“WHY CAN’T I sit up front, Dad?”
“Because it’s dangerous. And if a policeman saw you up here, I’d get a ticket. You have to be in your safety seat. It’s the law.”
“I think that’s a stupid law,” Rosie said, kicking the back of Rena’s seat. “These things are uncomfortable, and besides, kids get hurt all the time, sitting in them.”
“Well,” Rena said, doing her best to sound calm and in charge, “I’m sure it is uncomfortable, being belted into it, but until you’re older and taller, we’ll follow the rules. Dad and I want you to be safe because we love you more than life itself.”
Under her breath, Rosie said “Well, Dad does, anyway.” After a moment of silence she added, “I hate this seat!”
Rena stared out the passenger window at the blur of cars, pickups and semis that whizzed by on I-90. She couldn’t give in. She wouldn’t quit, no matter how difficult Rosie tried to make it. She was the grown-up, and she had to set aside her hurt feelings.
“Fortunately, you won’t be in it much longer. We’ll be at the hotel before you know it.”
The girl exhaled a loud sigh. “I’m hungry.”
“How ’bout pizza?” Grant asked.
“I love pizza. Pepperoni and mushroom!”
Rena typed “pizza near Hilton O’Hare” into her phone as Rosie kicked the back of her seat again.
“I’ll put in an order,” she said. “Remind me which street our hotel is on?” she said to Grant.
“You forget stuff a lot, don’t you?” Rosie asked.
Grant chanced a quick glance over his right shoulder. “Rosie, don’t talk to your mom that way, okay?”
“It’s all right,” Rena said. “It’s been a couple of long, harrowing days. She’s tired and afraid.”
“I am not afraid, ’cause my daddy will protect me.” Pausing, she added, “Won’t you, Daddy.”
“You know it. And so will your mom.”
Rena ignored Rosie’s loud sigh and dialed the pizza place. She had to give Grant points for sticking up for her. Since her arrival from Fenwick Island, he’d been accommodating, in an arm’s-length kind of way. Even that level of tolerance had to be difficult for the man who still blamed her for Rosie’s disappearance. Her mom liked to say “Count your blessings where they grow,” and for the first time, Rena understood it in a very personal way.
After placing their order, Rena disconnected. “It’ll be half an hour. Just long enough to give us time to settle in.”
“Did I used to like pepperoni and mushrooms on my pizza?” Rosie piped up from the back seat.
“You loved it,” Rena told her. “So much that if we didn’t keep a close eye on you, you’d pick all the toppings off our slices and put them on yours!”
“My other mom made her own pizzas. Sometimes she let me help knead the dough and spread the sauce on top.” She didn’t speak for a minute or two, and neither did they.
“You know what, Dad?”
“What…”
“I don’t remember what pepperoni and mushroom tastes like.”
“Then it’s a good thing your mom has a good memory, isn’t it.”
Rena didn’t need to turn around to know how Rosie had reacted to that. She pictured the slightly pursed lips and tucked-in corner of her mouth. She’d probably crossed both arms over her chest, too.
The little family remained quiet for the final minutes of the drive. In the hotel parking lot, as Grant hefted the small bag of clothes provided by the foster care system, Rena reached for Rosie’s hand and gently tugged her close. “People like that make me so mad,” she said, glaring at a speeding SUV. “What’s he thinking, driving so fast in a parking lot!”
Rosie’s stony expression didn’t soften, but at least she hadn’t jerked back her hand.
Rena noted the frayed sleeves of her daughter’s sweatshirt jacket. Loose threads caused one pocket to droop. And the cord in the hood was missing.
“First chance we get, we’ll go shopping, buy you all new clothes and shoes and—”
“Daddy,” Rosie said, letting go to grasp Grant’s hand, “can you take me, instead?”
“I don’t know the first thing about girls’ clothes.” While Rosie pushed the elevator’s Up button, he met Rena’s eyes. “Sorry,” he mouthed.
Rena answered with a helpless shrug as Rosie said, “Well, can you come with us?”
“I’d be bored. So bored, I’d fall asleep standing up.”
Rosie giggled. “Like a horse?”
Grant whinnied then tousled her hair. “Either that, or I’d end up snoring on the floor, and you and your mom would have to drag me out to the car.”
