TINA AND LINDA took turns pushing their grandkids on the swings. Grant and Rena’s siblings and their spouses, sipping iced tea and lemonade, chatted quietly on the deck. The awkwardness with Rena’s parents earlier in the weekend seemed to have passed, and Grant was enjoying seeing them all together. He’d forgotten just how good it could feel.
Kent stepped up beside him at the grill.
“You never want to mash them like that. Squeezes out all the juice.”
Nothing like a backseat griller, Grant thought. He grabbed the long-handled tongs and moved the hot dogs to the top rack.
“Mind if I ask you a sorta personal question?”
“Depends on the question, I guess.”
“How are things going? Between you and my girl, I mean.”
Rena had continued to sleep in the master bedroom since the night they'd returned home with Rosie. Did she draw as much comfort from it as he did? Or was she still just going through the motions for their daughter's sake? “Don’t worry,” she’d said, hours before they arrived, when he'd asked what her parents knew about their arrangement. “I've kept things vague. I don't want to rehash all the reasons we split up in the first place, and why we aren’t really…well…together now.”
He didn't want to rehash any of that, either—at least, not with the Reynolds. Truthfully, though, he hoped the sleeping arrangements wouldn’t be temporary. Grant had missed the companionship aspect of their marriage as much as the romantic side.
It had surprised him, hearing that she hadn’t given them a blow-by-blow of the things he’d said and done to prompt the separation.
He closed the grill’s lid. “Why do you ask, Kent?”
The man’s gaze traveled into the yard, where Rosie and her cousins squealed happily. “Oh, nothing in particular. Rena looks fine, but…” He shrugged. “It’s like she has something on her mind. Something big.”
“I’m sure she does.” Grant downed a gulp of iced tea. “Getting Rosie back was big. Real big. And she’s on a mission to clear every closet and drawer of unused items. The charity truck will be here any day to pick the stuff up, so she has this self-imposed deadline to meet.”
“Ah-ha.”
Kent wasn’t buying it, and frankly, Grant couldn’t blame him. For the most part, Rena behaved like the woman he’d married, easygoing and happy. Once in a while, though, he caught her staring absentmindedly into space, looking sad and lost and…lonely. One day, he’d muster the courage to ask her about that. For now, he preferred to leave things as they were. Why risk hearing that she missed her cottage at the beach, or wished they hadn't decided to share the master bedroom?
“So I take it Rosie’s doctor thinks she’s doing well?”
“She has a ways to go yet, but he’s pleased with her progress.” Grant closed the barbecue and took another gulp of his iced tea.
“Does she say much about…the past few years?”
“Not really. Trivial stuff like which books the woman read to her, how she baked cookies every weekend. At least we know there were a few normal moments.” Grant rattled the ice in his glass. “The doctor says to be patient, not to rush her into talking about things, that she’ll talk when she’s ready.”
Kent harrumphed. “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard. Get it out in the open, I say, and deal with it.”
“That’s what I said. Rena agrees with Danes, that we should let nature take its course.” He frowned at the drink. “Who am I to argue? I don’t have a wig-picking degree.”
Kent shrugged. “Seems to me, though, that you should have more control over things. You’re Rosie’s father. And I’m sure this Danes guy is charging top dollar to spout his so-called expert opinion.”
“I have no problem with his fees. It’s the lack of headway that’s driving me nuts. Every week, it’s the same old thing—‘Be patient. Things will happen in their own good time. Don’t rock the boat.’”
“But Rosie seems well-adjusted and happy, for the most part,” Kent mused.
“‘Seems’ and ‘is’…long distance between ’em.”
Kent shook his head. “I can’t begin to imagine what all this has been like for you and Rena. In your shoes…”
His voice trailed off, and he stood quietly, watching his grandchildren romp in the yard. “In your shoes,” he continued, “I’d want to ring that woman’s neck.” He started down the steps leading into the yard. “Better check those hot dogs, son.”
