by Loree Lough
“Whoa. Jake. Trust me. Things are fine. Rena is fine. Rosie’s fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine.”
He’d grown weary of defending their situation to her family members. Hopefully, his latest speech would put an end to these examinations.
“You’re sure? Because you should know, I’ve always liked you, Grant. I didn’t take sides when Rena left.”
“Meaning...you know why she moved out?”
“She never put it in so many words, but we figured it was because of what happened to Rosie. I’m guessing after a couple months of her moping around, blaming herself, you’d had your fill of it. Told her enough is enough. Deal with things. Get on with life.” Extending both hands, palms up, Jake shrugged. “And knowing Rena, she didn’t like hearing that, so she left.”
Jake had known the girl she’d been. If he really knew the woman she’d become, Jake would realize Rena didn’t give up easily. That she’d done everything humanly possible to hold things together, despite his shameful behavior.
Admittedly, Rosie had been at the heart of their disputes. But if he’d handled things like a man, Rena would have stayed.
“You’re right. I am the reason she left. But not because I was sick of her attitude. Because I caused it.”
Jake looked mildly surprised. “Well. But. Okay. So maybe you said a few things you shouldn’t have. But who’d blame you? Sounds cold, but let’s face facts. She wasn’t the only one suffering. What happened affected the entire family. No one more than you.”
Playing devil’s advocate, are you, brother-in-law?
“Not to discount what she went through or anything.” Jake put his hands in his pockets. “I know you won’t tell her I said all that. She already has enough on her shoulders without thinking her own brother turned on her.”
In his attempt to prove he hadn’t taken sides against Grant, Jake had painted himself into a corner. Grant felt a little sorry for the guy. “Mum’s the word.”
Jake nodded toward the house. “That cake looked pretty good. Think I’ll grab a slice before Emma decides it’s time to get the kids home and into the tub.”
Rena’s homemade chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. Knowing how much Grant liked the recipe, she’d always made it to celebrate his birthdays, promotions, their anniversary and every time he signed a new client to the investment firm. All of a sudden, though he’d wolfed down two burgers, a hot dog and sides, Grant wanted a piece of that cake.
“Must be a big adjustment,” Jake said as they neared the deck.
“What’s that?”
“Well, you were a bachelor for all intents and purposes, for what, three years?”
Five years since the kidnapping, three and a half years since the separation, Grant thought. But who’s counting?
Jake used his chin to point at Rena. “And now you’re a full-time husband again. With a nine-year-old kid. A lot has changed, y’know?”
“Not that much.” Rena was still his wife and Rosie would always be his little girl. Jake was right, but Grant saw no purpose in admitting it.
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “So you never gave a thought to divorce? Starting over?”
“Not really.”
“Yeah? Then how do you explain that all-legs blonde I saw you with a year or so ago?”
He could only think of one woman who fit that description. “That was Eileen. She’s a partner at the firm. Married, with three kids. Trust me, that lunch was strictly business.”
Grant looked up, saw Linda eying her eldest son. Had she sensed trouble? She’d predicted Zach and Carla’s divorce long before they announced the bad news.
“I think your mom has something to tell you.”
Jake groaned and hung his head. “Sheesh. Help me think of something to explain what we were talking about.”
He slung an arm over Jake’s shoulder and walked him toward the deck. “Sorry, pal, you’re on your own this time.”
Hours later, with the family gone, he and Rena headed upstairs. Hair piled atop her head in a high ponytail, she’d donned a knee-length white cotton nightie and white socks. Another woman might look frumpy in a getup like that. Not Rena.
“I think I’ll read until I get sleepy,” she said, dropping onto the big chair beside the bed. “Unless the light will glare onto the TV screen.”
“It won’t.” He leaned closer to get a better look at the book. “I heard that has a pretty intense storyline,” he said, reading the title. “You’re not worried it’ll give you bad dreams?”
Rena’s gaze slid from his hand to his face. “It’s a novel.”
“And?”
“I’ve never had any trouble separating fact from fiction.”
There was a look in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before. Apprehension, maybe, with a tinge of anger. The women had spent a long time in the kitchen. Had she been on the receiving end of a cross-examination, too?
“Had a couple of interesting conversations lately,” he began.
She placed the book on the end table and turned to face him.
“Oh?”
“With your mom and dad—separately—when they were here for the weekend. And today, with Jake.”
“And these...conversations... Did my name come up?”
“You, m’dear, were at the heart of it all.”
Eyes closed, she inhaled a deep breath. “Oh, great. Just what you needed.” She met his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything that led up to today.”
Meaning if she hadn’t lost Rosie, they’d never have split up, and the reunion—with all the questions it aroused—wouldn’t have been necessary.
“Times like these, I wish you were more self-centered.”
“What!”
“No, seriously. Hear me out.” Grant scooted closer. “If you thought more about yourself and less about everybody else, you wouldn’t be so quick to take the blame for...for everything.”
She bit her lip.
“You aren’t, you know,” he continued. “To blame for everything, I mean.”
