by Loree Lough
Interesting choice of words. After their heated exchange, Grant supposed she had every right to be angry with him.
“Listen, Mom and Rosie will be here any minute...”
“Give me a break, Grant. You know as well as I do that I’d never spoil your mother’s birthday dinner. And after the wonderful day Rosie and I had, I refuse to let her see that you and I are...that we’re...that we’re upset with one another. So we’ll table this for now, but you’d better believe we’ll talk about it later!”
He’d never seen her this angry, but after the things he’d said, Grant could hardly blame her. For some reason, last night came to mind, when he’d blubbered like a schoolgirl and she’d soothed him, even though he couldn’t bring himself to say “I forgive you.” Why couldn’t that have come to mind before he behaved like a belligerent bully?
Rena had said she deserved better, and she’d been right.
Chapter Seventeen
SOMETIMES, RENA THOUGHT, sliding the rolls into the oven, living with Grant was like being trapped on a roller coaster. One moment, his behavior was cold and distant. The next, warm and loving. In those brutal months following the abduction, he’d bluntly refused to hash things out with a therapist, leaving her to accept the mood swings as his clumsy coping mechanism. How would he have reacted if their roles had been reversed, and he’d been the on-duty parent that day at the petting zoo? Not well, she told herself. Not well at all.
Until they’d had Rosie, he’d handled every crisis with his unique brand of calm strength. When gale-force winds kicked up by Hurricane Isabel ripped shingles and gutters from the roof and caused a leak that ruined an entire front corner of the house, he’d gone outside in the middle of the downpour to tack a blue tarp over the gaping hole. That time when an elderly woman squealed out of a parking space and T-boned their days-old SUV? He’d pointed out that they’d both be old someday; if they ever caused a similar accident, he hoped their victims would react with kindness and understanding.
Matters relating to Rosie, however, had always sent him careening downhill at breakneck speed: the time she came down with roseola, and her fever spiked to 103 degrees, Rena had thought he’d wear a path in the carpet, pacing until the toddler’s temperature came down again. And what about the fall from the swing at the playground, when she got up screaming, arm bent at an odd angle? Then, the day Rosie tumbled from her tiny two-wheeler, skinning both knees and elbows, he’d wanted to take the bike to the Marriottsville landfill.
The ups and downs had taught Rena to hold on tight. As her dad so often said—during political campaigns, weather-related calamities, and while watching the evening news—“You gotta look at the big picture.” It made it easier to remind herself that Grant was a good and decent man, a loving husband, a doting father. That was what she told herself, over and over, during the worst period of their marriage. Easier, but not easy. Bottling it up hadn’t been good for either of them. Everything she’d told him this afternoon should have been said on the night she’d left for Fenwick Island.
Well, it was out in the open now, and if he didn’t drop the holier-than-thou attitude, Rena would tell him everything else she’d bottled up all these years. The things he’d said today had the power to drive a permanent wedge between them...if she allowed it. Let’s face it, she thought, you love him, warts and all.
“Mom’s here,” he said, carrying a covered cake stand into the kitchen. “She and Rosie are going to play Old Maid while we get dinner on the table.”
“Sounds like fun. You should get some pictures.”
Whether he hadn’t picked up on her sarcastic tone, or chose to ignore it, Rena couldn’t say. But it sure felt good to stand up for herself for a change!
“I’ll take pictures later, when Mom’s blowing out the candles.” He lifted the lid, and winced. “Coconut. Blech.”
“It’s her favorite. When it’s your birthday, I’m sure she’ll bake a chocolate cake.”
He replaced the cover. “Need a hand with anything?”
The oven timer beeped, as if on cue. And instead of her customary, “No thanks, I’ve got it,” Rena said, “You can put those rolls into the basket over there, and bring them to the table.” Maybe if they worked like a team, they'd feel more like one.
