Loree Lough - Bringing Rosie Home

“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.

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?