The back door opened, startling him. Rena stepped up beside him and placed a pot of baked beans on the side burner to the right of the grill then stacked two plates on the stainless prep counter on the left side.
“One for the hot dogs,” she said, “one for the hamburgers.”
Grant made note of her guarded smile. “You’ve always been great at anticipating the needs of others.” And it was true. Rena was generous to a fault, and honest as the day was long. If she had to choose between her own needs and someone else’s, she’d take a back seat.
He hadn’t intended to stare, but found it hard not to. She looked lovely, cheeks flushed from the day’s warmth and excitement about the family get-together. Eyes wide and unblinking, she took two deliberate steps away from him.
“I’ll be right back with cheese slices.” A nervous laugh punctuated the announcement. “And I have to bring out the potato salad and coleslaw.”
What was going on with her? Grant didn’t like seeing Rena uncomfortable. Especially not in her own home. Especially when his behavior was no doubt part of the reason. He thought he’d been hospitable.
He’d ask her, but he’d have to wait until the family left to get into it with Rena. Between now and then, Grant intended to find a way to let her know he wanted her here, and not just because of Rosie. Every time those old memories rose up, reminding him how she'd looked the other way, he clamped down on them, hard. He hadn't allowed himself to consider the possibility that what happened at the zoo could just as easily have happened to him at the grocery store or the library. But lately, watching her with their daughter…
He followed her gaze, to where Rosie, her cousins and grandparents batted a pink ball back and forth. From the corner of his eye, though, he could see every inch of Rena, from the pale yellow sundress to her strappy white sandals. A thick braid hung over one shoulder, just as it had the first day of their honeymoon, when they’d taken an early-morning walk on Ocean City’s boardwalk.
That day, Rena had stopped dead in her tracks and kicked off her shoes, eyes on the waves that gently lapped the shore. Sandal straps dangling from her fingertips, she’d raced down the rough-hewn wooden steps, facing him when her feet hit the sand. “Let’s hunt for seashells!” she’d said. When he’d pointed out that she had nothing to carry them in, she’d grabbed his hand and kissed each fingertip. “That’s why God gave you big, strong hands!” she’d whispered, right before planting a kiss on his lips. And even now, remembering it, Grant’s pulse quickened.
Rena had been so fun and flirty, a playful and passionate partner…until Rosie went missing.
That wasn’t entirely true. She’d grieved their girl’s disappearance, but made a conscious effort not to appear sad—which he knew had been solely for his benefit. He’d often heard her, sobbing when she thought no one was around.
All of a sudden, he realized she’d been staring at him as if he’d grown a third eye. How much of the beautiful memory of Ocean City—or the darker one, of her lonely sobs—had shown on his face? Grant cleared his throat and faced the grill. “Need a hand carrying anything else outside?”
“I, um, I just need to grab the ice bucket and the lemonade…”
Why the hesitation? Had she been remembering the past, too?
With that, she let the screen door drift shut behind her.
Facing the yard, he hollered, “Hey, you guys! Get washed up. We’re eating in five minutes!”
Every family member hustled toward the deck.
Kent and Rosie held hands. “Thank goodness,” Rena’s father said, “My stomach has been grumbling for an hour.”
“Mine, too,” Rosie chimed in before making a mad dash inside.
Linda hung back.
“Everything okay?” Grant asked her.
“I heard some of the kids asking Rosie what it was like. Being kidnapped. Living with a stranger. Being kept from you and Rena for so long…”
Grant’s heart lurched. He hadn’t thought to prepare her for something like that. Hopefully, Rena—being Rena—had anticipated that need and filled it. It was another thing he’d need to talk to her about later.
“What did Rosie say?”
“She changed the subject. Each and every time. It threw the kids off, and they stopped asking questions. But I saw her face. She looked so confused. And like…like it hurt to remember what happened.” Linda stamped one foot. “I declare, if that woman wasn’t already dead…”
“I hear ya. Rena and I feel the same way.”
