A kidnapping shattered their family...

Rena and Grant VanMeter lived every parent’s worst nightmare when their preschool daughter was abducted. Riddled with guilt and hoping time apart would help them heal, Rena made the hardest decision of her life. But stunning news reunites her with Grant. Rosie has been found.

Putting up a united front for their child’s sake isn’t as easy as they thought. Grant hasn’t forgiven Rena for taking her eyes off Rosie for a few critical seconds. And Rena has yet to forgive herself. But their little girl needs them more than ever...

LOREE LOUGH once sang for her supper. That space reserved in pubs for “the piano lady”? Well, that’s where she sat, strumming her Yamaha in cities all over the United States and Canada. Now and then, she blows the dust from the old six-string to croon a tune or two, but mostly, she writes. She feels blessed that most of her stories have earned four- and five-star reviews, but what Loree is most proud of are her Readers’ Choice awards.

Loree and her husband live in a Baltimore suburb and enjoy spending time at their cozy cabin in Pennsylvania’s Allegheny Mountains (where she has nearly perfected her critter-tracking skills). They have two lovely daughters and seven “grandorables,” and because she believes in giving back, Loree donates generously to charity (see the full list at www.loreelough.com).

Loree loves hearing from her readers, some of whom have become lifelong friends! Find her on Facebook, Twitter or Pinterest.

Also By Loree Lough

By Way of the Lighthouse

The Man She Knew

Those Marshall Boys

Once a Marine

Sweet Mountain Rancher

The Firefighter’s Refrain

A Child to Love

Raising Connor

Devoted to Drew

Saving Alyssa

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Bringing Rosie Home

Loree Lough

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08087-3

BRINGING ROSIE HOME

© 2018 Loree Lough

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“Ready?” Grant grasped the knob as Rena squared her shoulders.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Grant opened the door to the playroom. And there she was.

Our Rosie.

Grant squatted down to her height. “Hey there, kiddo,” he said.

Rosie looked at each of them in turn, as a slow smile lit up her face. Grant held out his arms, and Rosie ran to him. “Daddy, Daddy, oh, Daddy...”

Through her tears, Rena could see that Grant’s eyes were moist, too.

“Ah, my sweet Rosie-girl,” he said, holding her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you.” Bracketing her face with his big, strong hands, he stared into her eyes. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“I’m happy to see you, too!”

He turned slightly, held out a hand to invite Rena closer. “Go ahead, sweetie, give your mom a big hello hug.”

Oh, how it hurt that Rosie only moved closer because of Grant’s gentle nudge! Rena wrapped her arms around her daughter, willing herself to appreciate the momentary contact, to ignore the way Rosie stood, arms pressed tight to her sides, stiff as a statue.

Rena turned her loose and feigned a smile. Hands on the tiny shoulders, she said, “I missed you, sweet girl, missed you so much!”

The child’s blank stare shook her to the core.

Dear Reader,

I’m sure that every time you hear about a missing child, your heart breaks a little, just as mine does. Our instinct is to protect the little ones, so we put our faith in first responders, search and rescue personnel and their well-trained dogs...and God. Our grief is palpable when the worst-possible scenario unfolds, but we’re overjoyed when parents are reunited with their child.

Such is the story of Rena and Grant VanMeter, whose little girl was kidnapped at age three. Imagine their grief, compounded by the separation that seemed their only avenue to respite.

Then, five years later, the lead detective calls to say “We found her!”, upending their world yet again as they reunite...for Rosie’s sake.

Through hard work, acceptance and forgiveness, Rena and Grant realize the love that brought them together in the first place is still very much alive, and as the family heals, their future looks promising. Sadly, that isn’t the case for too many of the families that experience similar shattering losses. (Case in point: the family whose story served as my inspiration for Bringing Rosie Home.)

My prayer for all missing children is that they will return, safe and unharmed, to the loving arms of their parents. I pray just as hard for fractured families that never find their way back to shared happiness. And I pray that none of us will ever be touched by such searing pain.

Wishing you well in all you do,

Loree

This story is dedicated to those whose loved ones have gone missing, and to the once-missing individuals who have been found.

May they all know the comfort and peace

of home, wherever they are.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Huge and heartfelt thanks to all those who provided insights, opinions and information that helped lend authenticity to this story: the helpful employees of Baltimore’s Child Protective Services office, FBI agents Donald McCarthy and Paul Reagan*, pediatric psychiatrists Ron Abrams and Sue Robinson, detective Jack Royer, Adele and Phil Morrison* (whose son went missing in 1995), and Donna Ryan*, whose once-missing daughter was returned to her loving arms in 2001. (* = names changed at individuals’ request.)

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Extract

Chapter One

AS SHE’D DRESSED this morning, Rena had decided this would be her last session with Dr. Hutchinson. Two years of therapy, and what did she have to show for it? A smaller bank account and dozens of wasted hours, that was what. And the psychologist hadn’t brought her little girl back. Or saved Rena’s marriage.

But the analyst surprised her, shifting her line of questioning from Rosie’s kidnapping to Rena’s relationship—or lack thereof.

“How are things with Grant?” Martha asked.

They’d been separated over three years now, ever since Rena had taken her mother-in-law’s advice and turned Rosie’s room into a home office for Grant. When he saw it, every ugly thought and accusation he’d kept to himself had poured out, and when Rena had realized it was her presence—not sparkly tiaras, dolls and Teddy bears—that reminded him of that awful day, she’d offered to leave.

And he’d done nothing to stop her.

“We haven’t spoken in months.” Not since his grandfather died and he’d called to ask if she wanted to attend the services.

“Do you ever regret leaving?”

Only every day! Yes, Grant had allowed bitterness and blame to turn him into a surly, brooding man, but Rena remembered well the man he’d once been. The man he’d still be if she hadn’t taken her eyes off Rosie that day at the zoo.

“It was the right thing to do,” she said.

“For Grant? Or for you?”

“Both of us. Living under the same roof with the person responsible for what happened to Rosie... I don’t blame him for anything.”

Rena held her breath, partly to keep from remembering how it felt to have her sweet little girl beside her one minute and gone the next.

“We were both miserable.”

“Still,” Martha injected, “I wish he’d consider seeing someone. It might help him come to terms with it, and admit, finally, that it wasn’t your fault. That it could have happened to anyone.”

They’d been over this a dozen times. Maybe more. Rena didn’t feel much like repeating that she’d go to her grave feeling guilty for taking her eyes off Rosie during the field trip.

“But it didn’t happen to anyone. It happened to Rosie, because of me.”

Martha sighed. “I think you know what I’m going to say to that...”

Rena was about to admit that yes, she knew, and that pretending she wasn’t to blame only made it hurt more. But her cell phone buzzed.

Rena glanced at the number.

“Sorry, but I have to take this. It’s my... It’s Grant. Our hour is almost up, anyway, so...”

Rena was almost out the door before Martha said, “See you next week.”

No, she wouldn’t. But there wasn’t time to get into that now. Later, she’d call and cancel all future appointments.

“Hello?”

“Rena. I have important news. Are you sitting down?”

His voice sounded hoarse, deeper than usual. When she’d spoken with his mom a few days ago, Tina had complained about a dizzy spell. Grant was aware that she and his mother had stayed in close contact, and to his credit, had never said or done anything to discourage it.

“Is Tina all right?”

“She’s fine. Sends her love.”

Rena exhaled a breath of relief. She cared about her mother-in-law almost as much as her own mother. But if he hadn’t called about Tina’s health...

“Heard from Burt Campbell this morning.”

