Читать книгу Bringing Rosie Home - Loree Lough - Страница 13

Chapter Three

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. But it’s not for tomorrow anymore. It’s tonight. I figured the sooner we arrive, the sooner we can get our girl home again. Booked us a room at the Hilton, too, walking distance from the FBI office.”

“Makes sense,” she agreed, even though the prospect of sharing a hotel room with him did nothing to calm her nerves. “What about the return flight?”

“We don’t know how much red tape we’ll have to cut through, so we can book that when we get the go-ahead.”

That made sense, too.

“What time is the flight?”

“Midnight. We won’t get much sleep tonight—”

She started to say that seeing Rosie for the first time in all these years pretty much guaranteed it. But a new fear rose up, choking off her words: What if Rosie shared Grant’s opinion of her? What if she, too, blamed Rena for the kidnapping? Heart pounding, she bit her lower lip and willed herself not to cry.

“I got us a room with two double beds and a roll-away for Rosie, just in case we can’t get an early flight out day after tomorrow. Reserved a rental car, too.”

He’d thought of everything. Except saying, “I forgive you” or “We’re gonna be all right.”

What would the three of them talk about? With any luck, the specialist they’d called in to prepare Rosie could provide the answer to that. Something told Rena the doctor would suggest avoiding topics like where Rosie had lived. How she’d lived. But that didn’t stop Rena from wondering. Had she gone to school? Did she have friends? Or had the kidnapper held her in seclusion to protect herself?

“What’s wrong?” Grant wanted to know.

“Nothing, really. Just...so many questions swirling in my head.”

“Yeah, I hear ya. But I’m sure the shrink will give us some guidance. And once we get home, we’ll find her a specialist nearby.”

“Yes, she’ll need all the help she can get. Who knows what sort of things she’s been exposed to, things she’ll need help putting into perspective.”

“We’ll all need all the help we can get.”

“I’d better go. Traffic is building.”

“And it’s against the law to talk on your cell phone while driving.”

She didn’t bother to point out that he’d called her, not the other way around.

“Well, I need to pick up a few things for the trip,” he said. “See you soon.”

With that, he hung up. She could picture him, pausing, hand on the receiver as he eased it into the cradle. He’d probably chosen something casual to wear after changing out of his for-work-only suit and tie. A Henley shirt, maybe, with snug jeans and Dockers. She’d seen more handsome men on TV and at the movies, but Grant’s attractiveness came more from the way he carried and conducted himself than facial features—which were, to be fair, quite striking. Dark-lashed, larger-than-average blue eyes, a broad chin, high cheekbones, and a boyish dimple that showed when he smiled...

She caught herself smiling longingly at the image and cleared her throat. “Stop it, you ninny. Just stop it, right now.”

Rena pictured Rosie, too, a much smaller, more feminine version of her dad. They’d been close. So close, in fact, that from time to time, Rena had to shrug off jealousy that her little girl seemed to prefer Grant to her. No surprise, really, when he’d do just about anything to make her giggle, even if it meant acting like a big goofball, himself. Rena had tried making silly faces and noises and adopting comical postures, but couldn’t quite pull it off. Grant hadn’t minded spending hours in the backyard, either, pushing her on the swing or digging in the sandbox. She remembered Rosie’s last Christmas Eve at home, when Grant tucked her in for the night...wearing a dozen colorful plastic barrettes in his hair.

Oh, he had his faults, to be sure. His tendency to make snap judgements about people, for example, and that way he had of slurping soup and the milk from his cereal bowl. But he’d been a loving, devoted father. A good and loving husband, too.

For his sake, Rena hoped Rosie would pick up where she’d left off, leaping into his arms at first sight of him, climbing into his lap with one of her favorite storybooks, taking his hand to lead him to her latest castle, made from alphabet blocks.

For her sake? She hoped the child wouldn’t hate her for—as Grant had put it—taking her eye off the ball.

Rena had been so lost in thought that she almost missed the exit to Route 50. Slowing to follow the ramp, she estimated her time of arrival: forty minutes, tops. With any luck, Grant would still be out running errands because she wanted a chance to unpack—and peek into every room—while he was gone.

She ran down the short list of things they’d discuss over supper: how long it would take the authorities to verify IDs; what to say to Rosie during those first, all-important moments; whether or not to embrace her.