Linda looked over her shoulder and, assured that everyone else was still inside, said, “It’s just… It’s easy to see that Rosie is going to be all right.” She bit her lower lip, something Rena did, too, when put on the spot. “I realize she has a long way to go, but…” She bit her lip again. “It’s Rena I’m worried about. She seems fine on the surface, but I can’t help but wonder how you’re both handling the reconciliation.”
“We’re doing fine.”
“I only ask because I want Rena to be happy. She’s been so unhappy for so long.”
“She’ll be fine. And having Rosie back is a big part of that.”
Linda didn’t look convinced. “I hope you’re right. I want both of you, and Rosie, to be happy.”
Grant pretended to busy himself adjusting the plates on the table.
“I want you to know that Rena did her best to put on a good show in the past couple years. Of moving on and accepting things—Rosie’s disappearance and the separation.”
Grant only nodded. It would have surprised him to hear Rena had cried on their shoulders. She was the strongest person he knew.
“But she couldn’t fool us. She was miserable.”
Any minute now, the family would gather around the table.
“Speaking of Rena, I wonder if she needs a hand with anything,” Grant said awkwardly.
Just then, she stepped onto the deck, carrying the lemonade pitcher and tumblers on a napkin-covered tray.
Relieved, Grant took the tray from her. “Let me get that for you, angel.”
It was what he’d always called her, practically since they’d met. It must have been longer than he realized since he'd used the term of endearment. Why else had her mouth formed a perfect O as she blinked and averted her eyes?
Dinner chatter was companionable, due in large part to the kids’ nonstop questions. Why did people’s hair turn gray when they became grandparents? What explained old people’s need for reading glasses? How had Rena learned to make lemonade? And his favorite, from Rosie: Who taught Grant to sizzle up the burgers without burning them, like her other mother always did?
At the mention of Barbara, the family all but went silent. He saw the way Linda immediately looked at Rena. And the way she smiled and said, “Practice makes perfect, Rosie. Dad burned a burger or two before he mastered the grill.”
Gotta hand it to her, Grant thought as Rena added a dollop of potato salad to her plate and, smiling serenely, topped it off with a few shakes of pepper.
“What’s for dessert?” her brother’s youngest boy wanted to know.
“Chocolate cake and two kinds of pie…apple and cherry,” Rena told Tim.
“We never had dessert at my other mother’s house.”
Again, an uncomfortable silence blanketed the table.
“It won’t go to waste with this horde!” Grant said, breaking the ice. He speared a hot dog roll. “Besides, I love pie for breakfast. A little milk in the bowl, a minute in the microwave… Mmm-mmm-mmm. If there’s any left, that is.”
“Milk on pie… I remember that!” Rosie said. “’Member when I used to sit on your lap and you’d share it with me?”
The memory—and Rosie’s willingness to share—touched Grant.
“How could I forget?” He gave her a gentle elbow poke. “You hogged up everything but the crust!”
Her catsup grin widened. “Oh, yeah. I did, didn’t I?” Giggling, she said, “Sorry.”
Linda, seated to Rosie’s right, leaned closer. “When do you start school, pretty girl?”
Rosie looked to Rena for an answer.
“We have an appointment Monday morning, to meet the principal and the guidance counselor.”
“Not her teacher?”
“First, we need to find out which class she’ll be in. She was homeschooled at…Barbara’s. So they’ll need to test her, since there are no records.”
“Lucky duck,” Grant’s nephew, Billy, said. “You could do your schoolwork in your PJs if you wanted to. Bet you didn’t have homework, either.”
Rosie’s smile vanished. “I never did schoolwork in my pajamas, and I had at least an hour of homework every night. On weekends, even.”
Grant’s sister Anni aimed a stern glare at her son, who shrugged and took another bite of his cheeseburger.
“My other mother said I was doing sixth and seventh grade work,” Rosie continued. “She said kids in public school don’t know half what I do.”
“Why do you keep calling her your other mother?” Billy asked. “Aunt Rena is your mother. Your only mother.”