The detective who’d been assigned to the kidnapping case before FBI Agent Gonzalez had stepped in. Heart pounding, she made her way to the nearest bench and sat down. A call from Campbell could mean just one thing: after all this time, they’d finally found her little girl’s body.

“He got a call from the Chicago police.” Grant cleared his throat. “They’ve found Rosie. Alive.”

Chapter Two

WHAT A CRUEL joke it would be if it was someone else’s little girl.

“Are they... How can they be sure it’s Rosie?”

“She gave them our names,” Grant said. “Our address. Her preschool teacher’s name. Told them she called her favorite Teddy bear, Mr. Fuzzbottom. They sent me pictures, too. I’ll forward them to your cell. It’s our Rosie. No doubt in my mind.”

Our Rosie... She hadn’t heard him use that phrase since—

“I’ll make reservations and let you know when our flight takes off.” He paused. Cleared his throat. “If you want to come with me to Chicago, that is.”

“Of course I want to!”

Another pause, long enough this time that she was about to check if the call had been dropped.

“I’ll go home right now, dig up the paperwork. Rosie’s birth certificate. Her immunization records. Photographs. Our passports...”

Rena had left so quickly that day, more than three years ago now, that she hadn’t even thought to grab her birth certificate and passport. But the Chicago police would need proof that she and Grant were who they claimed to be.

“Rosie is speaking with a pediatric psychiatrist now,” Grant continued. “By the time we get there—I’m thinking midafternoon tomorrow at the latest—she’ll be prepared for the fact that we’re coming to take her home.”

Home. The house they’d shared since the day after their honeymoon, and the only place Rosie had ever lived...until the abduction. And where accusations and arguments pushed Grant and Rena apart even before she moved to Delaware’s Fenwick Island.

“I, ah, I think for the time being you should plan to stay at the house. Maybe you can stop by tonight, before we leave for Chicago, so you can unpack, make it look like you never left. Spend the night. That way, just one car to worry about at the airport.”

It was a lot to absorb in just a few minutes. She couldn’t imagine living under the same roof with him again, not after all the harsh words they'd exchanged. But there would be plenty of time later to question his decision. Right now, he was waiting for her reply.

“All right. I’ll go straight home to pack and make arrangements with work. And find someone to water my plants. And collect my mail. And then it’ll take me a few hours to drive to Ellicott City. Unless there’s traffic, I can be there by six.”

“Rena, you know what this means...”

“That we have to put on a good front, make Rosie believe we’re still a happy couple.”

“Exactly. She doesn’t need to cope with her parents’ breakup on top of everything else she’s gone through.”

How many times had she wondered about that? A thousand? Ten thousand? Even after accepting that they might never know, Rena had always hoped the kidnapper had been gentle and kind.

“I...I think that’s best, too,” she told him. “Anything, anything for Rosie’s sake.”

“I’ll pull something together for supper. We can talk about how we’re going to proceed while we eat.”

The invitation was a big sacrifice on his part, especially considering that during their last months together in the house, she’d slept in the guest room. He hadn’t stopped her from doing that, either. Would they go back to living as roommates? Rena couldn't imagine a more uncomfortable scenario.

“Yes, yes, that’s a good idea.”

Did she sound as much like a robot to Grant as she did to herself?

“How have you been, by the way?”

It surprised her that he’d bothered to ask. “Fine.” Seeing a shrink, trying not to give in to insanity, dealing with insomnia, but... “And you?”

“Fine,” he echoed.

But she knew he wasn’t. She could hear it in his strained voice. Neither of them were fine. How could they be?

“Well, I’d better skedaddle.”

How long since she’d heard him recite the phrase that had so often inspired good-natured teasing between them? Not once in the five years since Rosie vanished, like the smoke from a spent match. It told her that Grant had hope, real hope, for the first time since the kidnapping. His belief that they’d find her had been the second biggest issue between them next to the blame. The third biggest? Her dreams of having another baby. “Another child won’t replace Rosie. How can you just give up on her?” he’d demand. “What kind of mother just throws in the towel this way?”

“Just so you know, I asked Mom not to come around for a few days, to give Rosie time to adjust to being back,” Grant said now.

Rena clenched her jaw. “But Grant, your mother was always such a huge part of her life. Wouldn’t it seem strange to her if Tina didn’t stop by once we're...” She couldn’t bring herself to call it home. Not yet. “At least for a little while?”

He didn’t reply right away, and Rena braced herself for his dismissal.

“You’re right, I guess,” he said, surprising her. “I’ll give her a call. You think she should be at the house, waiting? Or stop by a couple of hours after we get home?”

Who was this cordial man? In their last few months of living together, he hadn’t agreed with her on anything.

“Later, maybe, to give Rosie a chance to look around, reacquaint herself with her surroundings.” And being with us.

“Right. Right.”

In the moment of silence that followed, she considered asking how the news had affected him. But she wasn’t quite ready to go there with him yet. For now, cordial felt like the safest course of action.

“I’d better let you go. You still have your house keys?”

“Yes...” But even if she didn’t, Rena could use the one she’d hidden in the ceramic frog lawn ornament near the front door. Unless a storm had blown it from the table, she was sure it would still be there.

“Good. If I’m not there, let yourself in. Nothing has changed, so you won’t have any trouble finding things. Just make yourself at home.”

“Thanks, Grant.”

“That isn’t exactly true...that nothing has changed,” he continued. “Rosie’s room is different from when you last saw it.”

“Oh?”

“I found all her stuff in the attic, right where you put it, and thanks to those pictures you took for the insurance album, everything is back to the way it was before...”

His voice trailed off, but she knew what he’d stopped himself from saying: Before you packed things up. Put our girl out of sight, out of mind.

“I...ah... Drive safely, Rena,” he said, and hung up.

She sat in Martha’s waiting room, still as a statue, as tears filled her eyes. By this time tomorrow, she’d get to hold her sweet daughter in her arms again. Rosie was alive. Rosie was alive!

“Must have been some phone call,” her therapist said, poking her head out of her office.

Rena knuckled her damp eyes. “It was Grant. He said...he said they...they found Rosie.”

Martha walked over and sat beside her, sliding an arm across Rena’s shoulders.

“Oh, Rena, that’s wonderful news!”

“She’s in Chicago. I don’t know any of the details. Except that Rosie is talking to a child specialist right now, so that by the time we arrive, she’ll be somewhat prepared. We decided to present a united front. I’m moving back into the house to make the transition easier for her.”

“Grant’s idea, or yours?”

“His, but I agree.”

Leaning back slightly, Martha said, “That’s a lot for him to ask, don’t you think, after the way he treated you?”

“I’m not fooling myself. I know it won’t be easy, especially not at first, but I’ll do whatever it takes to help Rosie adjust to being home again. It’s the least I can do after...”

Martha held up a hand, effectively silencing the self-deprecating comment that would follow. “How old is she now?”

“She turned nine three weeks ago, on May 5.”

“And she was three when she was taken?”

“Almost four.”

Martha pointed out that Rosie had no doubt changed a lot in all that time. “Are you ready for that?”

“I haven’t really had time to wrap my mind around the news yet. But thankfully, I’ll have hours and hours to think about it.” During the drive to Ellicott City. On the plane to Chicago. And of course, tonight, after she retreated to the guest room...

“I was heading home, but I can stay if you want to talk.”

Rena got to her feet. “Thanks, but I need to get home and pack for the drive to Maryland.”

Martha stood, too. “Things are happening fast. If you need me, just call.”