“True. I can’t be held responsible for today’s humidity. The country’s political climate isn’t my fault, either...”
“Be serious, okay? I’m trying to apologize here.”
“You? For what!”
He didn’t quite know how to take that. Had she meant to imply that apologies weren’t in his nature?
“I’m sorry, Rena. For all the ugly things I said. For every unfair accusation.”
“So you can be a hothead. So what. I’ve never been one of those people who does something stupid then looks for ways to blame others for it. I hope I’ll never be one of those people. I’m fully aware of what I did, of what it cost all of us.”
“Hon, I meant it when I said it’s ancient history. How many times do you need to hear that?”
Lips and eyes narrowed, she said, “Until you can honestly say you forgive me.”
Grant had half expected her to apologize for dredging up the topic that made him so uncomfortable. For making him echo those tired old reassurances, yet again. But he hadn’t expected her to say that.
The quiet tick of the mantel clock reverberated in the otherwise silent room.
She’d never asked anything of him. Not when they were newlyweds, struggling to make ends meet. Not when her friends showed off big houses and new cars. Not when his job demanded late hours and put the household chores on her shoulders. Not even when lengthy business trips left her solely responsible for Rosie’s care.
Rena had asked him to honestly forgive her. But he’d done that. Hadn’t he?
The clock counted off another minute.
If he’d said it, she wouldn’t have asked him to repeat it.
Grant leaned into the sofa’s cushions and stared at the ceiling. How hard
would it be to say those words? Say them so she believed he meant it? Because he did mean it.
Didn’t he?
Somehow, he had to find a way to clear his head of that call from Detective Campbell, telling him that his three-year-old child had been abducted while her mother stood not five feet away. That, he decided, had always been the sticking point. No matter what else he told himself, Grant’s mind always zeroed in on the cop’s rough voice, telling him what no parent wanted to hear.
Rena hadn’t heard those words. She’d been there in the thick of it. And when he showed up on the scene, and she ran to him for comfort...
Grant grimaced, remembering how he’d held her at arm’s length. If the place hadn’t been crawling with cops, TV cameras and spectators, he might have let her have it with both barrels.
He grimaced again, because despite telling himself, over and over, that she’d been a good wife and a terrific mother, that had taken a back seat to his belief that if she'd been on the ball that day...
She deserved the truth. She’d earned the truth. But he had some work to do first—on his attitude and the reasons for it—before he could deliver.
Another minute clicked by.
“Rena...” Grant managed to get her name past his lips, but nothing more. Maybe at some point between the kidnapping and now, he’d lost his mind. How else was he to explain that he loved this woman more than life itself, yet couldn’t give her the only thing she’d ever asked of him.
“It’s all right. I understand.”
It was the same sweet, tender voice that had soothed Rosie when she woke with a bad dream.
“Don’t torture yourself,” she added.
She’d turned her head, no doubt hoping to keep him from seeing the tears shimmering in her big eyes. Rena had been so strong and brave, even during those first hours after Rosie went missing. She’d held it together because he couldn’t. Only when the house was dark and she thought he was asleep had she released her pent-up heartache, night after night. Grant didn’t think he’d ever heard grief like that, so raw and deep that her sobs, muffled by the pillow, shook the bed. As her sorrow poured out, he’d lain stiff and silent on his own side of the mattress, so lost in his own misery that he couldn’t bring himself to comfort her.
Grant squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. If only he could put aside all the bad feelings to do right by her.
Rena got up and sat beside him, and it wasn’t until she gently wiped the tears from his cheeks that he realized he was crying. She wrapped her arms around him and began to rock to and fro. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s okay. You’re fine. We’re fine.”
Burrowing his face into the crook of her neck, he inhaled the soft scent of her skin. “I...I’m glad you’re here.”
How pathetic was he, Grant asked himself, that he could say anything except “I forgive you.”
Chapter Fifteen
AFTER AN HOUR of tossing and turning, Grant decided to get up. He slipped into the shirt he’d hung on the bedpost earlier and padded downstairs.
In the kitchen, he debated whether to have a piece of cake or a slice of pie. Neither seemed the smart choice, especially since he wasn’t the least bit hungry.
So he opened the back door, wincing when it released its usual high-pitched squeal. Tomorrow, after he got home from work, he’d take care of that. For now, he chose to let it stand ajar rather than risk waking Rena or Rosie by shutting it all the way.
The sticky July air had cooled considerably since the family left. The deck chairs glistened with dew, so he leaned into the railing and stared into the yard. A cloud slid in front of the moon, leaving just enough light to cast shadows on the precise rows he’d mowed into the lawn that morning. “Looks like the field at Camden Yards,” Rena had said when he finished.
The grass was cool and damp under his bare feet, and made quiet hissing sounds as he made his way deeper into the yard. He needed to take care where he walked, because Zach had brought Barney, his German shepherd pup to the get-together. He’d promised to clean up the dog’s droppings, but Zach being Zach, he’d probably overlooked a few. And wouldn’t that just top off the night.
