McMahon. He’d left Recovery after checking on Juliet’s status but Maggie could very easily recall his turquoise gaze and his calm and confident aura. She was glad he’d been there; she felt reassured.
She stayed until she was sure Juliet was OK, until she was certain she could go home and tell Juliet’s children their mother was fine.
Maggie felt as though she’d barely slept for two nights. She was staying at Juliet’s house to look after the children but they were unsettled and missing their mother and Maggie’s nerves were stretched. She was tired and stressed, worried about her sister’s recovery. Each time she woke during the night she rang the hospital to check on Juliet. Her recovery had been unremarkable and, just as Dr McMahon had predicted, there’d been no more dramas and everything seemed back to normal.
Juliet was expecting to be discharged today. She’d asked Maggie to get to the hospital as early as possible, anticipating going home. She was obviously feeling better—she was certainly pushing to be discharged—but nothing much had ever slowed Juliet down.
Maggie had just managed to get Juliet’s children ready and to school on time before she returned to the hospital. She’d showered but hadn’t had time to wash her hair. She’d pulled it back into a ponytail and thrown on a pair of old jeans and a jumper but no make-up. She thought she probably looked worse than Juliet.
Juliet had been moved out of HDU into a private room after twenty-four hours but she’d spent most of yesterday sleeping and she looked surprisingly good. I do look worse than her, Maggie decided.
She walked over to the bed, leaning over to kiss Juliet’s cheek. ‘Hi. How are you feeling?’
‘A bit tired and sore but otherwise fine, surprisingly enough.’
‘Ready to go home, do you think?’
‘Definitely. I’m just waiting for the surgeon to come and discharge me.’
That would be Ben. Maggie’s heart flip-flopped in her chest. She hadn’t seen him yesterday when she’d visited Juliet, but she didn’t want to admit she’d felt disappointed. ‘Did he explain to you what happened?’
‘They think I had a reaction to the antinausea drug but there don’t seem to be any ongoing problems and they certainly don’t seem to be expecting any,’ Juliet replied.
‘Do you remember anything? Were you scared?’
Juliet shook her head. ‘Not at all. It was the strangest experience though. It was just like I’ve heard people describe it. The light. That floating sensation. How safe you feel. Everything.’ She paused and then continued. ‘Steven was there.’
‘My Steven?’
Juliet nodded.
‘Did you see him?’ Maggie didn’t doubt her sister’s recollection. Maggie was a theatre nurse; she’d heard plenty of these tales before, too many for her to rule them all out as nonsense.
‘No, I couldn’t see anything up there. The light was beautiful but it concealed everything. I could look down, I could see the operating theatre, I could see myself—but I couldn’t see Steven. I just heard him.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He told me it wasn’t my time. He sent me back. Told me my babies needed me.’ Juliet paused. ‘Do I sound crazy?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘I’ve had patients tell me similar things before,’ she answered honestly. ‘Did Steven say anything to me?’
The question was out before she could wonder why she’d even asked it.
What was she hoping to hear? Did she want a message or not? Would it matter either way?
When Steven first passed away Maggie would have given anything for one more chance just to touch him, one more chance to have him hold her, one more chance to hear him whisper her name. But that had been ten years ago and she’d come to terms with her loss. Even though she hadn’t found anyone to take Steven’s place his absence was no longer a gaping hole in her life—it was just a part of her. A part of her she’d become used to living with.
So why had she asked the question?
Curiosity, she decided. That was the answer.
Juliet shook her head. ‘No, sorry, Mags.’
She shrugged; it didn’t matter. What had she expected him to say? Only what she imagined she’d want to hear. ‘Be happy. I miss you. I love you’?
Did she still love him? She loved him but she couldn’t still be in love with someone who’d been dead for ten years. That wasn’t realistic. It didn’t matter that there’d been no message. A message wouldn’t change the fact that she was a widow and her life had moved on.
She picked up the chart at the end of the bed and flicked through it, looking for a change in topic. The monitors said Juliet was fine and the charts agreed. The medical staff had checked and double-checked everything and there was nothing untoward going on. Nothing that required further discussion.
‘Morning, ladies.’
Maggie looked up from the chart at the sound of Ben’s voice. It was rich and deep and she could feel it reverberate through her body. She hurriedly replaced the chart only to realize he was focused on Juliet and apparently not at all concerned about her activities. She silently reprimanded herself for being so foolish. Just because she felt a spark of attraction didn’t mean anything. He was obviously just a man doing his job.
‘Juliet, how are you?’ he asked.
‘Great. Packed and ready to go home. Ben, this is my sister, Maggie.’
‘Yes, we met.’ He glanced in her direction before returning his attention to Juliet. His focus was definitely on his patient, and Maggie swallowed her pride. ‘How’s your chest?’
‘A bit sore but better than yesterday, and otherwise I’m fine.’
Maggie stepped away from the bed, giving Ben space to examine Juliet. She thought putting some distance between them would give her a chance to recover her nerve but all she did was stand there and study him while his attention was focused elsewhere.
His thick dark hair was cut short but it looked as though it would curl if left to grow longer. His jaw was square and firm, perfectly symmetrical. He smiled at something Juliet said and creases appeared in the corners of his eyes. He was leaning over Juliet now, checking her wounds, and his trousers moulded around his buttocks. Maggie felt herself blush and quickly moved her attention a bit higher, away from temptation. From behind him she couldn’t see his eyes but she remembered the colour—turquoise blue.
She noticed a few flecks of silver in his hair and guessed him to be in his late thirties or early forties, about her age. The silver did nothing to detract from his looks—he really was gorgeous. But, she supposed, given that he was a plastic surgeon, he should be gorgeous. She wondered if he’d had any work done.
He’d finished examining Juliet and was standing in profile now; this allowed Maggie to study his nose, which, for the record, was a perfect Roman nose, narrow and straight. He turned to face her. ‘Is something wrong?’
Had
