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 her cross between traditional and rustic style.
“You didn’t need to bring food,” he said.
“Oh, this is mostly stuff for a big country breakfast. I thought...I thought maybe...maybe on the first morning she’s with us...”
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