Nodding, Rena dropped her phone into her purse and started for the exit. “Thanks,” she said. Martha wouldn’t hear from her again, but this wasn’t the time or place to discuss why. “That’s nice to know.”

* * *

GRANT HADN’T REALIZED how much he’d missed the sound of her voice. Even with the shock of hearing this news, Rena had been calm and quiet. One of the things he’d admired most about her had been her ability to maintain her composure, even during the most stressful moments.

Like the time Rosie fell off the swing and broke her arm. He’d totally freaked out, but Rena had kept her cool and orchestrated a trip to the ER for X-rays, told jokes and made silly faces while the tech set the bone and wrapped Rosie’s arm in a cast. And the day he’d nearly electrocuted himself trying to add a circuit breaker to the electrical panel. He’d thought surely he’d bought a one-way ticket to heaven, but her soft, reassuring voice was all it had taken to make him believe he’d be fine.

Fine. It was what she said when he’d asked how she was, and what he’d said when she returned the question. In truth, he’d only felt this frazzled on one other occasion: the day Rosie went missing.

Because Rena had been paying more attention to somebody else’s kid than to their little girl.

He felt a little crazy, waffling between loving her still and despising her for putting them in the middle of every parent’s worst nightmare.

In all fairness, he hadn’t suffered that nightmare alone. Guilt had tormented Rena, turning her from a confident, lively young mother into a jumpy, sleep-deprived woman who burst into tears at the drop of a hat. And he hadn’t made things easier for her.

But then, was it his fault that the only reason the nightmare began was because she’d been too busy minding Rosie’s classmate to notice a stranger carrying their only child away?

Grant looked at the clock. She’d be here in an hour, two at most. Not much time to get his head straight. And he’d need a clear mind to cope with having her home again. Why in the world had he suggested that she spend the night? Anything, anything for Rosie, she’d said. Still, tonight it would just be the two of them, alone for the first time in three long years.

Shaking his head, he headed to the guest room. Last time he’d checked, there were clean sheets on the bed. Other than a little dust on the furniture, things looked fine. He put a stack of fresh towels in the guest bath, then ran a dust rag over the headboard and footboard, the dresser and night stand.

“Might as well vacuum the family room, too,” he muttered, heading for the linen closet. And while he was at it, Grant would figure out what to make for supper.

Tonight would be a cakewalk compared to tomorrow. Hopefully tidying up and preparing the meal would get his mind off...everything.

Such as what she’d look like now? Taller. Weightier. Had the kidnapper cut her hair? Dyed it to ensure no one would recognize her from the photos that had flashed on every TV news broadcast, nationwide? What had the abductor put his little girl through?

Don’t go there, he told himself. Because thoughts like that would only make him more angry and resentful of Rena. He was determined to behave like a gentleman tonight. Tomorrow, too. And every day until Rosie had grown fully accustomed to her new life. No matter how long it took.

She’d remembered her address and phone number. His full name and Rena’s. Did she remember how much she’d been loved and treasured, too? He hoped so, because that would go a long way to assuring a quick shift from her life in Chicago to life in their peaceful Baltimore suburb.

None of it would be necessary if Rena hadn’t dropped the ball that day. What kind of mother...

But he’d been down that road a couple hundred times, and all he had to show for it was an overblown resentment of his wife.

How did he expect to share a meal, the house, day-to-day life with the woman who’d upended his whole world?

Grant didn’t know.

But for Rosie’s sake, he intended to try.

Chapter Three

RENA HAD NO way of knowing how long she’d be gone, so she packed a colorful cloth carry-on bag for the trip to Chicago, and a huge suitcase of clothes to stow at the house. She slipped her laptop and e-reader into her briefcase, too, since chances were good that conversation between her and Grant would be severely limited once Rosie was tucked in each night. Her boss at the hospital had been more than understanding, and promised that there would be a job waiting for her whenever she returned.

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 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 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 chore for the time being and fix us something to eat, instead. That’ll give you time to gather up all the paperwork you were talking about earlier.”

“But I was planning on making us grilled cheese sandwiches with macaroni and cheese and tomato soup.”

One of her favorite quick-fix meals. A gesture of kindness?

“Who knows how many days they’ll keep us in Chicago,” she said. “We’ll be eating deli and fast food for the duration. I’ll whip up something more substantial and healthy.” She took note of his who-do-you-think-you-are expression and added, “You said I should make myself at home...”

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll be in the family room. Holler when it’s ready.”

Rena watched him walk away, the way he had when she announced her plan to leave. She didn’t think it was possible to hurt him that way again. She’d been wrong.

Chapter Four

“THE CHICKEN IS DELICIOUS. I haven’t had it made this way since...”

He trailed off, and Rena must have sensed his discomfort. “Since I left? I imagine you’ve shared more than a few meals with Tina in the past few years.”

He’d given her that opening. Shouldn’t have dredged up the past. Not even the good stuff.

Rena sat back. “I should have called her, invited her to supper.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. You and I have stuff to hash out.” Too much honesty, too soon? Grant wondered. He cleared his throat. “Besides, she’s at Muriel’s tonight.”

“Oh, that’s right. This is Tuesday, her bridge night.” Rena ran a fingertip around the rim of her wineglass. “I think it’s great that she’s still doing all the things that bring her so much pleasure.”

Was that a hint for him to take a lesson from his mom, step out and live life to its fullest, even after the loss of a loved one? He took a bite of buttered wild rice to stop himself from saying something rash. Did she feel that way because she’d moved forward? Had she left a guy behind on Fenwick Island?

He’d tried dating a time or two, nice women he’d met through coworkers, and blind dates set up by former frat brothers. But because he and Rena had never pursued a divorce, being with another woman always felt just plain wrong. Plus, despite everything, he loved Rena, and probably always would. He’d always blame her, too, for what happened to Rosie. And since the blame outweighed the love—

“So do you think Rosie will have questions for us?” Rena asked.

For you, maybe, he thought, since Rena had been the reason the kidnapper had succeeded in the first place.

“She must. I know I have a thousand questions,” she pressed on.

Grant lifted his glass to his lips. “Such as?”

“Such as where she went to school. If she went to school. What sort of house she lived in. Were there other children? Did they feed her healthy meals? Did she see a pediatrician regularly, and is she up to date on all her immunizations? And if she did, how did the kidnapper hide the truth from the doctor, from the principal and teachers, from neighbors and friends and fam—”

“I’m sure the psychiatrist will fill us in on all that.” During their phone call, he’d told her what the agent said. An abbreviated version of the facts, but enough information to give her the gist of things. Maybe, under the stress of it all, she’d forgotten. “She was found wandering alone in a mall, remember, after that...that woman died of an aneurism?”

Rena nodded. “Yes. I remember. But...” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Oh, I know she’ll be taller—of course she’ll be taller. She’s nine years old. And naturally, she’ll weigh more, too. But—and I know this might sound silly—but does she still have all that beautiful, long blond hair? Did they cut it or dye it? And...how many times has the Tooth Fairy visited?” She shook her head, frowning slightly. “After all she’s been through, she sure doesn’t need a bunch of doctor appointments while she’s trying to settle in here at home.” Rena paused, as if to catch her breath. “And what about us? What does she remember of us?”

This one, Grant could answer. At least in part. “She was told that we were killed in a drunk-driving accident,” he said. “And that we’d named this...that nut job as Rosie’s guardian. Unless something is seriously wrong—and I doubt it, since Agent Gonzalez didn’t pass that info along to Detective Campbell—we’ll take her to see a specialist. After she’s had some time to adjust, I mean.”