Grinning up at him, she said, “That won’t happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because! You’re way too big for us to drag anywhere. But…” She looked at Rena. “We wouldn’t leave him alone, not even for a minute, would we, Mom.”
She called me Mom! Heart hammering with relief, Rena pushed fearful thoughts and worries from her mind. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her in a fierce hug—and feel Rosie return it—but she resisted. All in good time, she told herself.
The elevator doors hissed open, and the VanMeters stepped inside.
“My other mother didn’t like elevators, so we always took the stairs,” Rosie announced. “But I remember the time when I broke my arm.” She looked up at Grant. “Remember? When the doctor sent us upstairs for X-rays?”
“How could I forget! You scared the life out of me that day. If it hadn’t been for Mom’s quick thinking, who knows how long it would have taken me to pull myself together and drive us to the ER.”
Good one, Rena thought. But not good enough, as evidenced by the doubt on Rosie’s face.
They reached their floor, and Rosie followed close on Grant’s heels as he led the way down the hall. She stood so near his elbow as he pushed the keycard into its slot that Rena wondered how he’d managed to avoid poking her temple.
He flicked on the lights, and Rosie bounded into the room. “Ooh, a flat-screen TV! Which bed is mine?”
“It’s up to you,” Rena said. While they ate pizza, she’d think of a reason to sleep on the cot.
Rosie chose the bed nearest the window.
“Let me turn down the covers for you,” Rena said. “Even in a nice hotel like this one, you can’t be sure how long it’s been since they last washed the bedding.”
Rosie’s shoulders slumped. “Dad, tell me she’s not always this picky.”
“Mom isn’t being picky. She’s just looking out for you. Because she loves you.”
Rosie met Rena’s eyes, her expression saying what words needn’t: Yeah? So where were you when my other mother took me away?
“How about a quick shower while we’re waiting for the pizza?” Rena suggested. “Then you can get into your PJs and slide under the covers and watch some TV while you eat, all warm and snuggly.”
“Snuggly? I’m not a baby, you know. And anyways, I took a shower at the Millers’ this morning.” She pointed at the folded-up cot near the door. “What’s that thing for?”
Grant slapped a hand to the back of his neck. It’s what he’d always done when frustration got the better of him. Robson had warned them that Rosie’s behavior might be less than ideal as she grappled with her new circumstances, yet the two of them had no power to do anything about it. At least, not yet.
“It’s one of those just-in-case things,” Grant told her. “I’m a restless sleeper. So if I get to tossing and turning, Mom can sleep on the cot.”
Rosie looked suspicious.
“I snore, too, so…”
Rena had no memory of him tossing and turning. Or snoring, for that matter. He’d given her the perfect excuse to get out of sharing the bed. Either that, or it was his polite way of saying he wouldn’t mind one last night alone.
Rena had slept in the bed nearest the window last night. Once they got back to the house, Rosie would expect them to sleep in the same bed. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid.
The image of him in his usual nighttime attire, boxer shorts and a T-shirt, brought back so many happy memories. Rena had often teased him, saying he could wear oil-streaked coveralls and look handsome.
Get hold of yourself, you ninny. What she needed, Rena decided, was a distraction. Reaching into her purse, she withdrew a packet of disinfectant wipes and proceeded to clean the remote control, the doorknobs, the light switches. While in the bathroom wiping the faucet, toilet handle and vanity, she heard Rosie’s quiet voice: “Does she do stuff like this all the time?”
Rena tensed.
“Look at it this way, Rosie-girl. If the people who rented the room before us were sick, we could get sick, too. Mom’s just looking out for us. It’s what she does.” He paused, then added, “I think that’s pretty nice, don’t you?”
Instead of answering his question, Rosie said, “Will you read to me?”
“Sure, but how ’bout you take that shower and get into your PJs first.”
Rena exited the bathroom and went directly to Rosie’s bag. The hearts-and-flowers pajamas she'd bought looked two sizes too big. The cuffs were frayed, and a button was missing. She held them to her face, relieved that at least they smelled clean.
“Here you go, sweetie,” she said, placing them on the bed.
Rosie gathered them to her chest and headed for the bathroom. “And in case you’re wondering, I don’t need any help, because I’m not a baby.” With that, she closed and locked the door.