“Now, now, Billy," Tina said, "how about we see what the rest of your cousins are doing in the sandbox?” She held a hand out to him, extended one to Rosie, too. “Want to come with us, sweetie? ”
Rosie sent a grateful smile her grandmother's way and shook her head. They hadn't gone ten feet before her eyes glimmered with tears.
Seeing her in pain hurt Grant so much that he felt tears in his own eyes. He felt angry, too, at Billy for the ill-timed, thoughtless question. Yeah, he knew Billy was just a kid, but that didn't change the fact that he'd hurt Rosie! Grant was angry at himself, too, for not anticipating what might happen.
He looked at Rosie, doing her level best to rein in her emotions. But he saw that trembling lower lip and remembered it had always preceded a full-out sob session. If he didn't do something fast, Rosie would become the center of attention, and the only person who hated that more than his daughter was his wife.
Grant scooped her up and started walking toward the swing set.
“You owe me a ride on the seesaw. Time to pay up, kiddo.”
He gave her a big squeeze before placing her on the seat. When she looked up at him through tear-spiked lashes, Grant thought his heart might explode with love.
“Thanks, Daddy,” she whispered past a wavering smile. “Guess I shouldn't have called Barbara—”
Placing a forefinger over her lips, he shushed her. “Don't give it another thought. All you need to know is that Mom and I love you.” He winked. “And that you're in for one heckuva ride, so hold on tight!”
The instant his weight lifted her up, Rosie began giggling. He wanted this for her all the time. Because his girl deserved all the joy and ease life had to offer.
He made the decision then and there to help Rosie open up—about everything. Help her deal with the past so it would no longer be a forbidden, scary place. Would Rena agree? Or would she remind him that Dr. Danes had advised against it?
Lighten up, VanMeter. She’s doing her best.
But what if her best wasn’t good enough…for Rosie?
He’d been tough on Rena after the kidnapping, and hadn’t let up until she felt she had no choice but to leave him.
But the truth was, she’d had a choice.
And so had he.
And for Rosie's sake, they needed to acknowledge it.
* * *
THE FAMILY GATHERED in the driveway, exchanging goodbye hugs and promises to get together again soon.
“I’m so sorry, Rena,” Grant’s sister said, “for everything Billy said. I don’t know what got into him!”
“No harm done.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“He’s just a kid, and I’m sure he’s as confused about the whole situation as we are.”
Another thing to love about Rena: she hated seeing anyone uncomfortable and always gave the benefit of the doubt.
Once everyone left, Grant took Rosie’s hand. “Hey, kiddo, what's up? You feelin' okay?”
“I'm fine.”
But she wasn't. She’d been so jovial, so spirited before Billy blurted out his untimely questions. Grant couldn’t lay full blame at the boy’s feet—it was natural for kids to be curious. If he and Rena had talked to Rosie first, tried to help her prepare for such questions, they could have spared her today's upset.
“Did you get a chance to tell Grandma and Grandpa those knock-knock jokes you were practicing the other day?”
She smiled. But only a little. “Yeah, they laughed. Grandpa even told me some.”
What’s going on in her little head?
Rena sat with them. “I had a feeling a second dessert was a mistake,” she said, grinning as Rosie picked at her slice of pie.
“I’m sleepy,” Rosie said eventually. “May I take a shower and get into my pajamas?”
“Of course,” Rena said, rising. “Let me get everything ready for you.”
She met Rena’s eyes, studied her face for a moment before saying, “I’m not a baby.”
“I know that. I just love doing things for you.”
Rosie inhaled a deep breath, released it slowly. “Is there time to watch a movie before bed? Even though Grandma and Grandpa went to bed?”
“Sure. Why not,” Grant said. She’d had a long, busy day, and it wasn’t likely she’d last until the credits rolled, anyway.
Once she was out of earshot, Grant said, “You were right, Rena. She’s fragile. The splinter the other day, and now this. Doesn’t say much, but she’s thinking, always thinking.”