Should’ve grabbed the flashlight on your way out, he thought. Not only to look for Barney’s leavings, but to zero in on whatever had ducked under the shed earlier. As he neared the back fence, the aroma of Rena’s roses grew stronger. His mom was a die-hard member of the garden club, but not even she tolerated the pricks and scratches of caring for roses the way Rena did. She had endless patience with the plants, spritzing them with special chemicals to prevent black spot and kill aphids. He’d done his best to preserve them while she was gone, but his heart just hadn’t been in it. Three of the eighteen shrubs she’d so lovingly planted had died. Rena hadn’t said anything about it, but Grant knew she’d noticed.
The tree frogs quieted as he drew closer to the big oak, and the owl that made its home in the white pines behind the shed stopped hooting. “Sorry to disturb you, guys, but don’t worry. I won’t be out here long.”
What exactly was he doing, standing in the middle of his yard at two in the morning, wearing nothing but boxers and a button-down shirt talking to the wildlife?
A mosquito buzzed his head. He waved it away and turned, made his way back to the deck and lit a couple of the citronella candles Rena had positioned on the tables. Surrounded now by the acrid scent, he felt an immediate calm.
Until something furry brushed his bare leg. He’d been in the Marines long enough to stop himself from jumping up or flinching. Grant looked down into the green-eyed face of a calico cat.
“Hey, girl,” he said, extending a finger. The cat sniffed it, then sat on its haunches, satisfied, for the moment at least, to look at him.
“I say girl, ’cause I hear only one percent of calicos are males.”
Squinting, the cat loosed a prickly meow.
“Laryngitis?”
Silence. And then it licked its lips.
“Hungry?”
Another peculiar meow.
“If you don’t mind leftovers, I’ve got a burger inside just waiting to be eaten.”
He could almost hear his mom, warning him never to feed a stray. “You’ll never get rid of it,” she’d probably say. “Besides, it’s probably riddled with fleas and ticks. God only knows what you might catch from the scraggly beast.”
When Grant returned to the deck, he half expected the cat to be gone. But there it sat, exactly where it had been when he went inside. He pinched a bean-sized chunk from the patty and, dropping it into his upturned palm, held it near the cat’s face. When the burger was gone, he straightened and wiped his hand on his boxers.
“So,” Grant said, “mi jardin es su jardin?”
Again, silence.
“I take it you don’t speak Spanish. Allow me to translate—‘My yard is your yard.’”
The cat licked its lips again.
“Thirsty?”
More silence.
Grant went back inside and came out carrying a small bowl of water. Mere moments of quiet slurping and the bowl was empty.
He made himself comfortable in the nearest chair, propped an ankle on a knee. Even in the dim glow of the candles, he noticed the cat’s matted fur. A chunk missing from one ear. What appeared to be a slow-healing wound on her right foreleg. And a distinct crook in the tip of its tail. Still, clean and brushed, she was probably a decent-looking animal. Tomorrow, if she was still hanging around, he’d find a box and transport her to the vet’s office on Route 108. Howard County boasted a no-kill shelter. Once the poor thing had a bath—and whatever else the vet saw fit—he’d bring it there. It was the least he could do.
Yawning, Grant stood. “Sorry, cat, but six a.m. comes early. Feel free to cozy up under the shed. There’s a bale of hay under there, left over from my seeding frenzy last fall. But you p
robably already know that.”
As if she’d understood every word, the cat made her way toward the shed, stopping a few yards from the deck to glance over its shoulder. Something about her lost, lonely, tentative look reminded him of Rena...
He closed the door behind him, grimacing again at the ear-piercing squeal, then locked up and tiptoed through the family room on his way to bed.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Rena asked from her seat on the family room sofa.
“What’re you doing up?”
“I’ll blame the chocolate cake so close to bedtime.”
Grant sat on the edge of the cushion farthest from hers. “Maybe that’s my problem, too. It’s weird... I’m exhausted but not the least bit sleepy.” He looked over at her. “I don’t remember feeling this way after other family gatherings.”
“We’re older now.” She smiled. “We have limitations.”
The air conditioner kicked in, and as cool air pumped out of the vent above his head, Grant shivered. He could warm up in no time if he moved closer to Rena...
“Rosie and I need to be at the school by two. If you can, why not meet us there?”
Grant mulled that over for a minute and decided that if he couldn’t say “I forgive you” the least he could do was show some faith in her.
“I’ve got a new client coming in,” he said, “so I doubt I can get away in time. But you can handle things with the principal and guidance counselor. You can tell me all about it over supper.”
She only nodded. Then, after a while, Rena said, “What were you doing outside?”
Grant shook his head. “Darn that squeak. I’ve been meaning to oil that door for months. Tomorrow, it gets done.” He raised a hand, as if taking an oath. “For sure.”
“Did the fresh air help calm you?”
“Not even a little.”
Her soft laughter warmed him. Not as much as snuggling close to her might, but it would do. For now. He'd never loved small talk, but tonight, it felt right. Comfortable.
He considered telling her about the cat, but thought better of it. No sense worrying her about a possibly diseased animal infecting their girl. On the other hand...