He slid open the utensil drawer and withdrew a pair of tongs. “What’s the cheese for?” he asked, pointing at the bricks of cheddar, Muenster and pepper jack on the cutting board.
“It’s an after-dinner snack.” She slid the blade of a knife into one of the wrappers and peeled back the plastic. “A nice change from popcorn.”
He tossed rolls into the napkin-lined basket. “So I’ve been thinking...”
“Oh, great. Lucky me.”
Frowning, Grant continued with, “Thank you. For agreeing to set our disagreement aside until later, when we’re alone. I know you and Mom are close, but—”
“I’ve never shared anything personal with her in the past, and see no reason to start now.”
“Not even during your marathon phone calls while you were on the shore?”
“Especially not then.”
“Hmm...”
“Don’t start, Grant. It’s the truth.”
“But she’s told me you two could spend upwards of thirty minutes gabbing.”
“So?”
“What did you talk about, if not me, and what I did?”
Rena rolled her eyes. “Billions of things happen in the world every day, and most of them don’t revolve around you.”
He winced. “Ouch.”
Really now, what did he expect? That she’d perform a happy little jig, just because he’d said thanks? She wasn’t his trained seal!
“Breathe easy, Grant. Your mother will never guess that anything is wrong between us. I’ll make sure of it.”
Grant stood in the arched doorway between the kitchen and dining room. “How?”
Wiggling her eyebrows, Rena pretended to hold a cigar, à la Groucho Marx. “’Cause I’ve got a million ways to distract her.”
Shaking his head, he disappeared into the dining room. Rena had every intention of sticking to her get-tough guns, but only when Grant forced her into a corner. The rest of the time, she’d treat him with respect and kindness, just as she always had.
Because their relationship—their family—quite literally depended on it.
* * *
GRANT PUSHED BACK from the table and patted his stomach. “You outdid yourself tonight, Rena. That roast was perfection.”
“He’s right,” Tina said. “I’ve never been very good with beef roasts. No matter what I do, they always turn out tough and stringy.” She looked across the table at her son. “Isn’t that right, hon?”
Hands up like a man held at gunpoint, Grant said, “You’ve never heard me complain, have you?”
Tina sniffed. “Only because you’re an advocate of the ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you’ theory.”
True to her word, Rena had kept the conversation going all through the meal, but now quiet fell over the table. “Is everyone too full to have dessert now?” she asked, breaking the silence. “I can serve it later, once our meal has had a chance to diges—”
“Let’s do it now!” Rosie bounced up and down in her seat.
Standing, Rena began clearing the table.
Tina rose, too, and gathered up a handful of silverware.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Rena said. “It’s your birthday. I’ll bring you two some decaf, and you can talk about...”
She didn’t miss Grant’s silent warning.
“...the weather. The news. Rosie’s visit to the school.” She lifted a stack of plates. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“Can I put the candles on the cake, Mom?” Rosie asked.
“That’d be great, sweetie.”
She sprinte
d into the kitchen, and Rena called after her, “No running in the house, Rosie. You could trip and fall!” Turning back to the table, she added, “I made chocolate mousse, if either of you would like some to go with your cake.”
“I’d love some,” Tina said.
* * *
RENA HOPED TINA wouldn’t notice that Grant wasn’t his usual jovial self.
In the kitchen, she found Rosie, precariously balanced on a stool as she tried to get the candles out of the baking supplies cabinet. Heart pounding, Rena stifled a gasp then in one swift move, swept Rosie into her arms and set her back on the floor.
“Standing on a wobbly stool isn’t the best idea, sweetie. What if you fell?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Shoulders raised, she grinned and, in a deliberately innocent voice, said, “Will you get the candles down for me, please?”
Rena stood on tiptoe and grasped the box.
“How many should I use?”
“Let’s see... How about six candles for the sixty, and another five for—”
“I get it. Good idea, Mom.”