“Maybe it’s time that we stopped walking on eggshells around her,” Rena suggested. “And maybe, if she has something on her mind, it should come out.”
Grant could hardly believe his ears. “Well, that’s an about-face if ever I heard one.”
“Not really. It’s the way I’ve felt from the start.” She grimaced. “But Dr. Danes is the expert, and I'm the one who messed things up in the first place, so…”
“Don't talk that way. Danes doesn’t know everything. And he doesn’t know Rosie. We’re her parents. We’re with her every day. I say we wait for the next opening and jump through it with both feet.”
“I’m willing to try.”
“Just so I’m clear, you agree? That we should get her to open up about—”
“About everything.” Rena’s eyes gleamed with determination. “Including her feelings about me.”
You mean her feelings about how you stood by and let the kidnapping happen?
That wasn’t fair, and Grant knew it. Just because he felt that way, it didn’t mean Rosie did, too. He needed to take stock, make sure he didn’t let onto his own feelings when Rosie was around. Luckily, the harsh thoughts came less often these days. His fury had diminished, too. Grant didn’t know how he felt about that. Playing the blame game was what had kept him strong, saved him from calling her during those lonely, hurtful months they’d spent apart. As long as he could lay guilt for the kidnapping at Rena’s feet…
“Your dad asked if I thought we’d have more kids. Said something about a sister or brother helping Rosie adjust.”
She paled. “You’re joking.”
The question had surprised him, too. Now that Rosie was back, Grant had no idea how he felt about another child. Six months or so after their girl disappeared, Rena had brought up the idea of having a second baby. Each time, he’d said no. How did she feel about that now?
“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry he put you in that position.”
“He’s worried about you. So’s your mom. I suppose it’s a fair question, all things considered.”
Rena shook her head. “Still, it’s way too soon to even think about a step that big. Rosie isn’t out of the woods yet. And you and I…”
“We’ve had a lot to contend with. But as long as we stay focused on what’s best for Rosie, I think we’ll be okay.” Even in his own ears, the words sounded hollow, half true at best.
As much as they’d diminished—and Grant worked hard to suppress them—the accusations were always there, prickling at the edge of his consciousness. Those same feelings had motivated his gritty accusations years ago, literally sending Rena packing. He couldn’t afford to give in to them again, no matter how justified they might seem on the surface.
“Tomorrow, I’ll have a talk with Mom and Dad, make sure they know things are…that things are working so far.”
“No need for that. I get it. They love you and Rosie and want what’s best for both of you. In their place, I would have behaved the same way.”
Footsteps on the stairs cut their conversation short.
“I’m finished,” Rosie announced.
She looked so cute, standing there in bare feet, hair hanging in damp ringlets beside her face, the pink of her ruffle-hemmed nightgown reflecting onto her freckled cheeks. He wanted to scoop her up and hug her.
And so he did. Grant opened his mouth to tell her how much he loved her, how glad he was to have her home again, but before he got it out, she said, “Can we watch a movie now?”
Grant glanced at Rena to see if she still thought it was a good idea.
Her slow, sad smile took him back to those first days after Rosie had been taken, when his own pain and misery had prevented him from offering any consolation to Rena.
“Why don’t you to pick one while I make some popcorn and hot chocolate?”
“More food! No way!”
But Rosie didn't agree. “You can't see a movie without popcorn. Besides, if you're full, you don't have to eat any.”
“When you're right, you're right. But if you get a bellyache, don't come bellyachin' to me!”
Rosie followed him into the family room, where nothing but the island separated them from Rena.
Once Rosie settled beside him, Grant leaned close and whispered, “She’s doing her best to be a good mom, you know.”
One tiny shoulder went up, then down. “I guess.”
“And it won’t hurt you to be a little nicer to her.”
Her expression said, Yes, it will! She turned away, staring through the French doors, where the porch light illuminated the deck, fading as it spilled onto the lawn. Suddenly she perked up. “Look, Dad! Fireflies!”