Rena wouldn’t have to wonder about any of this if she’d been paying attention during the field trip.

Fair or not, it was how he felt. How he’d felt since she’d called the office that day, crying so hard he could barely understand a word she said. But they had to at least try to get along, for Rosie’s sake. Grant knew he’d better keep his lips zipped.

“You probably won’t believe this,” she said, “given some of the, ah, discussions we had before I left, but...”

Discussions. He nearly chuckled. They’d had bitter quarrels. Full-blown shouting matches. Well, he’d shouted. A lot. Told Rena she was responsible for what happened to Rosie.

“...but I always held on to a thread of hope that someday, someday, she’d be found. I know it goes against everything I said back then, because I was trying so hard to accept things, to adjust and adapt, for both of our sakes, but I can’t tell you what a relief it is, knowing she’s coming home.”

She’d held on to a thread of hope? It was all Grant could do to keep from groaning. Rena had been way too eager to pack up all their girl’s things and stow them in the attic, beside his dusty childhood toys, her grandpa’s steamer trunk and her grandmother’s hope chest—the one that still housed Rena’s wedding dress—his dad’s tattered college textbooks, and Christmas decorations. Out of sight, out of mind, apparently. How could she feel that way about their sweet Rosie?

Plus, how many times had she accused him of living in the past, of refusing to accept that Rosie was gone? And all this time, she’d clung to hope, too? A hope, she’d told him often, that was impossible.

And then there was the way she’d pestered him to have another kid...and how he’d accused her of being cold, indifferent, heartless to think the birth of another child could blot out the agony they’d suffered. Rosie couldn’t be replaced that easily. Why hadn’t he been able to make her see that?

Grant put down his fork. He’d been famished when he sat down. Now, his appetite was gone. He started to push back from the table.

“Oh, don’t leave yet,” Rena said, a note of pleading in her voice. “I made dessert.”

“I’m really not hungry, Rena.”

He hadn’t intended for the comment to sound harsh. But what did she expect? They hadn’t shared a meal—or anything else—in years! Surely Rena didn’t they’d simply pick up where they’d left off.

“Not even for chocolate pie?”

His favorite dessert. She’d only had an hour to throw dinner together, so she must have bought it when she’d stopped at the Giant for groceries. What the heck. Maybe something sweet would turn his sour mood around...

“Okay, but just a small slice.”

“Whipped cream on top? I made plenty when I was beating up the filling.”

So she’d made the pie, just for him? He marveled that she’d had time.

“Sure. Why not.”

Rena got up and cleared their plates, and quickly replaced them with dessert.

“There’s coffee—decaf—if you’d like some,” she said.

“Well, since it’s already made, no sense wasting it.”

She poured them each a cup. Placed the sugar bowl and creamer near his elbow.

So. His favorite meal. His favorite dessert. And she’d remembered exactly how he liked his coffee. He could accuse her of trying to soften him up. But for what? They were supposed to put on a united front, right? How could they accomplish that without courtesy and the occasional nicety?

He felt a pang of guilt. Had she really believed Rosie had been murdered? If so, she’d suffered those thoughts alone. Even if she hadn’t left, Rena couldn’t have talked to him about it. He could barely stand to look at her let alone talk about the kidnapping. She’d made the right move, leaving when she did, because if she’d stayed, their relationship would only have deteriorated further. He’d drawn some comfort from missing her now and then, even though it made him feel a little crazy. Because no rational man could love and miss his wife...and deeply resent her, all at the same time.

“Pie’s good,” he said, mostly to fill the brittle silence.

“I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure I remembered how to make it.”

“You like it, too. You never made it for your...guests?”

Man, talk about being obvious. If he wanted to know if she was seeing someone, why not just ask?

Because he didn’t want to picture her in the arms of another man. She was still his wife, after all.

“I didn’t have much company. My cottage is tiny. Barely enough space for a table for two. And my life there is mostly work and the occasional visit from Lilly, my landlady, who lives in the big house next door. She’s a retired school bus driver. Trust me, I don’t invite a lot of interaction with her, lovely as she is. Being around her, listening to her talk about her tiny passengers only reminds me of...” She looked away.

He’d avoided people—and places and things—that reminded him of Rosie, too. Even kept her bedroom door shut most of the time, so he wouldn't have to look at her toys and games, or the bed where he'd cuddled with her while reading bedtime stories. How much easier would everything have been if they’d found a way to hold each other up when the memories got tough to bear?

Water under the bridge, he thought. Deep, dark, murky water...

“Want some help with these dishes?” he offered.

“No, but thanks. I’ll have this cleaned up in no time. And then I’ll get busy in the bedroom, so if you need to get in there before we leave for the airport—”

“Don’t rush on my account. The Orioles are playing Detroit.” He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “Holler if you need anything.”

He'd given it a lot of thought. Rosie would have more than enough to adjust to without seeing him and Rena in separate bedrooms. But how would he introduce the subject of her moving back into the master? And how in God’s name was he going to share his bed with her again when he could barely tolerate sitting across the table from her?

Better figure it out, and fast, he told himself. Because tomorrow night, or the next, that was exactly what he’d have to do.

Or did he?

* * *

SEVERAL TIMES AS Rena moved her belongings into the master bedroom, she and Grant passed each another in the hall. He'd stuttered and stammered while explaining that, although he'd made up the guest bed for her, he hoped she'd give serious consideration to moving into their old room with him. For Rosie's sake. Every muscle in her had tensed, every nerve end jangled, yet she'd heard herself say “We can give it a try, I suppose.” Now, the way he scooted along the wall to avoid brushing up against her left Rena wondering how he’d get any sleep, sharing the same bed.

She’d play it by ear; if he seemed fitful and agitated, Rena could always sleep on the family room sofa, and explain any questions from Rosie by claiming to have fallen asleep reading or watching TV.

It was the least she could do for him, after all she’d put him through.

Rena tidied the guest room, the kitchen and the master bedroom—though there wasn’t much to do—mostly to stay out of his way until they had to leave for the airport.

Finally, it was time to head to BWI. At the start of the drive, Rena tested topics of conversation that wouldn’t add to the tension between them. Unfortunately, the sound of her voice seemed enough to stress Grant further. She could tell by the way he gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. It was what he’d done years ago in traffic jams, or if he made a wrong turn. Fortunately, she’d packed magazines and her e-reader along with his stack of important papers. At least she could pretend to have something to focus on during the three-hour flight besides his angry, stony silence.

Martha had posed a difficult question during their last session: “What will you do if Grant never forgives you?” Her answer had inspired the therapist’s disapproving frown. “Why should I expect him to forgive me when I’ll never forgive myself?”

Perhaps in time, they’d at least come to a meeting of the minds, find a certain peace with the living arrangements. But she wouldn’t drive herself mad hoping things would eventually go back to where they’d been before, when he’d been a chatty, friendly, fun and funny partner. Far better and healthier to simply accept the status quo. Besides, you'll have plenty to do, helping Rosie readjust.

“What kind of car do you think we should rent?”

The suddenness of his voice startled her, and she masked it by toying with the hem of her jacket.

“I’m not sure, but we should ask if they rent children’s booster seats.”

He didn’t respond at first. “I hadn’t even given that a thought. But we’ll have to turn it in with the car. What’ll we do on the drive home from BWI?”

“It’s only twenty minutes. You’ll stay in the slow lane the whole way, and I’ll ride in the back with Rosie.” She chanced a peek at his stern profile. “Not that I think anything will happen—you’ve always been a good, safe driver. But on the off chance it does, I can protect her.”