Rosie dumped the candles onto the countertop, and as she pressed each into the cake, Rena filled three cups with coffee. Placing them on a tray with the sugar bowl, creamer, and spoons, she said, “You did a great job, sweetie. I love the way you’ve spaced them out.”
“Thanks.” She looked up to ask, “When will I be old enough for coffee?”
Rena picked up the tray. “If you like, I’ll make you a cup to sip with your breakfast tomorrow.” With plenty of milk and a little sugar, the way her own mom had fixed it when she was a girl.
“Really? Cool!”
Rena had nearly reached the doorway when a scary thought stopped her.
“Soon as I deliver this, I’ll come back and light the candles. You’ll be in charge of turning out the lights. Okay?”
“Okay, Mom.”
Mom. The most beautiful word in the English language. She could hear it a thousand times and never tire of it.
When Rena walked into the dining room, Tina was laughing at something Grant had said. “Here you go,” she said, placing cups and saucers beside their plates. “Rosie and I will be right back with the cake.”
“All finished,” Rosie said when Rena returned to the kitchen. “What else can I do?”
Rena tapped a fingertip against her chin. “Hmm... Think you can get everyone a clean fork and spoon and bring them into the dining room?”
She hurried to fulfill Rena’s request. “Don’t bring the cake in there ’til I get back,” she whispered, “so I can go first and turn off the lights.”
“Okay,” Rena whispered back.
As she lit the candles, Rena wondered at how near-perfect her life was. Yes, she and Grant still had a few wrinkles to iron out, but what married couple didn’t? Patience and a whole lot of love would, in time, smooth things out. Maybe continuing their discussion wasn’t such a great idea after all.
Rosie appeared in the doorway, hands clasped and eyes bright. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road!”
Laughing, Rena picked up the cake and followed slowly, guarding the flames with one hand. The instant she stepped into the dining room, Rosie hit the light switch and began singing the birthday song. Grant joined in, and as Rena placed the cake in front of Tina, she sang, too.
When the song ended, Tina blew out the candles and Rena handed her a serving knife.
“Make the first cut, birthday girl, so I can plate it up.”
“I’ll do it,” Tina said. “You need to get that chocolate mousse!”
“Okay, but first, how about opening your presents?”
Rosie disappeared around the corner. A moment later, they heard the sounds of crinkling paper and a slamming door. She appeared carrying a construction paper card, a store-bought envelope, and a gaily-wrapped package that had been topped off with a little-girl-tied floppy bow.
“I made this for you,” she said, handing the card to her grandmother. And as Tina read it, Rosie slid the package closer. “I made this, too.”
“I love this,” Tina said, closing the card. “Now, what’s in here?”
She untied the satiny blue bow and peeled back gleaming silver paper, exposing a picture frame made from popsicle sticks and decorated with red pompoms. Beneath the glass, a photograph of Tina, holding baby Rosie in her lap.
“I found it in Mom’s album, and she said it was okay to give it to you.”
Pressing the frame to her chest, Tina smiled. “I love it. It’s just beautiful.”
“You can put it on your nightstand, so the last thing you see before you go to sleep is me!”
“You know, I was thinking the same thing!”
Now, Rosie handed her the tidy envelope. Tina pulled out a glittery card, which Rena and Grant had signed with birthday wishes, and a gift certificate to attend any production at the historic Hippodrome Theater.
“Kids, this is so generous and...and wonderful!”
“You can bring your friends,” Rosie pointed out. “It’s enough for three tickets!”
As she had with Rosie’s picture frame, Tina held the certificate to her chest. “I love it. Thanks, all of you. I don't even mind that the other kids decided to take that cruise on the Bay!” She waggled her eyebrows at Grant then looked at Rena. “My son can be a generous guy when he wants to be, but he never would have thought of something like this all on his own. So thanks, Rena.”
“We love you, Mom.”
