonzalez had provided: after interviewing Barbara Smith’s family and friends, the police had discovered that she’d lost her own child, a girl, when a drunk driver barreled into her car, head-on. According to her sister, Barbara had nearly lost her mind, and isolated herself from her extended family. They'd heard through one of her neighbors that she'd adopted a child—referred to only as Ruby—but the rift had remained. Since Barbara had stubbornly continued to reject attempts at reconciliation, the family had never met the child. If not for the aneurism, Grant and Rena would likely never have seen Rosie again.

“I hope the foster family is nice. She’s already been through so much.”

Grant only nodded. This wasn’t the time or place to point out that if not for her negligence...

“Did the agent know what this...this woman told Rosie? To keep her from calling attention to herself, I mean?”

“She told her that you two went to college together, that you were the best of friends, that we’d asked her to be Rosie’s guardian in case something happened to us.”

Rena gasped. “No...”

He shook his head. “’Fraid so. She told Rosie we were killed in a horrible accident on I-95, and since she was named in our will as the legal guardian...”

“And Rosie believed her. Oh, the poor little thing!” She hid her face behind her hands. “How did she explain that I was right there beside her at that field trip, not in a car on the interstate?”

“She wasn’t old enough to question it.”

“But she asked questions. I’m sure of it. Lots of questions. Remember how we used to laugh at how she could turn any situation, no matter how mundane, into a Q and A session?”

Yes, he remembered, and the image of her upturned, animated little face, eyes wide as she peppered them with things like “Why do dogs’ claws stick out but cats’ don’t?” and “How does the sun know when it’s morning?” nearly brought tears to his eyes.

Rena turned slightly in her seat and looked into his eyes. “Did the agent say anything about photographs? Maybe I’ll recognize Barbara. Maybe—”

“Even if you did, there’s not much we could do with the information now.”

Shoulders drooping, she sat back.

“Let’s keep a good thought, okay? Focus on the fact that Gonzalez said Rosie left him with the impression that she’s a well-adjusted kid.”

“That’s ridiculous. She learned to do and say whatever that crazy woman wanted.” Fingertips pressed to her temples, Rena groaned quietly. “And isn’t it the irony of ironies that, in her little-girl mind, she lost both of her parents and her...and this Barbara person in the span of a few years!” She pounded a fist on the armrest. “It’s a good thing she’s dead because I swear, I’d strangle her.”

“Yeah, well, you’d have to get in line behind me.”

The man in the window seat cleared his throat. Loudly. No doubt the whole thing sounded like a TV crime drama to him.

Grant and Rena exchanged an oops look, and for a moment or two, sat silently, staring at their tray tables.

“Small consolation, I know,” he whispered, “but they have a child psychiatrist—or psychologist, I forget what type Dr. Robson is—on stand-by. I’m sure she’ll explain everything.”

“And have plenty of suggestions about how we’ll need to, for lack of a better word, handle Rosie once we get her home.”

“Well, small consolation at this point, but Gonzalez said he had a good feeling about this case.”

Eyes closed, Rena leaned her head against the seatback. “You know the old saying...”

Grant thought he knew what she’d say. “‘From his lips to God’s ears’?”

“Exactly,” she agreed, her voice a barely audible whisper.

Something his mom had said a few weeks ago came to mind. “You’re not the only one who’s suffering, you know. Rena has been torturing herself with guilt.”

That’s how I’d feel if I’d put some other kid’s welfare ahead of Rosie’s.

Grant ground his molars together. Thoughts like that could only make matters worse. The coming weeks and months would be tough enough; reverting to his former surly behavior would make things unbearable.

* * *

“LEE HAS RESCHEDULED all my client meetings,” Grant said as he steered their grey rental sedan out of the airport lot. “I told her, ‘indefinitely.’”

“And I cleared things with my boss. She assured me I’ll still have a job...if I come back.”

If? Grant shrugged. They hadn’t exactly had a chance to discuss the long-term. He already knew guarding his heart wouldn’t be easy once they started living as man and wife again. How long could he keep it up?

Rena sat quietly, staring out the passenger window for several minutes, then said, “I know you’re still angry with me. I don’t blame you because I’m still angry with myself, and I realize I don’t deserve your understanding and kindness and...whatever, so I really appreciate the way you’ve been treating me.”

How was he supposed to react to that?

“In a quarter mile,” said the British voice of the GPS, “turn right.”

Grant maneuvered onto the off-ramp. So far, he’d done a fair-to-middlin’ job of keeping his feelings in check, but he just wasn’t ready to go there with Rena tonight. Maybe he’d never be ready to get close to her again. In that case, they’d have to find a way to help Rosie understand that they’d always be there, together, for her—even if their marriage ended.

Grant shook his head. How would he explain it to his little girl when he didn’t understand it himself?

The separation had unofficially begun a full year before Rena left for Fenwick Island. It had been her idea to move into the guest room, and while something had told him that if they hoped to salvage what was left of their marriage, he ought to discourage it, he’d let her go. When she suggested moving to Fenwick Island, he’d let her go yet again. Funny thing was, they’d been apart nearly eight months before he’d stopped reaching for her first thing in the morning, to stroke her soft hair, touch her shoulder, run a fingertip down her cheek. Would the old, loving habit resurface once she moved back into their room? In his opinion, she looked her prettiest right after she woke up, with tousled hair and a makeup-free face.