He gave a tiny grunt. Rena braced herself for him to say, “The way you protected her years ago?”

“That’ll work, I guess,” he said instead, and Rena sighed in relief. “We can’t very well take her into a big box store and buy one.”

“Why not?”

“She’ll be overwhelmed, that’s why. Seeing that woman, lying dead on the mall floor. Being carted off by the cops, then interrogated by one shrink after another, then shuttled to a foster home. It’s too much.”

For Rosie, or for him? she wondered.

“We will need to take her shopping eventually, anyway. It isn’t likely she’ll have much to wear. We can pick up a few of the essentials, along with the car seat. You know, shoes. Underwear and socks. Pajamas and slippers. And the weather can get chilly in May.” Rena paused. Was he even listening? “She’ll need a jacket, too.”

He continued staring straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Was she strong enough to endure his loathing for...for who knew how long? She’d have to be, because Rosie should not be exposed to conflict of any kind. Rena didn’t need to think for very long to come up with examples of their little girl’s reaction to discord between her parents...

One snowy day, when Grant forgot that it was his turn to pick Rosie up at preschool, Rena had been forced to leave the hospital early, which hadn’t gone over well with the head nurse. Over supper that night, she’d pointed out that she’d grown tired of being called on the carpet by her boss every time a meeting took precedence over his duties as a father. “My boss,” Rena had told him, “made it clear that there are plenty of experienced nurses on the roster who can work a full, uninterrupted day.” Grant’s angry retort? He’d had clients, important clients, whose fees helped pay for day care, weekend trips to Ocean City, Christmas gifts and more. Rosie’s worried expression had stopped Rena from pointing out that her salary contributed to the family coffers, too.

And then there was the time when he’d promised to leave work early to take Rosie to her well visit at the pediatrician’s. A full-of-questions client and an accident on the Beltway, he’d all but shouted, were to blame. Not his forgetfulness. It wasn’t until he’d noticed Rosie’s teary eyes that he softened his tone and offered a half-hearted apology.

Stop dwelling on the negatives; there are plenty of good things about Grant...

His love of family gatherings, for one thing. And he’d never admit it, but Grant enjoyed chick flicks almost as much as she did. And what about his fondness for puns? When she brought home a copy of How Weather Works to read with Rosie, he sat down beside them and said, “I’m reading a book about anti-gravity. It’s impossible to put down.” And while replacing the doorknocker on the front door, he’d said, “Bet you didn’t know that the guy who invented this contraption got a no-bell prize...”

The memories should have lifted her spirits. Instead, they woke a deep sadness. Rena hung her head. In the blink of an eye—literally—she’d lost their only child, and the man Grant used to be.

She’d missed him. Missed him during those many difficult months after Rosie was taken. Missed him every day that she’d been gone. Missed him now, even though he was arm’s length away.

“Why so quiet?” he wanted to know.

Rena exhaled. “Just thinking.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot to take in.”

Reaching across the console, he patted her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. “Stop worrying, Rena. We’ll get through it. We have to. Rosie’s counting on us.”

In other words, he’d make the ultimate sacrifice and put up with her...for Rosie’s sake. Oh, how she wished she knew how to make amends so he could see his way clear to forgiving her. How she wished she could get that life-changing moment back...

He maneuvered the car into a space at the airport’s Quick Park, and before she managed to gather her enormous purse and jacket, he’d opened the passenger door. In her hurry to exit the vehicle, she dropped the bag, spilling the contents onto the blacktop.

Squatting, she grabbed a ballpoint, a tube of lipstick, her compact. “Sorry,” she said, stuffing them back into the bag. “I need to remember to zip this stupid thing.”

What was truly stupid, she thought, were the tears that filled her eyes, just as they had in Rosie’s room. And, as he’d done earlier, Grant took a knee and helped her clean up the mess. He got to his feet and held out a hand. Rena hesitated, then let him help her up. His fingers, strong and warm, wrapped around hers, and for a moment, there under the streetlamp, he looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time since she’d left for Fenwick Island.

“You look bone-tired,” he said, shoving the envelope into her bag.

“Wow. Aren’t you good for a girl’s ego.”

One corner of his mouth lifted with the hint of a smile. “Didn’t mean it that way. You’re gorgeous, as always. Just...” His lips formed a taut line as he zipped the bag. “Maybe you can grab a quick nap during our flight.”

In all their months apart, she’d barely slept more than four hours a night. A nap, seated beside him on a crowded plane? Impossible. But as the airport shuttle rolled to a stop behind his car, Rena said, “Maybe.”

Grant slid their suitcases into the luggage rack, then took her elbow and guided her to the only empty seats, all the way in the back of the bus. Last time he’d done such a thing had been when they took Rosie to Disney World weeks before the abduction. Once they’d settled into their seats, he’d pulled Rosie into his lap and, grinning, pressed a kiss to her cheek. Pressed one to Rena’s, too. “Mickey Mouse, here we come!” Judging by the excitement in his voice and the delighted glint in his eyes, one might have thought the trip was for him, not their daughter.

A car pulled out in front of the shuttle, forcing the driver to slam on the brakes...and causing Rena to lose her balance. If Grant hadn’t wrapped a protective arm around her, she’d have ended up on the gritty black floor.

“Idiot,” the driver muttered, then quickly added, “Everybody okay?”

As a chorus of yeses filled the shuttle, Grant continued to hold her. It felt good. Felt right. In a perfect world, she could pretend his reaction meant he still cared for her. But their world hadn’t been perfect in years.

“Thanks. You saved me from skinned knees, or worse.”

Leaning back, he withdrew his arm. “No problem. I would have done it for anyone.”

Yes, he would. Rena’s heart ached a little that he’d felt it necessary to point that out.

“We’ll have some time to kill once we get to the gate,” he said. “Think I’ll call Mom, bring her up to speed on...everything.”

“Good idea. I know how she worries.” Rena looked toward the shuttle’s windshield and added, “How much does she know?”

“Pretty much what we do. That Rosie is in Chicago, and we’re going to bring her home.”

“Southwest,” the driver called, rising to help Grant with the suitcases. “Have a safe flight,” he said, pocketing the bills Grant had pressed into his hand.

Gripping both suitcase handles, Grant led the way into the terminal.

“Here y’go,” he said, handing her the printout of her boarding pass.

She thanked him. “Let me know how much I owe you.”

His eyebrows drew together and his lips formed a thin line. “For Pete’s sake, Rena, You don’t owe me anything. You’re still my wife, like it or not.”

In her mind, she’d always be his wife, even if he filed for divorce.

Side by side, they moved a step closer to the check-in kiosk.

“I just didn’t want to start out on the wrong foot,” she explained.

“You’re not.” His expression softened slightly. “I’m glad you’re here. Don’t know how I’d get through this alone.”

It was the first kind thing he’d said to her in years. Don’t get all moony-eyed. It doesn’t mean there’s hope for a real reconciliation.

He took her boarding pass, and as he poked at the choices on the screen, she thought: It doesn’t mean there isn’t, either.

Chapter Five

“PLANE TAKES OFF in about an hour,” Grant said into the phone. “Just wanted you to know we’re on our way.”

“How does Rena look?” his mom asked. “I talk to her fairly often, but I haven’t seen her since the day she left.”

“She looks good.” He risked a glance over his shoulder to where she sat, flipping through one of the magazines she’d packed. Even from twenty feet away, he could see those long lashes, dusting her freckled cheeks.

“You’re being nice, I hope.”