Grant hadn’t given her any details—where they’d found Rosie, for starters—but then, Rena had been so shocked at the news that she hadn’t thought to ask. Had she escaped, or had the kidnapper grown tired of caring for her? God willing, the parting hadn’t been too traumatic.

Finally, the big green exit sign to Ellicott City came into view.

Finally? What was she thinking? In five minutes, she’d arrive at the house. The one she and Grant had bought together because she’d fallen in love with the white wraparound porch and he’d dreamed of growing a vegetable garden in the backyard. They’d brought Rosie there when she was barely three days old. It was where they’d celebrated birthdays and Thanksgivings and Christmases, surrounded by Grant’s family and hers. And where they’d enjoyed quiet country breakfasts, just the three of them, for no reason other than that Grant and Rosie loved scrapple and pancakes.

Rena made a snap decision to stop at the grocery store just up the road from the house. Grant probably hadn’t had time to pick up the ingredients for an old-fashioned morning meal. But Rosie would feel at home sooner if they went right back to doing what they’d done before she was taken.

When she turned into the driveway fifteen minutes later, Rena saw Grant, arms laden with grocery bags. She parked beside his car, taking care not to ding his still-open passenger door.

“Need a hand with that?” she asked.

“Nah. I’ve got it.” He started up the front porch steps. “You made pretty good time.”

She tried to read his face, searching for proof that he wasn’t happy to see her. She saw none, but he didn’t seem ecstatic, either. Popping the trunk, she retrieved her own bags containing Rosie’s favorite snacks, microwave popcorn, juice and the breakfast ingredients.

The breath caught in Rena’s throat as she followed Grant inside. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said nothing had changed. He preferred sleek, modern designs, but he’d stuck with her cross between traditional and rustic style.

“You didn’t need to bring food,” he said.

“Oh, this is mostly stuff for a big country breakfast. I thought...I thought maybe...maybe on the first morning she’s with us...”

He raised one dark eyebrow, highlighting worry lines that hadn’t been nearly as deep at his grandfather’s funeral. His almost-friendly expression surprised her, and told her that he, too, remembered how much Rosie loved choosing item after item from the food-laden table.

“Ah-ha. Good idea,” he said. “Thanks.”

He didn’t need to thank her, as though she was an ordinary guest in his home who’d offered to help with the dishes. Making Rosie feel at home was just as important to her as it was to him!

Better get used to feeling this way, she thought, hanging her jacket on the back of a kitchen chair.

Rena began putting things away, starting with the bags Grant had dropped onto the table. She had no trouble finding places for everything because, as he’d said, nothing had changed.

Three feet separated the granite-topped island from the pantry, not a lot of space for two people to maneuver. Especially not two people married in name only for so many months. Following a near-collision, Rena expelled a nervous laugh.

Grant, on the other hand, seemed not to find any humor in their predicament. He put down the package of oatmeal he’d been holding and stepped aside.

“Is your trunk still open?”

She felt silly admitting it, even though the neighborhood had never been known for burglaries.

“I’ll grab your bags, then,” he said, “and put them upstairs.”

When he returned to the kitchen, Grant said, “I’ll be in the family room. I have to find something to carry all the paperwork in.”

“I brought my briefcase.” She gestured to where it hung beside her jacket. “Feel free to tuck things in it.”

The eyebrow rose again, telling her he had no intention of going into what might as well be her purse, not even with her permission.

“I’ll just stack the paperwork,” he said. “You can put it away later.”

The tension in here is so thick, you could cut it with a knife, she thought.

Better get used to it. And she’d better figure out how to hide her discomfort from Rosie, because even as a toddler, she’d been sensitive enough to sense when one of her parents had had a bad day.

“Mind if I scout out the house, reacquaint myself with the layout and where things are?”

“Be my guest,” he said, closing the back door behind him.

Guest. That was how he saw her, and it hadn’t been difficult at all for him to say so, flat out.

There couldn’t have been time for Grant to clean the entire house in preparation for her arrival. Old habits die hard, she thought, surveying each tidy room. The sages weren’t kidding when they said, “Once a marine, always a marine.”

Rena left Rosie’s room for last, and as she stepped through the door, her heart pounded. The walls Rena had painted pale gray when she’d turned the room into Grant’s office were lavender again—Rosie’s favorite color. At least it had been. Would she still like it? Mr. Fuzzbottom leaned against ruffled pillows on the bed. Rena picked up the bear and held on tight.