Rena slumped onto the foot of the bed and massaged her temples. “Dr. Robson said this might be difficult, but I had no idea it’d be this difficult.” She met Grant’s eyes. “Rosie hates me.”
He sat beside her. “Nah. She’s just confused. Barbara’s gone, and she’s been shuttled from the mall to the police station to the FBI to Robson’s office, with a foster home in between. And let’s not forget that until a couple days ago, she thought we were dead.”
“You’re right, of course. I can barely make sense of it all, and I’m not nine years old.”
There was a knock on the door. Grant rose slowly, saying, “Give her time, Rena. She’ll come around.”
He placed both pizza boxes on the low-slung bureau beside the TV cabinet then rapped on the bathroom door. “Pizza’s here, sweetie. C’mon out before it gets cold.”
“Okay, Dad.” Rosie emerged a moment later in her oversized PJs. “Did Mrs. Miller pack my toothbrush?”
Rena rummaged through the bag and found it. “Yes, she did, but I don’t see toothpaste. It’s okay. I brought plenty.”
The child took care not to touch Rena when accepting the toothbrush. She looked at Grant. “Do you have some, or do you have to use hers, too?”
He’d packed his own bag. Of course he had toothpaste.
Placing a hand atop her head, he winked. “When we get home, we’ll get you your own tube, but for now, it’s okay to share. We’re a family, kiddo, and families share things.”
Rena quickly found her toothpaste.
Rosie rolled her eyes. “All right,” she said, hand extended. “But I think it's weird to shower and brush my teeth before we eat. Really weird.” One slender shoulder rose. “I guess I'd be looking for things to say if I was you, too.” She held out her hand, and waited for Rena to give her the toothpaste.
Instead of giving it to her, Rena put it on the vanity counter. Granted, the child had been through a lot. That didn’t make it any easier to pretend the disrespect didn’t bother her. Perhaps her behavior would improve once Rosie was home, surrounded by familiar things. A gal can hope…
She got busy setting the small round table near the window. There were only two chairs, so Rena placed her own paper plate, napkin and soda on Rosie’s nightstand. The distance between the bed and the table couldn’t be more than three feet. Enough to satisfy Rosie, who’d been working hard at keeping a careful distance.
She let you hold her hand in the parking lot. And she called you Mom. That’s a good start…right?
Grant found an animated movie on TV and kept Rosie distracted by mimicking the characters’ voices. Hearing her sweet, little-girl giggles did Rena’s heart good. She enjoyed seeing her husband happy and having fun, too. The poor guy had been sad far too long.
Rosie devoured two big slices of pizza and half an apple tartlet. Then, stretching, she said around a yawn, “Now will you read to me, Daddy?”
“You bet I will, kiddo. Where’s your book?”
She slid a tattered copy of The Velveteen Rabbit from her satchel, and after handing it to him, climbed under the covers. She patted the space beside her. “Sit right here, so I can see the pictures.”
Grant toed off his shoes and obliged her.
Rena turned off the TV and cleaned up the pizza mess as Grant read, content to listen as his melodic baritone filled the room.
“Remind me…what’s charming mean?” Rosie asked when the word came up.
Rena thought she detected something sly in Rosie’s tone, but Grant handled it well. He rubbed his chin and said “It has a couple of meanings, actually. Sometimes it means delightful and pleasant, sometimes it means a person is likeable, or good-looking. Adorable, even!”
Rosie smiled up at him. “Just as I thought. You’re charming.”
He gave her a sideways hug. “Thanks, kiddo.” He chucked her chin. “You’re pretty charming, yourself.”
Rosie turned the page. “My…my other mother only read to me if I did all my chores and got all the right answers on my homework. I hated when she gave math homework. I’m not very good at math.”
According to the file, Rosie had been homeschooled. Rena wondered if Barbara had been a good teacher.
“Your mom is a math whiz. It's one of the reasons she's such a great nurse,” Grant said. “She’s an excellent teacher, too, so I’m sure she’d love to help you with your school work.”
As Rena tossed napkins and paper plates into the trash can, she felt Rosie’s eyes on her. Should she chime in and offer to work with Rosie? Or was it smarter to pretend she hadn’t overheard the conversation, and avoid another cold-as-ice confrontation?
