Bringing Rosie Home

by Loree Lough

  “I’d better go. Have a client meeting in ten minutes and need to review the file.” Another pause, and then, “What’s for supper?”

  “Oven fried chicken, baked potatoes and salad.”

  “Mmm...”

  “See you tonight, then.” She’d just given him the perfect opening to say it. But would he? She heard the rustle of paper—he’d opened the file.

  “Right. See you tonight, babe,” he said before hanging up.

  Rena stared at the handset for a second. How long had it been since he’d called her that? Years, that’s how long! Heart fluttering, she returned the handset to its charger, telling herself that Grant hadn’t meant it. He’d only said it because he’d been distracted, fallen back into their old routine.

  As she’d warned herself the other night, when things seemed too good to be true, they usually were.

  Chapter Eleven

  GRANT CARRIED HIS in-laws’ suitcases to the guest room. After opening the blinds and adjusting the air conditioner vents, he checked to see if Rena had put fresh towels in the adjoining bathroom. He wasn’t surprised to see that she had, but wished she hadn’t. Doing the job himself would have killed a few more minutes before he had to join them downstairs.

  Since the separation, he’d had no contact with the Reynolds. Grant had no idea how much Rena had told her folks about her reasons for moving to move to Fenwick Island, but if their standoffish attitudes were any indicator, the couple that had been like second parents to him had crossed him off their favorite son-in-law list.

  No surprise there. Didn’t all parents take their kid’s side? He got that. But it wouldn’t make it any easier to deal with the couple who probably saw him as the unreasonable bully who had driven their daughter from her own home. If that was how they felt, Grant could hardly blame them; from time to time, he felt the same way.

  Kent, Linda, Rosie and Rena were sipping iced tea at the kitchen table when he joined them.

  “Everything all right?” Kent asked.

  “Sure. Fine. Why?”

  “Took you a while to stand a couple of suitcases into the room. I thought maybe one of them had fallen open. Linda has a tendency to overpack.”

  He ignored the man's suspicious tone and sat between Rosie and Rena. “Nothing like that. Just thought I’d check to see if you had clean towels, an extra blanket, stuff like that. But Rena had already taken care of everything.”

  “That’s our girl,” Linda said.

  Rena went to the fridge for the pitcher of iced tea and filled a glass for him. “Help yourself to one of your mom’s brownies,” she said, sitting beside him again. “She brought them over this morning.”

  “She’s coming tonight, though, right?”

  “Grandma made brownies for her meeting, and saved a few for us. She’s bringing pie tonight,” Rosie explained.

  Grant breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least he’d have one guest in his corner.

  “So, Grant,” Kent said. “How are things down at the office?”

  He might as well have been talking to someone he'd just met at a cocktail party, instead of the guy who'd married his daughter.

  “Great. Fine. Added a new associate to handle the growing client load. Hired a full-time receptionist, too.”

  “I hope the other partners aren’t working you too hard.” Linda looked at Rosie. “You’re needed at home more than ever, you know.”

  “No place I’d rather be,” he admitted. “But we still need to pay the bills. And we have Rosie’s college tuition to think of, of course. Rena and I decided it’s best if she stays home, for a while anyway. And I agree.”

  “Oh, so do I,” Linda said. She blanketed Rosie’s hand with her own. “This little angel deserves all the one-on-one she can get.”

  “What’s one-on-one?” Rosie wanted to know.

  “Time and attention,” Grant explained.

  “Why do I deserve that?”

  Because she’d been stolen from them, kept from them for years. And now that she was home, they’d deliver love, time and attention in spades for the rest of her life. No matter how uncomfortable it was for them.

  He draped an arm across the back of her chair. “You deserve it, Rosie-girl, because from the moment you were born, Mom and I have seen you as a gift from heaven, and we love you more than life itself.”

  During those first harrowing days after her return, she’d looked at Rena with cold indifference. She flashed that same vacant stare in her grandmother’s direction now, and peripheral vision told him that Rena had seen it, too. Was she placing some of the blame for what happened at the zoo on Rena's mother...wondering if the woman had done a better job, Rena would have, too?

