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Fortunately, the wisdom of the body can outrank the panic of the mind. Maren was physically and mentally exhausted and soon fell fast asleep. Her respite had lasted only a few hours when she was awakened by a loud knocking. She sat up, her breath coming fast, throwing off the covers. The police may have thought the attack on her was a robbery, but she was far from convinced. She opened the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out the Gideon Bible provided with each room, raising it over her head, ready to land a righteous blow if need be.
“It’s Sal,” a woman said. “Sal Castro.”
Noel’s phone, the messages.
Maren opened the door. Standing before her was a tall woman in her late thirties dressed in a navy work shirt and matching pants, the only feminine touch a tiny gold cross on a chain around her neck. She had chin-length, dirty-blonde, curly hair. Her face was tanned and lined, her deep-set blue eyes worried. She held a sleeping child, three or four years old, wrapped in a blanket, face hidden from view.
“Is it okay if I put Bethany down?” Sal asked, as she struggled to pull back the covers with one hand and deposit her sleeping charge on the bed. “The hospital wouldn’t let me bring her into intensive care.” She added once the child was settled, “I have to see Noel.”
Maren would have said that she understood, would have offered a supportive comment, had she not been transfixed by the now-exposed features of the sleeping girl. A cast on one arm, her free hand was tangled in silky red-orange curls framing her pale face, sprinkled with translucent freckles. She wore a zip-front sweater with a kitten in a basket hand-embroidered on the pocket.
The sweater was identical to the one worn by the child in the last photo in the album that Sean had hidden. More than that, it was clear to Maren that the child she’d seen in that photo and in all the photos wasn’t Tamara. There was a powerful resemblance to Tamara, yes, but the photos were of this child.
“Are you all right?” Sal asked, taking in Maren’s glazed expression.
Maren turned away, picking up her room key off the nightstand. She willed her face to remain blank. “No, fine. I’m fine, really.” She handed the key to Sal. “What’s her name?” She couldn’t help herself from saying, “Your daughter—I mean, she is your daughter?”
Sal accepted the key and crossed the room quickly, her hand on the door, the need to see Noel pulling her as she spoke. “Bethany.” She turned back and gave a weak smile. “Is it okay if she stays with you? Noel said you’re good with kids.”
“Yes, of course,” Maren managed, realizing Sal might be having second thoughts about leaving the child in her care. “Is there anything special to do about her arm? The cast?
“It’s a small break, nothing serious.” Then Sal seemed to realize Maren might want some explanation. “She fell off a climbing structure at the park yesterday. Call me if she wakes up. You have my number in Noel’s phone.”
Maren eased herself into a chair and stared at the peaceful child before her. This was the child in the photo album, it had to be—the kitten sweater, her features. Maren’s mind raced.
But how? Why would Sean have those pictures unless this child is somehow related to Tamara? Sal’s daughter, but adopted? Or Tamara’s niece? There has to be a blood connection to Tamara.
Maren had so many questions. But she took a deep breath and consciously let go, for the moment, of the need to understand.
She had to do that to survive since it was the end of a day that couldn’t possibly be understood. Not, at least, until Noel was out of harm’s way.
She lay down carefully on the other side of the large bed, hoping not to wake the girl. But Bethany Castro opened her eyes, rolled over, and wrapped her hand around Maren’s dark curls before tucking her knees up to her chest and falling back into a deep sleep.
Maren lay like that, she wasn’t sure for how long, when she heard a key in the lock. When the door opened she was startled to see Sal, back so soon, fury in her eyes.
“They wouldn’t let me see him. Only family is allowed. Damn it, I don’t know what to do.” She paced the room, running both hands through her hair, grabbing at its roots in frustration—she looked ready to break a lamp or chair.
“Who did you speak with?”
“Some guy at the front desk. He wouldn’t let me past the entry. Family only, he kept saying.” Sal walked over and adjusted Bethany’s blanket as if by habit, but didn’t stop talking. The child didn’t stir. “I got mad and he said he didn’t need this grief, that he was going off shift in fifteen minutes, and if I didn’t leave he would call the police. On me.” She looked at Maren. “I guess I did get a little assertive.”
Maren had to smile. She knew how hard it was to be a strong woman in the world. Our lack of subtlety is not often appreciated. “What did you tell the guy, about who you are?”
“Noel’s girlfriend,” Sal answered, as though that would be obvious
“Okay. You said he was going off shift? Maybe you can get a fresh start.”
Maren eased off the bed, then reached behind her neck and unclasped the thin chain that passed through the simple gold band, its patina worn, hidden from sight under her shirt—her mother’s wedding ring. She’d not taken it off since her mother’s sudden death. It was time, she figured, and if not for this fierce woman, then for whom? She slipped the ring off the chain and handed it to Sal.
“Put this on. Tell them you’re Noel’s wife. He’ll have a bit of a shock when he wakes up,” she said. “But he’ll understand.”
She thought Sal might get teary, but this was a woman on a mission.
Sal didn’t blink, she didn’t pause. With a little effort, she wiggled the ring onto her finger. A tight fit, but she managed it, then gave a quick thanks and was gone.
Maren felt calmer, seeing the intense connection Sal clearly had to Noel. It made her more confident there would be time for questions later. She lay back down on the bed and was not surprised when Bethany rolled toward her once more and reached out her small hand for her hair.