Bringing Rosie Home. Loree Lough
Drive safely, Rena,” he said, and hung up.
She sat in Martha’s waiting room, still as a statue, as tears filled her eyes. By this time tomorrow, she’d get to hold her sweet daughter in her arms again. Rosie was alive. Rosie was alive!
“Must have been some phone call,” her therapist said, poking her head out of her office.
Rena knuckled her damp eyes. “It was Grant. He said...he said they...they found Rosie.”
Martha walked over and sat beside her, sliding an arm across Rena’s shoulders.
“Oh, Rena, that’s wonderful news!”
“She’s in Chicago. I don’t know any of the details. Except that Rosie is talking to a child specialist right now, so that by the time we arrive, she’ll be somewhat prepared. We decided to present a united front. I’m moving back into the house to make the transition easier for her.”
“Grant’s idea, or yours?”
“His, but I agree.”
Leaning back slightly, Martha said, “That’s a lot for him to ask, don’t you think, after the way he treated you?”
“I’m not fooling myself. I know it won’t be easy, especially not at first, but I’ll do whatever it takes to help Rosie adjust to being home again. It’s the least I can do after...”
Martha held up a hand, effectively silencing the self-deprecating comment that would follow. “How old is she now?”
“She turned nine three weeks ago, on May 5.”
“And she was three when she was taken?”
“Almost four.”
Martha pointed out that Rosie had no doubt changed a lot in all that time. “Are you ready for that?”
“I haven’t really had time to wrap my mind around the news yet. But thankfully, I’ll have hours and hours to think about it.” During the drive to Ellicott City. On the plane to Chicago. And of course, tonight, after she retreated to the guest room...
“I was heading home, but I can stay if you want to talk.”
Rena got to her feet. “Thanks, but I need to get home and pack for the drive to Maryland.”
Martha stood, too. “Things are happening fast. If you need me, just call.”
Nodding, Rena dropped her phone into her purse and started for the exit. “Thanks,” she said. Martha wouldn’t hear from her again, but this wasn’t the time or place to discuss why. “That’s nice to know.”
* * *
GRANT HADN’T REALIZED how much he’d missed the sound of her voice. Even with the shock of hearing this news, Rena had been calm and quiet. One of the things he’d admired most about her had been her ability to maintain her composure, even during the most stressful moments.
Like the time Rosie fell off the swing and broke her arm. He’d totally freaked out, but Rena had kept her cool and orchestrated a trip to the ER for X-rays, told jokes and made silly faces while the tech set the bone and wrapped Rosie’s arm in a cast. And the day he’d nearly electrocuted himself trying to add a circuit breaker to the electrical panel. He’d thought surely he’d bought a one-way ticket to heaven, but her soft, reassuring voice was all it had taken to make him believe he’d be fine.
Fine. It was what she said when he’d asked how she was, and what he’d said when she returned the question. In truth, he’d only felt this frazzled on one other occasion: the day Rosie went missing.
Because Rena had been paying more attention to somebody else’s kid than to their little girl.
He felt a little crazy, waffling between loving her still and despising her for putting them in the middle of every parent’s worst nightmare.
In all fairness, he hadn’t suffered that nightmare alone. Guilt had tormented Rena, turning her from a confident, lively young mother into a jumpy, sleep-deprived woman who burst into tears at the drop of a hat. And he hadn’t made things easier for her.
But then, was it his fault that the only reason the nightmare began was because she’d been too busy minding Rosie’s classmate to notice a stranger carrying their only child away?
Grant looked at the clock. She’d be here in an hour, two at most. Not much time to get his head straight. And he’d need a clear mind to cope with having her home again. Why in the world had he suggested that she spend the night? Anything, anything for Rosie, she’d said. Still, tonight it would just be the two of them, alone for the first time in three long years.
Shaking his head, he headed to the guest room. Last time he’d checked, there were clean sheets on the bed. Other than a little dust on the furniture, things looked fine. He put a stack of fresh towels in the guest bath, then ran a dust rag over the headboard and footboard, the dresser and night stand.
“Might as well vacuum the family room, too,” he muttered, heading for the linen closet. And while he was at it, Grant would figure out what to make for supper.
Tonight would be a cakewalk compared to tomorrow. Hopefully tidying up and preparing the meal would get his mind off...everything.
Such as what she’d look like now? Taller. Weightier. Had the kidnapper cut her hair? Dyed it to ensure no one would recognize her from the photos that had flashed on every TV news broadcast, nationwide? What had the abductor put his little girl through?
Don’t go there, he told himself. Because thoughts like that would only make him more angry and resentful of Rena. He was determined to behave like a gentleman tonight. Tomorrow, too. And every day until Rosie had grown fully accustomed to her new life. No matter how long it took.
She’d remembered her address and phone number. His full name and Rena’s. Did she remember how much she’d been loved and treasured, too? He hoped so, because that would go a long way to assuring a quick shift from her life in Chicago to life in their peaceful Baltimore suburb.
None of it would be necessary if Rena hadn’t dropped the ball that day. What kind of mother...
But he’d been down that road a couple hundred times, and all he had to show for it was an overblown resentment of his wife.
How did he expect to share a meal, the house, day-to-day life with the woman who’d upended his whole world?
Grant didn’t know.
But for Rosie’s sake, he intended to try.
RENA HAD NO way of knowing how long she’d be gone, so she packed a colorful cloth carry-on bag for the trip to Chicago, and a huge suitcase of clothes to stow at the house. She slipped her laptop and e-reader into her briefcase, too, since chances were good that conversation between her and Grant would be severely limited once Rosie was tucked in each night. Her boss at the hospital had been more than understanding, and promised that there would be a job waiting for her whenever she returned.
She turned from 146th Street onto Coastal Highway, hoping her neighbor wouldn’t assign the plant-watering, mail-gathering chore to her teenage son. Being greeted by dead philodendrons and late notices sure wouldn’t make returning any easier.
Rena glanced into the rearview mirror and saw the eighty-foot, conical Fenwick Island lighthouse. The beacon had guided many sailors safely to shore and should have been a symbol of safe harbor. Instead, it had always reminded Rena of the separation between her and Grant.
Her cell phone chirped as she merged onto Highway 404.
“Rena,” Grant said when she answered. “Where are you?”
“I should be there in about an hour. Why? Did you have trouble booking the flight?”
“No.