  Had Dr. Robson been right, that clearing the air about the kidnapping, about her years with Barbara, would be good for Rosie? Grant didn’t think so. But even if the psychiatrist’s assessment had been accurate, this was neither the time nor the place to do it.

  Rosie leaned her head on his shoulder, and he moved his arm from the chair back to her shoulders.

  “I never forgot you, you know.” She flicked a quick look in Rena’s direction. “Either of you.”

  Rena, eyes closed, exhaled a brief sigh. “That’s good to hear, sweetie.”

  Her wavering voice told Grant that Rena was trying to stifle tears.

  Linda got up, added ice to her glass. “Can I get anything for anyone else?”

  “I’m good,” Kent said. “Don’t want to spoil my appetite. My taste buds are achin’ for a hot dog. Haven’t had one since last summer.”

  “You asked for beanies and weenies just last week,” Linda corrected. Her nervous smile did little to mask her discomfort.

  “Few things beat a hot-off-the-grill dog.” He winked at his granddaughter. “Isn’t that right, Rosie!”

  She sent him a shy smile and said, “Right.”

  “I hope you chopped plenty of onions,” he told Rena.

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I remember what you like.”

  “You have sweet pickle relish?”

  “Yup. And spicy brown mustard, too.”

  “Good girl!” Eyes on Rosie again, he added, “What say you ’n me go out back and put that ol’ swing set to the test.”

  Rosie turned to Rena. “Can we?”

  “Sure.”

  He knew this woman almost as well as he knew himself. She wanted to draw Rosie close and dot that sweet face with kisses. He would have bet his next paycheck on it.

  “Just don’t swing too high, okay?” Rena said instead.

  “Party pooper,” Kent said, taking Rosie’s hand.

  “It’s hot out there,” Linda called after them. “Don’t let her get overheated, Kent.”

  When the door closed behind them, Rena’s mother finished her iced tea. “Well,” she said, standing, “I think I’ll go upstairs and hang up a few things.”

  Yet again, relief rushed through Grant. “Make yourself at home. If you need anything, just whistle.”

  And now it was just the two of them in the quiet kitchen.

  Rena dumped ice cubes into the sink, then stood the glasses on the dishwasher’s top rack. “That was a little too close for comfort.”

  “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”

  “I’ve tried to keep them up on things without going into too much detail.” She slid the pitcher back into the fridge. “No sense giving them more to worry about than necessary.”

  “Think they caught that look Rosie gave you?”

  She hung her head. “If they did, you can bet Mom will ask me about it, first chance she gets.”

  “You’re probably right.” He joined her at the sink and rested his hand on hers. “Then I promise not to leave you two alone.” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Not even for a minute.”

  Grant tamped the urge
to kiss her lips. These past few days, she’d seemed a little distant. Near as he could figure, the change—from cheerful to quiet—began that night when she’d kissed him. He hadn’t been expecting it, and blamed that for his less than enthusiastic reaction. Still...too much, too soon? Or had the moment of closeness—and his lack of response—made her realize it was too little, too late?

  * * *

  “WHEN DO YOU want me to start the grill?”

  She glanced at the clock above the sink. “I need to put a tablecloth on the deck table and make some lemonade. I forget, how long does it take to warm up the grill?”

  Rena knew the answer to that as well as he did. Until the separation, she’d been the grill master of the house.

  “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. I haven’t had the cover off the thing in years. Guess I should make sure we have enough propane.”

  “And that nothing has decided to call it home,” Rena added. “Remember the year wasps built a huge nest on the grates?”

  “How could I forget? I felt like a pincushion for a week afterward.”

  She remembered well how long it took to dot anti-sting medication on each welt. “You were covered with red welts. Good thing you’re not allergic.”

  He opened the pantry door and scanned the shelves for his barbecue tools, then around the doorframe. “Where’s the burger flipper? And dog tongs?”