Rena said, “There must be hundreds out there! When I was a kid, I loved catching them and watching them blink.”
“How’d you do it?” Rosie asked.
“Grandma poked holes in a jar lid,” she said, “and I collected a dozen or so and put them inside.”
“Can we do that? I’ll help with the holes!”
Rena took an old-fashioned can opener out of the utensil drawer. “This thing is sharp. And rusty. So it wouldn’t be safe. Right?”
Rosie nodded and joined her in the kitchen. “Can I go out in my pajamas?”
“I don’t see why not. But you’ll need to put on your slippers. Then we’ll find a jar.”
The girl dashed toward the steps, slowing only when Rena added, “Grab your robe while you’re upstairs. Just in case it’s chilly out there.”
She sent Grant an impish grin. “Okay, Mom. And thanks.”
Grant winked. His message had gotten through, loud and clear. This time, anyway.
“Now, how do I tell her she’s too young to stay up late enough to watch a movie after catching fireflies?” Rena asked.
“Don’t worry. She’ll understand. Because we’ll tell her together.”
Rosie skipped into the room a few moments later, pink robe flapping behind her like a superhero cape.
“Are the jars still in the cabinet under the china closet?”
Rena laughed quietly. “I can’t believe you remember that’s where I keep them!”
“I wasn’t a baby when Barbara took me, Mom. I was three. I remember a lot of stuff.”
Grant wondered if Rena was thinking the same thing he was: that Rosie remembered the trip to the petting zoo, too…
“Maybe one day,” Rena said softly, “you’ll tell Dad and me all about the things you remember.”
Rosie shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Grant would have sworn he heard another emotional door slam closed. And then Rosie said, “When I was with… When I was in Chicago, you were in a lot of my memories.”
Rena pressed a palm to her chest. Again, Grant believed he knew what she was thinking, because he was thinking it, too: I hope they were mostly happy memories…
“Let’s get that jar,” Rena said.
Rosie ran ahead of her and began rummaging in the cabinet. “How’s this one?” she asked, holding up what had been a jelly glass.
“Perfect.”
“I’ll pound some air holes in the lid,” Grant offered.
They joined him at the counter, watching as he placed the lid on the wooden cutting board and used the can opener to pierce the metal.
“You guys go ahead. I’ll be right there.”
But when he stepped outside, only Rosie was in the backyard. They caught half a dozen fireflies together, and still no Rena.
“I’m going to see what’s keeping your mom. You okay all by yourself?”
“I won’t be by myself. There are thousands of fireflies out here with me!”
He found her in the dining room, crouched in front of the china closet. Its open doors exposed two shelves, one that held bread baskets and stacks of linen napkins, another that housed multicolored vases and an assortment of Mason jars. Kneeling beside her, he placed a hand on her back.
“You okay?”
“No. I’ll probably never be okay again. Not after what I did.” She paused. “Or, more accurately, what I didn’t do.”
“Rena. Hon. Don’t do this to yourself. All that’s in the past. Ancient history.”
“Why shouldn’t I? She remembers things, Grant. She remembers.” Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “How long before the psychological and emotional damage I’ve done rears its ugly head? She’ll probably be scarred for life because of me!”
During the years Rosie was gone, Grant had had similar thoughts. Right here, right now? He wished he could take back every ugly thing he’d said to her. He’d meant it when he told his father-in-law that he cared about Rena and wanted only good things for her.
“Our girl’s home now, safe and sound. And we’re gonna get through this. Together.”
She gripped his forearm with a strength that belied her size. “Be honest with me, Grant. Do you think when she finally lets it all out, she’ll hate me? Do you think she hates me now?”
He had no way of knowing what damage Rosie might suffer while dealing with the truth about her past. But he couldn’t stand seeing Rena this way, afraid and uncertain about the future.
“No. I don’t think she hates you, and I don’t think she ever will. She’s a tough little girl. Think about all she survived and overcame.” Lifting Rena’s chin on a bent forefinger, he forced her to meet his eyes. “She’s made of sturdy stuff, just like her mother.”
