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