She didn’t often use the title when speaking to or about Tina, but seeing the delight that lit up her mother-in-law’s face, Rena was glad she’d used it just now. She looked past the candlesticks and birthday cake, coffee cups and bowls of mousse separating them, and met Grant’s eyes. She couldn’t get a read on his mood, but unless she was mistaken, his ire had cooled. Rena sat back, content to watch and listen to the loving interactions between him, his mom and Rosie. Their easy rapport made Rena doubly grateful for this life of hers.
It made her think of the tiny cottage on Fenwick Island, with its view of the old lighthouse. Nearly every day, she’d wondered about the lost souls led to safety by its beacon. Wondered what had become of those who hadn’t seen it in time. It had helped her hold on to hope that someday, Grant would want her again.
Tomorrow, she’d call Lilly, tell her to rent the place to someone else, because thanks to Rosie, this lost soul had found her way home.
Things could be better, there was no denying that. But they could also be a whole lot worse. Rena had a happy child—for now, at least—and a loving family. And then there was Grant. Sure, he had faults, but none she couldn’t live with. She had a few warts, herself. And that lends balance to our relationship, right?
Still, there was one thing Rena needed from him that she wouldn’t compromise on: he had to forgive her. Really forgive her. Or none of this would last.
“I need more coffee,” she said, standing. “Either of you want a refill?”
Tina and Grant declined.
Rosie said, “Mom’s gonna let me have coffee with breakfast tomorrow!”
“Oh, she is, is she?” Grant asked.
She couldn’t tell at first if he approved or not. But then he winked at their little girl and said “Well, I guess it’s okay, as long as it’s decaf.”
Wonderful. Now she could sleep, free from fear of his disapproval.
Sarcasm, she thought, wouldn’t solve any of their problems.
But it sure did feel good...once in a while.
Chapter Eighteen
WHEN RENA INSISTED on doing the dishes herself, Grant didn’t put up too much of a fight. She seemed to want her space, and he couldn’t blame her.
He sat in the family room, mulling over their earlier confrontation, searching for ways to justify his behavior. After seeing Rosie at the O’Briens’ and findi
ng out that Rena didn’t know she was there, he’d felt he had to do something. And he’d been right, hadn’t he? How else could he ensure it wouldn’t happen again?
Grant pictured the way she’d reacted to his lecture this afternoon, drawing her shoulders inward, as if trying to fold herself up and disappear. Her usually rosy-cheeked face paled, making her eyes appear twice their normal size. She’d shrunk back, not because he’d scared her, but because he’d demeaned her.
He derived no satisfaction from that. Instead, shame burned his cheeks and swirled hot in his gut. He wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew all kids disobeyed their parents, that from time to time, they snuck away to romp with their friends. On the one hand, he was grateful that Rosie felt secure enough to separate from Rena; on the other, he wasn’t ready for his little girl to spread her wings. He’d believed Rena’s side of things, so why had he continued to lash out at her?
If he was honest, he’d needed to vent his fears and frustrations. What better target than the woman he trusted more than anyone in the world?
Then he remembered the way she’d stepped right up, hands on her hips as she gave every bit as good as she’d gotten. Hard as it had been to be the recipient of her fury, he’d never been more proud of her. Every word had been right on point, and he owed it to her to admit that sooner rather than later.
Grant toed off his shoes, left them beside the recliner and joined her in the kitchen. Rena had already finished the dishes—no surprise there, but a disappointment, because he’d hoped to renew his offer to help out.
Grant noticed right away that she’d changed out of the pretty dress and into black, calf-length leggings and a long white T-shirt. His T-shirt, unless he was mistaken. He must have dozed off for a minute, and that was why he hadn’t noticed her pass through the family room on her way upstairs.
“Sure doesn’t take you long to—”
Rena whirled around and flattened a hand to her chest. “Good grief, Grant, you scared me half to death!”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
That was when he spotted the platter of cheese cubes on the cutting board, the knife in her right hand and a bright red trickle of blood trailing from the tip of her left forefinger to her wrist.