Grant’s attention to detail was amazing, from the location of each stuffed rabbit, puppy and kitten on the bookshelf to the tiny toy chest with Property of Princess Rosie stenciled on its lid. She peeked inside it and saw pint-sized train cars, musical instruments and bright-colored building blocks. Rosie was too old for the toys now, and it made Rena wonder about the clothes she’d packed up.

The bureau stood in the same spot beside the door, but its drawers were empty. So was the closet. Rosie had opinions about her clothes, sometimes strong opinions, Rena recalled fondly, and insisted on helping choose replacements when she outgrew sneakers, snowsuits and sweaters. What would she wear tomorrow and the next day? It wasn’t like they could just buckle her into the car seat, take her to the mall and—

They didn’t have a booster seat suitable for a child her size. How would they get her safely from place to place until they brought her home again?

Overwhelmed by it all, Rena clutched Mr. Fuzzbottom tighter, sank to her knees and gave in to the tears. Rosie had no doubt grown and changed in every imaginable way in the years she’d been with her abductor. Would she even recognize her mom and dad?

“What have I done?” she whispered, sitting on her heels. “What. Have. I. Done?”

“Rena?”

Grant squatted beside her, looking concerned. He placed a hand on her forearm.

“I’m...I’m all right,” she said, swiping angrily at the traitorous tears. “It’s just...” She pointed into the room. “It’s just...it’s just seeing all this after so long...”

He helped her to her feet and she put the bear back where she’d found it.

“You did a wonderful job in here,” she admitted. “Maybe a little too wonderful.”

Standing beside her, Grant nodded. “Think she’ll still want us to sit in the window seat and read to her? It’ll be a tighter squeeze, now, but...”

“Or kneel on either side of her as she says her bedtime prayers?”

Grant exhaled a shaky sigh and pointed toward the dainty hall tree in the corner. “Remember when you sewed her that tutu, for her first dance performance?”

“She hovered like a mother hen the entire time I worked on it...”

“...to make sure you didn’t forget to add the sparkles at the hem.”

“She’s probably outgrown that little table, too, where she hosted tea parties for us and her dolls.”

“We’ll get her a bigger one. A bigger tea service, too...if she hasn’t outgrown her love of tea parties...”

“I have a confession to make, Grant,” Rena said softly.

For the first time since joining her in the room, he met her eyes.

“Oh?”

“When I changed everything and you saw it for the first time, your mom told you I did it for your sake. ‘Get rid of all the reminders, so he can adjust once and for all.’”

“I remember.”

And from the look on his face, it wasn’t a pleasant memory.

“Truth was—is—I was only too happy to pack up the things that were such stark reminders of...of what happened.”

“I know.”

She looked up at him. “You do?”

“Mom told me, the afternoon you left.” He focused on Mr. Fuzzbottom. “Then she told me to go after you.”

Rena waited, hoping he’d explain why he hadn’t followed her. Then again, perhaps she didn’t want to hear him repeat all the angry, hurtful things he’d said that day.

“I should never have left you. If I’d stayed, maybe we could have—”

“Let’s not go there, okay? It’ll be tough enough making this work without dredging up ugly ghosts.” Grim-faced and gruff-voiced, he added, “Your stuff is still in the guest room. I thought you might need something from the big suitcase for tonight. You didn’t take much with you when you left, and I haven’t gotten around to packing up your clothes, yet, so feel free to add what’s in your suitcase to the stuff in your closet and drawers.”

Any “welcome home” his suggestion might have held was doused when he added that stern yet. And it made Rena realize that Grant—perhaps subconsciously—really did see her as a guest in his house. She needed to put a stop to that now, not later.

“I think I’ll leave that chore for the time being and fix us something to eat, instead. That’ll give you time to gather up all the paperwork you were talking about earlier.”

“But I was planning on making us grilled cheese sandwiches with macaroni and cheese and tomato soup.”

One of her favorite quick-fix meals. A gesture of kindness?

“Who knows how many days they’ll keep us in Chicago,” she said. “We’ll be eating deli and fast food for the duration. I’ll whip up something more substantial and healthy.” She took note of his who-do-you-think-you-are expression and added, “You said I should make myself at home...”

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll be in the family room. Holler when it’s ready.”

Rena watched him walk away, the way he had when she announced her plan to leave. She didn’t think it was possible to hurt him that way again. She’d been wrong.