  She placed buns on a tray, added napkins, ceramic plates and silverware. “Hanging on the wall beside the light switch, I imagine.”

  Right where they’d been the entire time she was gone, no doubt.

  Placing the tools onto the table, he peered into the fridge. “Wow. Potato salad, coleslaw, baked beans...” Straightening, he grinned. “What’s this, practice for when we have the whole family over on Sunday?”

  “You know me too well.”

  “I doubt anyone’s going to want pizza later. Not after chowing down on all this.”

  “Popcorn and hot chocolate, then. And if someone gets a hankering, I have a couple of pizzas in the freezer.”

  “The little ones that Rosie loved when she was...little?”

  It surprised her that he’d remembered. Rena had always reserved those for when he worked late or went out of town on business. “Yes.”

  He parted the white cotton back door curtains. “She’s having a ball out there. Your dad will have sore muscles in the morning, though, after pushing her on that swing all this time.” Grant looked toward the stairs. “Guess your mom decided to take a nap.”

  “A nap?” She clucked her tongue. “Have you met my mom? The only time I ever saw her nap, she had a temperature of 102.”

  One hand on the doorknob, he faced her. “Forgot to tell you. I moved all those bags of stuff you gathered up for the charity truck. Put them in my trunk. Out of sight, out of mind. You know, for your mom’s own good.”

  Last time her parents spent a weekend—years earlier—her mother had given in to her usual urge to snoop. She’d peeked into the upstairs hall closet, where Grant had stacked storage bins and boxes of Christmas decorations. A loud clatter brought them running from opposite sides of the house. No one, not Kent or Grant, not even two-and-a-half-year-old Rosie had believed her when she said, “I thought I saw a mouse...”

  “Good. Thanks.” Rena had spent every evening collecting items for donation. She’d thought clearing old stuff out of the house would help give them all a fresh start—and the task was proving to be a good excuse to keep a safe distance between her and Grant after Rosie had gone to bed.

  He opened the door, and she stopped him with “Grant?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is it just me, or does Rosie seem a little...quieter than usual?”

  “Ah. Because of that look earlier?”

  She shivered at the memory of it. “Yes, that. But for the past couple of days, I’ve noticed her just sitting, staring into space, no emotion on her face at all. Once, I walked past her bedroom and she was lying on the floor, hugging Mr. Fuzzbottom and gaping at the ceiling.”

  “Now that you mention it,” he said, “I caught her stomping around the pool, fist-punching the air, looking like she was mad at the world. When I asked her why, she got this guilty look on her face and said, ‘I hate mosquitos.’”

  It might mean nothing. Rena hoped it meant nothing. But something told her that was too much to expect. “Maybe the other shoe is about to drop.”

  “Rena.” He dropped his big, gentle hand onto her shoulder. “Quit worrying. She’s made it this far. She’ll make it the rest of the way, too. Besides, if she needs to vent, well, that’s what we’re here for, right?”

  True enough, but... “I’ve kept her pretty busy. What if she feels there’s no good time to get things off her chest? Or she’s too distracted to process?”

  He gave her a quick, sideways hug. “Nah. It’s good that you’ve been taking her places, doing things with her. She’s settled in here, so well that sometimes, I almost forget...”

  Grant’s expression changed from warm and understanding to cool and emotionless. He made his way back to the door.

  She handed him the iced tea pitcher. “Can you carry that out for me? I’ll bring some plastic cups out in a minute, in case they’re thirsty.”

  “Sure,” he said dully. Then he gathered the grilling tools in his free hand and went outside.

  Rena cupped her elbows and hung her head. Since reuniting with Grant and Rosie, she’d rarely entertained the guilty thoughts that had shadowed her all these years. On the occasions when self-blame reared its ugly head, she’d tried to tell herself all that mattered was that Rosie was back. Rena wanted Grant to forgive her, but would she ever forgive herself?

  “Not if I live to be a hundred,” she muttered.