Eyes closed, Rena turned from his touch, pretended that tidying the jars was the reason.
“That was a sweet thing to say.” On her feet again, Rena added, “I know you only said it to make me feel better.” A small, slanted smile brightened her face. “Thanks, Grant.”
Together, they went back outside, where Rosie was giggling as she plucked the glowing bugs from the air.
“I haven’t seen her this happy since she got home,” he said quietly.
“I hope it lasts.” Rena tilted her head toward the inky sky and whispered, “Please let it last.”
“Look, Dad! Thirteen of ’em already!”
“Way to go, Rosie-girl. Way to go!”
“If you guys help, we could have twenty. Thirty, even!” And then she yawned.
“Let’s see if we can get to twenty,” Rena said, moving closer to Rosie. “We want to leave some for tomorrow night, and the night after that.”
Nodding, Rosie dropped another bug into its new home. “Guess this means no movie tonight, huh?”
“We’ll have plenty of movie nights, sweetie.”
She thought about that for a minute, then said, “Yeah, I guess,” and grabbed for another firefly.
“What will we feed ’em, Dad?”
“These are adults. At this age, they don’t really need to eat, but when they do, they’re a little like butterflies, and hang around flowers for the nectar.”
“I’ll put some grass in with them, to give them a soft place to sleep.”
With that, she ran into the yard, eager to provide the bugs with a comfy bed. For the moment, life at the VanMeter household seemed like any other. Hope it lasts, he thought, echoing Rena’s prayer. Please, let it last.
After Rosie had spent another ten minutes pushing the greens into the jar, Rena said, “We should let those fireflies go and head inside, sweetie. It’s getting late.”
Rosie frowned. “Can’t I bring them inside with me? They can be my nightlight.”
Rena and Grant exchanged a look.
Grant wanted to say yes to her, but he knew that being captured, even by tiny, gentle hands, then deposited into a glass prison, spelled certain death for the fireflies. He imagined Rosie waking up to find them lying still in the jar, drained of the light that had brought her so much joy tonight. He had to protect her from that. “The problem is they’re not getting enough air,” he told her.
“But…but you punched a lot of holes in the lid.”
“True, but the jar is slippery, and they have a hard time climbing up the sides to reach the lid, where their air supply is.”
She stared at her captives for a moment. “If I put it on its side…?”
“Well, that’ll make it a little easier for them to breathe…” He needed to try a different tack. “The thing is, fireflies don’t have a very long life expectancy. They’ll only live a few more days.” Fewer, if she kept them in the jar. But he didn’t want her to know that.
Rosie’s frown deepened. She was too young to look so concerned—about bugs or anything else.
“That isn’t fair,” she said.
“That’s just nature for ya, Rosie-girl.”
“But a bunch of grass in a jar isn’t nature,” Rosie said. She turned to Rena. “They’re going to die if I keep them in here, aren’t they, Mom?”
Rena hesitated before saying, “Eventually, yes.”
Rosie unscrewed the jar’s lid and, stepping onto the lush lawn, gave it a shake, liberating every bug. “They should be in their real home,” she said, as she watched them take flight. “It wouldn’t be right to keep them for myself.”
Grant swallowed against a surge of emotion. Pride in his little girl for coming to that conclusion all on her own. Anger and sadness for what had been done to her when she’d been as helpless as a bug in a jar.
Rena went to her, took her hand. “C’mon, sweetie. Let’s get your teeth brushed so you can go to bed.”
After placing the empty jar on the kitchen counter, Rosie looked at Grant. “Are you coming up, too, to hear my prayers?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Once Rosie fell asleep, he’d ask Rena what she thought about that moment, if she, too, suspected that the captured fireflies had reminded Rosie of what Barbara had done. If setting them free would help her heal…or if letting her capture them in the first place had done more harm than good.
Yes, he had a lot to discuss with Rena. If she didn’t go into hiding the way she had been the past couple of nights…