Still, Mari could barely breathe at the prospect of handing over the baby, even though she knew this was the best thing for Issa.
The main door opened and Mari flinched, clutching the tiny girl closer. Rowan entered, lines fanning from his eyes attesting to the sleepless night they’d both endured after the fateful phone call about Issa’s identity.
Rowan had scraped his hair back with a thin leather tie, his jeans and button-down shirt still sporting the wrinkles from when she’d tossed them aside in an effort to get him naked. That seemed eons ago now. Those moments after the call when they’d hastily gotten dressed again had passed in a frenzied haze.
“Any news?” she asked, feeling like a wretched person for hoping somehow she could keep Issa. She wasn’t in any position to care for a baby. She’d never even given much thought to being a mother. But right now, it was the only thing she could think about. Who knew that a baby could fill a void in her life that she would have never guessed needed filling?
He shook his head and sat on the arm of the sofa near her, his blue eyes locked on the two of them. “Just more verification of what we learned last night. The mother’s note was honest. Her husband was a soldier killed in a border dispute. And just more confirmation to what we already knew—she picked up a job doing temp work here, which is why she didn’t show up on the initial employee search. The woman you saw that night running from the cart was, in fact, Issa’s mother. She has family support back on the mainland. But it appears her husband’s death hit her especially hard when she was already suffering from postpartum depression.”
That last part hadn’t been in the early reports. The whole issue became muddier now that the baby hadn’t been left out of selfishness, but rather out of a deep mental illness. “Issa ended up in a room-service cart because of postpartum depression?”
“Approximately one in eight new mothers suffer from it in the States.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if battling a headache. “Even more so here with the rampant poverty and lack of medical care.”
Mari’s arms twitched protectively around the bundled infant. Would it have made a difference for Issa’s mother if the family had been more supportive? Or had they been shut out? So many questions piled on top of each other until she realized she was simply looking for someone to blame, a reason why it would be okay to keep Issa. The scent of baby detergent—specially bought so she could wash the tiny clothes herself—mingled with sweet baby breath. Such a tender, dear bundle…
When Issa squirmed, Mari forced herself to relax—at least outwardly. “I guess I should be grateful she didn’t harm her child. What happens now?”
Mari’s eyes dropped to the child as Issa fought off sleep, her tiny fingers clenching and unclenching.
“She goes to her family,” he said flatly.
“Where were they when Issa’s mother felt so desperate?” The question fell from Mari’s heart as much as her mouth, the objective scientist part of her nowhere to be found. She had to be certain before she could let go.
Rowan’s hand fell to a tiny baby foot encased in a Christmas plaid sleeper. “The aunt and uncle insist they offered help, and that they didn’t know how badly their niece was coping.”
“Do you believe them?”
“They don’t live nearby so it’s entirely possible they missed the signs. Issa’s only three months old.” He patted the baby’s chest once before shoving to his feet again, pacing restlessly. “They came for the funeral six weeks ago, left some money, followed up with calls, but she told them she was managing all right.”
“And they believed her.” How awful did it make her that she was still desperately searching for something to fault them for, some reason why they couldn’t be the right people to raise the little angel in her arms.
“From everything our sources can tell, they’re good people. Solid income from their tourist shop.” He stopped at the window, palming the glass and leaning forward with a weary sigh. “They want custody of Issa and there’s no legal or moral reason I can see why they shouldn’t have her.”
“What about what we want?” she asked quickly, in case she might have second thoughts and hold back the words.
“We don’t have any rights to her.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “This is the best scenario we could have hoped would play out. That first night when we spoke to the cops, we both never really dreamed this good of a solution could be found for her.”
“I realize that… It’s just…”
He turned to face her, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “You already love her.”
“Of course I care about her.”
A sad half smile tipped his mouth. “That’s not what I said.”
“I’ve only known her a few days.” Mari rolled out the logic as if somehow she could convince herself.
“I’ve watched enough new mothers in my line of work to know how fast the heart engages.”
What did he hope to achieve by this? By stabbing her with his words? “I’m not her mother.”
“You have been, though. You’ve done everything a mother would do to protect her child. It’s not surprising you want to keep her.”
Mari’s throat clogged with emotion. “I’m in no position to take care of a baby. She has relatives who want her and can care for her. I know what I have to do.”
“You’re giving her the best chance, like a good mother.” He cupped the back of her head, comfort in his gaze and in his touch.
She soaked up his supporting strength. “Are you trying to soften me up again?”
“I’m wounded you would think I’m that manipulative.” He winked.
“Ha,” she choked on a half laugh. “Now you’re trying to make me smile so I won’t cry.”
He massaged her scalp lightly. “It’s okay to cry if you need to.”
She shook her head. “I think I’ll just keep rocking her, maybe sing some Christmas carols until her family arrives. I know she won’t remember me, but…”
A buzzer sounded at their suite door a second before Hillary walked in, followed by Troy. Mari sighed in relief over the brief reprieve. The aunt and uncle weren’t here yet.
Hillary smiled gently. “The family is on their way up. I thought you would want the warning.”
“Thank you for your help tracking them down.” Mari could hardly believe she managed to keep her voice flat and unemotional in light of the caldron churning inside her.