He raised one dark eyebrow, highlighting worry lines that hadn’t been nearly as deep at his grandfather’s funeral. His almost-friendly expression surprised her, and told her that he, too, remembered how much Rosie loved choosing item after item from the food-laden table.
“Ah-ha. Good idea,” he said. “Thanks.”
He didn’t need to thank her, as though she was an ordinary guest in his home who’d offered to help with the dishes. Making Rosie feel at home was just as important to her as it was to him!
Better get used to feeling this way, she thought, hanging her jacket on the back of a kitchen chair.
Rena began putting things away, starting with the bags Grant had dropped onto the table. She had no trouble finding places for everything because, as he’d said, nothing had changed.
Three feet separated the granite-topped island from the pantry, not a lot of space for two people to maneuver. Especially not two people married in name only for so many months. Following a near-collision, Rena expelled a nervous laugh.
Grant, on the other hand, seemed not to find any humor in their predicament. He put down the package of oatmeal he’d been holding and stepped aside.
“Is your trunk still open?”
She felt silly admitting it, even though the neighborhood had never been known for burglaries.
“I’ll grab your bags, then,” he said, “and put them upstairs.”
When he returned to the kitchen, Grant said, “I’ll be in the family room. I have to find something to carry all the paperwork in.”
“I brought my briefcase.” She gestured to where it hung beside her jacket. “Feel free to tuck things in it.”
The eyebrow rose again, telling her he had no intention of going into what might as well be her purse, not even with her permission.
“I’ll just stack the paperwork,” he said. “You can put it away later.”
The tension in here is so thick, you could cut it with a knife, she thought.
Better get used to it. And she’d better figure out how to hide her discomfort from Rosie, because even as a toddler, she’d been sensitive enough to sense when one of her parents had had a bad day.
“Mind if I scout out the house, reacquaint myself with the layout and where things are?”
“Be my guest,” he said, closing the back door behind him.
Guest. That was how he saw her, and it hadn’t been difficult at all for him to say so, flat out.
There couldn’t have been time for Grant to clean the entire house in preparation for her arrival. Old habits die hard, she thought, surveying each tidy room. The sages weren’t kidding when they said, “Once a marine, always a marine.”
Rena left Rosie’s room for last, and as she stepped through the door, her heart pounded. The walls Rena had painted pale gray when she’d turned the room into Grant’s office were lavender again—Rosie’s favorite color. At least it had been. Would she still like it? Mr. Fuzzbottom leaned against ruffled pillows on the bed. Rena picked up the bear and held on tight.
Grant’s attention to detail was amazing, from the location of each stuffed rabbit, puppy and kitten on the bookshelf to the tiny toy chest with Property of Princess Rosie stenciled on its lid. She peeked inside it and saw pint-sized train cars, musical instruments and bright-colored building blocks. Rosie was too old for the toys now, and it made Rena wonder about the clothes she’d packed up.
The bureau stood in the same spot beside the door, but its drawers were empty. So was the closet. Rosie had opinions about her clothes, sometimes strong opinions, Rena recalled fondly, and insisted on helping choose replacements when she outgrew sneakers, snowsuits and sweaters. What would she wear tomorrow and the next day? It wasn’t like they could just buckle her into the car seat, take her to the mall and—
They didn’t have a booster seat suitable for a child her size. How would they get her safely from place to place until they brought her home again?
Overwhelmed by it all, Rena clutched Mr. Fuzzbottom tighter, sank to her knees and gave in to the tears. Rosie had no doubt grown and changed in every imaginable way in the years she’d been with her abductor. Would she even recognize her mom and dad?
“What have I done?” she whispered, sitting on her heels. “What. Have. I. Done?”
“Rena?”
Grant squatted beside her, looking concerned. He placed a hand on her forearm.
“I’m...I’m all right,” she said, swiping angrily at the traitorous tears. “It’s just...” She pointed into the room. “It’s just...it’s just seeing all this after so long...”
He helped her to her feet and she put the bear back where she’d found it.
“You did a wonderful job in here,” she admitted. “Maybe a little too wonderful.”
Standing beside her, Grant nodded. “Think she’ll still want us to sit in the window seat and read to her? It’ll be a tighter squeeze, now, but...”
“Or kneel on either side of her as she says her bedtime prayers?”
Grant exhaled a shaky sigh and pointed toward the dainty hall tree in the corner. “Remember when you sewed her that tutu, for her first dance performance?”
“She hovered like a mother hen the entire time I worked on it...”
“...to make sure you didn’t forget to add the sparkles at the hem.”
“She’s probably outgrown that little table, too, where she hosted tea parties for us and her dolls.”
“We’ll get her a bigger one. A bigger tea service, too...if she hasn’t outgrown her love of tea parties...”
“I have a confession to make, Grant,” Rena said softly.
For the first time since joining her in the room, he met her eyes.
“Oh?”
“When I changed everything and you saw it for the first time, your mom told you I did it for your sake. ‘Get rid of all the reminders, so he can adjust once and for all.’”
“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