  “What’s that, honey?”

  “Oh, hi, Mom. Didn’t hear you come in.” Rena didn’t want to talk about the kidnapping, or the years Rosie had been away from them. Or Grant. She hoped a quick hug would distract her mother. “I’m so glad you and Dad are here!”

  “We’re glad, too.”

  She had that maternal I’ve-got-your-number look on her face, so Rena quickly added, “Did you find everything you needed up there?”

  “Yes. And the room is just as lovely as I remembered it. Nothing like big windows and a southern view, you know?”

  Rena smiled and opened a kitchen drawer, pulled out a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. “Soon as I plate up the hot dogs and hamburgers for Grant, we’ll set the table.”

  “All right.” Her mother lifted her chin. “But I have to say, you’re not fooling me, young lady.”

  “Fooling you? What do you mean?”

  “We’ll talk about it later. We wouldn’t want to start anything we can’t finish, now would we?”

  Unless she was mistaken, the two of them would be up late tonight. Rena needed to come up with something to tell her that would allay her suspicions about the reconciliation.

  Hiding her face in the fridge, Rena took her time gathering the hot dogs and the burgers she’d pattied earlier. Placing both on the counter, she said, “There’s a serving tray on the bottom shelf of the pantry. Would you mind getting it for me?”

  Linda sighed. “All right,” she said again.

  And thankfully, that was all she said.

  Balancing the tray on one hip, Rena opened the door and was met by her teary-eyed daughter. Kent and Grant hovered nearby as Rena slid the tray onto the counter and got onto her knees.

  “Rosie, sweetie, what’s wrong?”

  “I-I-I got a-a sliver!” she cried, holding up one thumb.

  Rena cradled Rosie’s small hand in hers and inspected the injury. With a little luck, the child wouldn’t notice Rena’s own hand trembling. It worried her that Rosie seemed near-hysterical over a little splinter. She’d always been a calm kid. Tears, yes. But sobb
ing? “The kid is tough as nails,” Grant used to say when she skinned a knee or stubbed a toe.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. Just a tiny wood chip, and it’s easy to see. Getting it out will be easy as pie.” She got to her feet. “C’mon,” she said, taking Rosie’s other hand, “let’s get you all fixed up.”

  She led Rosie into the powder room and sat her down on the toilet seat as Grant and her parents gathered in the hall. After placing a towel on the girl’s lap, Rena dampened a washcloth and gently blotted her daughter’s tears. Then, unscrewing the cap on the peroxide bottle, she said, “This might sting a little. Close your eyes tight and hold your breath...”

  Rosie’s nose wrinkled and her brow furrowed as Rena dribbled the antiseptic over the splinter.

  “There, now. That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

  The girl sniffled. “I guess not.”

  Well, at least the sobbing had subsided.

  Rena reached into the medicine cabinet and grabbed the tweezers. Pouring peroxide over the tool, she said, “Wow. You’d think they were the ones with the splinters!”

  Rosie looked from Linda to Kent to Grant, then back to Rena. “I’m not a baby. You can’t distract me that easy. I want to watch.”

  From the corner of her eye, Rena saw Grant shift his weight from one foot to the other.

  “So how did you get the splinter, Rosie-girl?”

  “From the apple tree. Didn’t you see me up there? I climbed halfway up before...” Eyes wide, she studied Rena’s face. “Hey, it’s out already.” She grinned. “Good job, Mom!” One hand in the air, she waited for Rena to high-five her.

  Using a second washcloth, Rena gently washed her daughter’s hand, then drizzled a few more drops of peroxide over the wound. A little antibiotic ointment and a Hello Kitty bandage, and Rosie was good as knew. “Now, let me kiss that boo-boo, and you can go outside and play.”

  “I’m not a baby,” she repeated, standing. “Are you coming?”

  Rena began putting things back where they belonged. “In a little while,” she said with a smile, “but stay out of the apple tree for now, okay?”

  Rosie ran outside, followed closely by her grandparents.