“Well? Would you do that?” Rosie prompted.
Rena hesitated. Just dive in, you ’fraidy cat. From the moment she and had Grant walked into the playroom, the girl had let dozens of zingers fly. Rena had earned them, and then some. So what’s one more?
“I’d love that.” She wanted to hold Rosie close, to prove how much she meant it. All in good time, she told herself.
“Are you going to homeschool me, or can I go to a real school, with other kids and stuff?”
Soon, summer vacation would begin. Rena would make appointments with the principal and guidance counselor at Sentinal Lane Elementary, and with one of the therapists Dr. Robson had recommended. In a few weeks, they’d have an answer to that question.
“Your dad and I haven’t had a chance to discuss it yet, but it seems to me that getting you enrolled in—as you put it—a real school, with kids your own age, would be a very good thing.”
Using his thumb, Grant marked their page in the book. “I agree, a hundred percent.” He gently elbowed Rosie. “How ’bout you, kiddo? What do you think?”
“Oh, I’d love that!” She clasped her hands. “Are there other kids in your…I mean, in our neighborhood?”
Rena smiled. “As a matter of fact, there are, all walking distance from our house, and I just know they’re going to love you!”
“I used to watch kids from my bedroom window. They looked like they were having a lot of fun. My other mother didn’t like playdates. She said it messed up the house. But it made me sad.”
It made Rena sad, too, but admitting it might make Rosie feel the need to defend the horrid woman. It was bad enough hearing her refer to Barbara as her “other mother.”
According to the pediatrician, Rosie showed no signs of having been physically abused or mistreated in any way, and though they still had to wait for the labs to come back, she didn’t appear to suffer from any vitamin deficiencies. Barbara hadn’t allowed her to socialize with kids her age, but at least she’d provided healthy food and a safe environment. Rosie knew how to read and, as evidenced by the captions on her construction paper drawings, how to write. Whether or not Rosie was on par with other children her age remained to be seen, since Barbara either hadn’t kept or had destroyed any records of homeschool lessons and activities.
“Will I be allowed outside to play?”
Rena tensed. Rosie would probably love to visit the O’Brien kids, two doors down, or the Citerony twins, directly across the street. She’d have to bake some cookies, bring a plate to each neighbor. Getting to know them was step one in learning to trust that they’d watch over Rosie. Besides, keeping her in a bubble wouldn’t guarantee her safety…
“Sure you can,” Rena said, looking to Grant. “They’re great kids, around your age, I think. I’m sure you’ll all have fun together.”
“And they’ll be allowed to come into our house, too?”
“That’ll be wonderful. I’ll even bake cookies for the bunch of you!”
“Oatmeal raisin,” Rosie said slowly, her gaze drifting to a spot over Rena’s shoulder. “I remember those.” She met Rena’s eyes. “They were my favorite.”
Did she also remember standing on the kitchen step stool, cracking eggs into the mixing bowl? Or Rena, steadying her tiny hands as she added baking powder and vanilla, as she tried to maneuver the big wooden spoon through the thick batter? Rosie had always taken pride in arranging balls of dough in straight rows on the baking sheets, and loved sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching through the oven’s window as the cookies turned golden brown.
“I’ll tell you what. Once we’re all settled in at home, we’ll bake a batch, together.”
“My other mother didn’t let me do things like that. She said the kitchen is a dangerous place for children.”
Her expression and posture made it clear that Rosie hadn’t approved of the rule. But no matter how she responded, Rena risked destroying the harmony they’d established these past few moments: disagree with Barbara and underscore Rosie’s belief that Rena was incapable of keeping her safe; agree and give her daughter the impression that the unreasonable regulations would continue.
“I promise, we’ll be very, very careful.”
Rosie bobbed her head. “Okay.”
How could one upbeat, agreeable word make her so happy she could cry?
Now, yawning and stretching, Rosie leaned into Grant. “Can we finish the story tomorrow, Dad? I’m sleepy.”
“Sure thing, kiddo.” He placed the book on the nightstand between the beds. “I’m going to have another slice of pizza while your mom tucks you in, all right?”
Rena could have kissed him for that.
“Okay,” Rosie repeated, hopping from the bed. “But first, I need to brush my teeth.”
She could have kissed him twice.