“Mom. Come on. ’Course I am.” Nice as I can be, anyway, under the circumstances.

“Good. Because whether you admit it or not, what happened isn’t her fault. If I had a dollar for every time you got away from me when you were a boy—”

“You could buy us an order of French fries.”

Tina’s sigh filtered into his ear. Almost from the day he’d introduced them, his mom had thought of Rena as a daughter. Her moving to Fenwick Island hadn’t changed that. If anything, their bond had deepened, thanks to twice-weekly phone calls.

“Just promise me you’ll set aside your hatred and focus on all the good times you two shared before—”

“Mom, I don’t hate her!” he said, a tad louder than intended. Lowering his voice, he continued. “We’re getting along fine. I’m doing everything in my power to be civil.”

“Civil.” Tina sighed again. “That’s not good enough, Grant. She deserves better, and you know it.”

Okay, so Rena had been a good wife, and for the most part, a good mom, too. Not good enough to prevent the kidnapping, but...

“They’ll make the all-aboard announcement soon, and I want to find some coffee and something for us to eat during the flight.”

“Good idea. Get tuna. Rena loves tuna.”

He didn’t tell her that Rena hated the stuff, that she’d only pretended to like his mom’s recipe to spare her feelings.

“Call you soon as I know more.”

“Tell Rena I send my love.”

“I will,” he said, hanging up as he closed the space between him and Rena.

Using her thumb, she marked her page in the magazine. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s good. Excited to see Rosie. Told me to give you her love.”

Nodding, Rena smiled. Not enough to light up those amazing green eyes, but it sure beat the unhappiness that had been there before.

“How ’bout you stay with the bags while I scrounge up something for us to eat. Those puny bags of peanuts they serve on the plane won’t tide us over until breakfast.” He grinned. “Mom suggested tuna for you...”

Rena wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather make do with the peanuts.”

He pointed. “There’s a sandwich shop. You okay with a cheeseburgers and fries?”

“Sure. That’ll work.”

“What do you want to drink?”

“Surprise me.”

She looked so vulnerable in the harsh glare of the overhead lights. It made him want to sit down, wrap her in a comforting hug and remind her what he’d said earlier...that everything would be all right. Because the truth was, he needed the reassurance, too.

Ten minutes later, as they buckled up on the plane, their fingers touched. Hers were cold and trembly, but he resisted the urge to warm them between his own.

“Tell me again what Agent Gonzalez said about Rosie’s checkup?”

She’d crossed both arms over her chest, freeing the armrest for him. Why did she have to be so thoughtful? Didn’t she realize how tough she was making it to stay mad at her?

Grant took a deep breath, summoning patience. “He said she’s fine, physically. Not a scratch on her. And no evidence at all of...” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “...you know.”

She exhaled a shaky sigh.

“The psychologist said it’s too soon to tell if there’s any emotional damage.” He shrugged one shoulder. “But since Rosie wouldn’t talk much about this Barbara person...”

“I liked it better when she didn’t have a name. It made it easier to hate her.”

It seemed to Grant that Rena was thinking out loud, so he continued with the information Gonzalez had provided: after interviewing Barbara Smith’s family and friends, the police had discovered that she’d lost her own child, a girl, when a drunk driver barreled into her car, head-on. According to her sister, Barbara had nearly lost her mind, and isolated herself from her extended family. They'd heard through one of her neighbors that she'd adopted a child—referred to only as Ruby—but the rift had remained. Since Barbara had stubbornly continued to reject attempts at reconciliation, the family had never met the child. If not for the aneurism, Grant and Rena would likely never have seen Rosie again.

“I hope the foster family is nice. She’s already been through so much.”

Grant only nodded. This wasn’t the time or place to point out that if not for her negligence...

“Did the agent know what this...this woman told Rosie? To keep her from calling attention to herself, I mean?”

“She told her that you two went to college together, that you were the best of friends, that we’d asked her to be Rosie’s guardian in case something happened to us.”

Rena gasped. “No...”

He shook his head. “’Fraid so. She told Rosie we were killed in a horrible accident on I-95, and since she was named in our will as the legal guardian...”

“And Rosie believed her. Oh, the poor little thing!” She hid her face behind her hands. “How did she explain that I was right there beside her at that field trip, not in a car on the interstate?”

“She wasn’t old enough to question it.”

“But she asked questions. I’m sure of it. Lots of questions. Remember how we used to laugh at how she could turn any situation, no matter how mundane, into a Q and A session?”

Yes, he remembered, and the image of her upturned, animated little face, eyes wide as she peppered them with things like “Why do dogs’ claws stick out but cats’ don’t?” and “How does the sun know when it’s morning?” nearly brought tears to his eyes.

Rena turned slightly in her seat and looked into his eyes. “Did the agent say anything about photographs? Maybe I’ll recognize Barbara. Maybe—”

“Even if you did, there’s not much we could do with the information now.”

Shoulders drooping, she sat back.

“Let’s keep a good thought, okay? Focus on the fact that Gonzalez said Rosie left him with the impression that she’s a well-adjusted kid.”

“That’s ridiculous. She learned to do and say whatever that crazy woman wanted.” Fingertips pressed to her temples, Rena groaned quietly. “And isn’t it the irony of ironies that, in her little-girl mind, she lost both of her parents and her...and this Barbara person in the span of a few years!” She pounded a fist on the armrest. “It’s a good thing she’s dead because I swear, I’d strangle her.”

“Yeah, well, you’d have to get in line behind me.”

The man in the window seat cleared his throat. Loudly. No doubt the whole thing sounded like a TV crime drama to him.

Grant and Rena exchanged an oops look, and for a moment or two, sat silently, staring at their tray tables.

“Small consolation, I know,” he whispered, “but they have a child psychiatrist—or psychologist, I forget what type Dr. Robson is—on stand-by. I’m sure she’ll explain everything.”

“And have plenty of suggestions about how we’ll need to, for lack of a better word, handle Rosie once we get her home.”

“Well, small consolation at this point, but Gonzalez said he had a good feeling about this case.”

Eyes closed, Rena leaned her head against the seatback. “You know the old saying...”

Grant thought he knew what she’d say. “‘From his lips to God’s ears’?”

“Exactly,” she agreed, her voice a barely audible whisper.

Something his mom had said a few weeks ago came to mind. “You’re not the only one who’s suffering, you know. Rena has been torturing herself with guilt.”

That’s how I’d feel if I’d put some other kid’s welfare ahead of Rosie’s.

Grant ground his molars together. Thoughts like that could only make matters worse. The coming weeks and months would be tough enough; reverting to his former surly behavior would make things unbearable.

* * *

“LEE HAS RESCHEDULED all my client meetings,” Grant said as he steered their grey rental sedan out of the airport lot. “I told her, ‘indefinitely.’”

“And I cleared things with my boss. She assured me I’ll still have a job...if I come back.”

If? Grant shrugged. They hadn’t exactly had a chance to discuss the long-term. He already knew guarding his heart wouldn’t be easy once they started living as man and wife again. How long could he keep it up?

Rena sat quietly, staring out the passenger window for several minutes, then said, “I know you’re still angry with me. I don’t blame you because I’m still angry with myself, and I realize I don’t deserve your understanding and kindness and...whatever, so I really appreciate the way you’ve been treating me.”

How was he supposed to react to that?

“In a quarter mile,” said the British voice of the GPS, “turn right.”

