Читать книгу Bringing Rosie Home - Loree Lough - Страница 15

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 everything 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.

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.