Grant maneuvered onto the off-ramp. So far, he’d done a fair-to-middlin’ job of keeping his feelings in check, but he just wasn’t ready to go there with Rena tonight. Maybe he’d never be ready to get close to her again. In that case, they’d have to find a way to help Rosie understand that they’d always be there, together, for her—even if their marriage ended.

Grant shook his head. How would he explain it to his little girl when he didn’t understand it himself?

The separation had unofficially begun a full year before Rena left for Fenwick Island. It had been her idea to move into the guest room, and while something had told him that if they hoped to salvage what was left of their marriage, he ought to discourage it, he’d let her go. When she suggested moving to Fenwick Island, he’d let her go yet again. Funny thing was, they’d been apart nearly eight months before he’d stopped reaching for her first thing in the morning, to stroke her soft hair, touch her shoulder, run a fingertip down her cheek. Would the old, loving habit resurface once she moved back into their room? In his opinion, she looked her prettiest right after she woke up, with tousled hair and a makeup-free face.

Suddenly, he felt sorry for her—a surprise, since for so long he’d felt little more than bitterness. On the phone earlier, Grant’s mom had made him promise to treat Rena with kindness, as much for his and Rosie’s sake as Rena’s. He’d meant it when he said he didn’t hate her. Oh, he’d tried, but memories of her lyrical voice and the sweetness of her temperament smothered the emotion, just as surely as water douses a fire.

Unfortunately, none of that changed the fact that her carelessness cost him his daughter.

“Are you all right?”

Her voice startled him, and he said, “I’m fine.” He looked over at her. “Why?”

“You’ve barely said a word since we hit the road.”

“Just...just a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty daunting, isn’t it?”

She could say that again.

“If I could spare you all of this...”

Should have thought of that during the field trip.

But that was no way to start things. Not if he hoped to do what was best for Rosie.

“Look. Rena. We’re gonna get through this. We have to—”

“—for Rosie’s sake,” they said together.

One hundred percent truth, he thought. Rosie had been an astute, sensitive child. Even the tiniest spat between him and Rena had the power to put tears in her eyes. Seeing their daughter upset had been all it took to inspire an apology from Rena, even if he’d clearly been in the wrong. Keeping the peace at any cost must have been programmed into her DNA.

Had that changed? Or would Rena still be willing to pay any price to protect Rosie?

If she'd held that mindset that day at the zoo...

Chapter Six

ONCE THE NECESSARY interviews and paperwork were complete, Agent Gonzalez handed Grant directions to the psychiatrist’s office. He took note of Rena's thin smile. It was what she'd always done when trying to hide displeasure. Wasn't his fault, was it, that the guy was more comfortable with him than Rena. She could just as easily have stayed in touch with the agent.

“Dr. Robson is better equipped to take care of a kid,” he said, walking them toward the building’s entrance, “so I suggested that she take your little girl over there. Who knows what sort of madness Rosie would see or hear if she hung around the station much longer.”

“We appreciate that,” Grant said, shaking the man’s hand.

“And we appreciate your patience and understanding,” Rena said. “We pretty much bombarded you with questions.”

“Happy to be of service.” The agent handed her a business card. “If you have any more questions, call me. Any time.” He grinned. “Can’t promise I’ll be much help, but I’ll do my level best. I’ll give Detective Campbell a call, get him caught up. He’ll probably want to talk with both of you once you’re settled in, you know, to dot any i’s and cross any t’s we might have missed.”

Grant pressed a palm to Rena’s lower back and guided her toward the parking lot.

“What time is your flight tomorrow?” Gonzalez asked.

“Noon. But we can change it if we need to.”

“Don’t worry. Dr. Robson is the best at what she does. She’ll have you out of there in plenty of time to grab a bite to eat and catch a few z’s tonight. Be sure to give yourself plenty of time in the morning, though. O’Hare is a zoo.”

When they reached the psychiatrist’s office, the woman at the reception desk smiled. “May I help you?”

“We’re the VanMeters,” Grant said, “here for our—”

“Yes, of course. The doctor is just wrapping up a session. May I get you anything while you wait? Coffee? Tea? Soda?”

“Water if you have it,” Rena said. “I'm dry as the Sahara.”

The woman reached into a small fridge behind the counter and withdrew two bright blue bottles. “There you go. Make yourselves comfortable. I’m sure Dr. Robson will be with you shortly.”

Grant and Rena sat stiff and quiet on the sofa nearest the reception counter. Seeing that Rena was having trouble opening the bottle, he took it from her and unscrewed the cap.

“Thanks,” she said when he handed it back. “And please don’t tell me I don’t need to say thank-you. It’s a habit. Ungrateful people quickly wear out their welcome, and that’s the last thing I want to do. Especially now.”

Her knee was bouncing out a quick rhythm. She was obviously feeling as keyed up as he was.

“Okay,” he began, “from now on I—”

The door beside the reception desk opened. A gaunt, bearded man exited the office, and close on his heels, a scowling boy of twelve or thirteen. Behind them, a middle-aged redhead said, “See you next week, all right?”

The man nodded and the boy said something unintelligible as they left.

“You must be the VanMeters,” the doctor said. She took a few steps closer and extended her right hand. “I’m Dr. Robson. Please, come right in.”

They sat in the overstuffed leather chairs facing her desk.

“I see Marcie got you something to drink.” She plopped onto the seat of a high-backed swivel chair and proceeded to page through a file. “Need anything else before we begin?”

“Thanks,” Grant said, “but we’d rather just get on with things.”

His abrupt tone caused the doctor’s right eyebrow to lift slightly. To soften the blow, Rena tacked on, “So we can see Rosie as soon as possible.”

“It’s been my experience that situations like these are extremely traumatizing for families. I understand you two are separated?”

“I don’t recall either of us mentioning that,” Rena said.

“Agent Gonzalez prepares me well for dealing with children like Rosie.”

“We’ve been living apart for a while,” Grant told her, “but we haven’t made the separation official.”

She nodded. “Well, what’s significant is that you’ve decided to partner up again for your daughter’s sake. I’m sure you realize the importance of setting aside whatever differences you might still have, at least until we get an accurate read on how Rosie is coping with everything. I found her to be a bright, perceptive child.”

Her way of reminding them that their little girl would sniff out a phony relationship in a heartbeat?

Dr. Robson patted the file. “Do you mind talking about the reasons for your separation?”

* * *

RENA LOOKED TO GRANT, mostly to get a read on how he preferred to proceed, but he stared straight ahead.

“Grant didn’t ask me to leave, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

The doctor remained silent. Waiting, watching.

“I guess if I boiled it down to one thing, guilt was the major motivator in my decision. My attitude and behavior spilled into our everyday lives and made us both pretty miserable.”

Robson focused on Grant. “Is that how you see things, too?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes,” he said, drawing out the word. “Guilt and blame go hand in hand. I wasn’t exactly easy to live with, either.”

“Is that your way of saying you blamed Rena for the kidnapping?”

Another shrug.

“You realize, of course,” Robson continued, “that what happened could have happened to anyone, even the most diligent parent.”

Knowing Grant, he probably felt a little like a butterfly, pinned to a mat. Tina had come right out and admitted she’d told him the same thing, many times.

“It’s the logical way to view the situation,” Rena said. “But when it’s your child, it’s hard not to place blame. Nothing can change the fact that I looked away just long enough to enable the kidnapper. It’s something I’ll have to live with forever. Something I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to atone for.”

“Ah, so you were the only parent chaperone on the field trip?”

“Of course not. There were six, maybe seven moms in all, but they were all looking out for the children assigned to them. I can’t—won’t—blame anyone else.”

“That’s the trouble with self-importance,” the doctor said slowly. “It tends to take a terrible toll on the individual.” She paused then added, “For Rosie’s sake, you need to find another way to deal with your feelings, Mrs. VanMeter.”

Almost word for word what Martha had said. It hadn’t helped then, and it wasn’t helping now.

“If you insist on beating yourself up, you’ll need to find a way to do it in private. Even then, there’s a chance Rosie will pick up on it.”

She turned her attention to Grant again. “And you’ll need to set aside your anger toward Rena, at least in the presence of your daughter. I’m happy to recommend a marriage counselor that you can see in addition to whomever you choose for Rosie.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless neither of you believes a reconciliation is possible.”

Why had Robson aimed the question at her, instead of Grant? Maybe, Rena thought, because she thinks you’ll give a more straightforward answer...

“I can’t speak for Grant, but I’m certainly not opposed to getting back together. Permanently.” She could feel his eyes on her. Hopefully, her response hadn’t riled him further.

“Grant?” Robson said. “Do you feel the same way?”

“I, ah, well, I guess I’m not totally opposed to it.”

“Do I detect a but in your answer?”

He sat up straighter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Look. Doctor. You said what’s really important is that we set aside our differences, especially in Rosie’s presence. And I agree with that. Is it possible we’ll resolve the marriage problems while we’re faking it?” Yet another shrug. “Who knows? All I can say for sure is that I’ll do anything, anything to help my girl.”

How had he managed to sound surly and nonchalant at the same time? Rena wondered. Faking it. He could have slapped her and it wouldn’t have hurt as much.

Robson turned to another page in the file. “Will you be returning to work, Rena?”

In her opinion, this felt a lot more like an interrogation than a meeting to discuss what was best for Rosie. From the sound of things, Dr. Robson was looking for reasons not to send Rosie home with them.

She chose her words carefully. “No. For the time being, anyway, I have no plans to look for a new job. I want to be available twenty-four seven until I’m sure Rosie is all right, that she has acclimated to all of us being together again. And just so you know, Grant is taking some time off work, too.” She crossed her legs, and tugged at the hem of her skirt. “Agent Gonzalez told us he gave you a letter, written by the kidnapper? That there are things in it Grant and I need to hear?”

“Yes, that’s true. But let’s not rush.”

“Rosie and Rena and I have been apart long enough,” Grant ground out. “I say we cut to the chase, do whatever needs doing to put us together with her, ASAP.”

The doctor walked around to the front of her desk and sat on its corner, tapping an envelope against a heavy wooden nameplate.

“Oh, my,” Rena said. “My hands are shaking so badly, the words will blur.”

“I’m happy to read it aloud, if you like,” Robson said, “but if you’d rather, I’ll give you a few minutes to read it in private.”

Rena met Grant’s eyes. “It’s up to you.”

“Go ahead,” he told the doctor. “Read it. We’ll read it again later. At the hotel.”

She’d already stressed that they’d need to come back in the morning when, after Robson had a chance to observe the threesome and share her expert opinion on how to proceed, they could begin their trip home. Last night, they’d struggled to find things to talk about, and while lovely, the room hadn’t provided a place to escape from awkward silences. At least tonight, they’d have Barbara’s letter to discuss.

The doctor returned to her chair and swiveled to face them, head on.

“As you’ll recall,” Robson said, “Ms. Smith left this letter with her sister, with instructions that it was to be delivered unopened to the authorities in the event of her demise.” She slid the pages from the envelope. “Agent Gonzalez has a copy in his file, as do I. This is the original, and it’s for you.

“I’ve spoken with the sister—and several other close relatives—about this matter. They were horrified to learn what Barbara had done, but they’d never met Rosie—or Ruby, as Barbara called her.”

“How many relatives were there?”

“Just the sister and her grown children. They lived relatively nearby.”

“But they never met her?”

“According to my interviews, they did not.”

“Good. Because...I can't speak for Grant, but I'm not in favor of visiting rights!”

Rena might as well have remained silent for all the attention the doctor paid her comment.

“Her sister told me that Barbara was suicidal after losing her husband and child. Sounds like she suffered survivor’s guilt.”

“Agent Gonzalez told me the drunk driver only got five years? That must have made things tougher,” Grant said.

Robson sniffed. “The man had a good lawyer, for one thing, and it was his first offense, for another. Throw in a sympathetic judge...” She ran a hand across the tidy handwriting that filled the first page of the letter. “I think learning more about her will make it easier for you to understand what she did.”

“Understand? You must be joking!” Rena said. “Nothing you say, and nothing in that letter can make me understand how a person steals someone else’s child. Grant and I lived without Rosie for years because of her. She took a part of us when she took Rosie. Losing her nearly destroyed us, but we didn’t go out and kidnap someone else’s child to ease our pain!”

Rena felt the heat of an angry blush coloring her cheeks. The office grew quiet, so quiet she could hear the steady swish of the pendulum, swaying right and left in the body of Robson’s stately grandfather clock. What was the woman waiting for...her or Grant to say that they’d split up because it seemed less agonizing than holding on to one another?

“While I agree with Rena, we’re not any closer to seeing Rosie, now are we?” Grant pointed out.

“I just want to take a moment to stress how important it is that you’re honest with yourselves. If you aren’t absolutely sure you can present a united front, it’ll be better for Rosie if you sit her down and tell her the truth about your relationship, right away.”

Rena imagined the scene... Rosie, teary-eyed and frightened by the prospect of being shuttled from Grant’s house to hers. “Dr. Robson—”

“Fiona, please.”

After tomorrow, they’d never see her again, so Rena saw no reason to feign a friendly relationship. Except that the doctor might see her reluctance to agree as a character trait that might be damaging to Rosie. She decided to play nice.

“We’ve barely had a chance to adjust to the situation, ourselves. There hasn’t been time to discuss exactly how we’ll make it work. But I can assure you of one thing. We. Will. Make. It. Work.”

Robson returned to her chair. “Good. I’m relieved to hear that. Because from what I gathered through interviews with Rosie and studying her behavior, she’s handling things admirably. It’s possible she’ll adapt quickly and easily to being with you, to being home again.” She raised an eyebrow. “That said, she will most likely have some issues related to Barbara’s death. She told Rosie you two were gone, then stepped into your shoes. Now that Rosie knows you’re alive and well, and that Barbara lied to her... Well, all that is bound to cause a few problems.

“Don’t be overly concerned, though. As I said, she seems like a well-adjusted little girl, despite all she’s been through. So, much as I hate to repeat myself, if you can’t pull off the whole together again thing, tell her. Tell her now. She won’t be happy, but she’ll adapt. She’s a resilient kid.”

“Tell her?” Grant all but shouted. “Out of the question! She’s just a little girl! A little girl who’s been through more these past few years than most adults go through in a lifetime. Life has made too many demands on her already. Dealing with the breakup of her parents...” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not going to happen. She needs to know she can count on us.” He glanced over at Rena. “We’re in this for the long haul, right?”

Rena searched his face and saw how much he needed her to say yes. And so she did.

Facing Robson, she said, “We’re not so naïve that we think it’ll be a cakewalk, but we have the best incentive in the world to make the marriage work—Rosie.”

It did her heart good to hear Grant’s relieved sigh.

“You know,” Robson said, “I agree with Manuel. I think you guys are going to do fine, just fine.”

With that, she put on her glasses and picked up the letter. Rena didn’t know what possessed her to do it, but she reached for Grant’s hand. He took it, gave it a slight squeeze, and held it against his chest.

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