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Kit and Lilli had joined them at the hospital by the time Martin was ready for visitors.
Maggie kissed Kit’s cheek before handing him to Lilli, then followed the nurse down a long corridor. She twisted her hands together, remembering the nightmare—and let out a breath when the nurse turned into a room halfway down.
“The doctor will be in to see you soon, Mrs. Martin.”
“Thank you.” Maggie waited until she left, then turned to the bed.
Martin had a cast covering his leg from his calf to the top of his thigh, and his leg propped up. He still looked pale, with more than one IV in his left arm. She was debating whether or not to sit next to him when he opened his eyes.
“Maggie.” He held out his hand.
She moved forward and took it, leaning down to kiss him. His lips were warm, solid. He was real, and here, and alive. Blinking back the tears that stung her eyes, she kissed him again, then lowered herself to the chair.
“I didn’t want to disturb you if you were sleeping.”
“The painkillers. I drift in and out.” Without his glasses, he looked younger. Vulnerable. “Did Sara—Dr. Chamberlain—tell you my condition?”
“That you won’t be running after Kit for a little while? She did.” Maggie closed both hands over his. “I’ll be with you, whatever you need.”
He shook his head. “The rehab she is talking about will cost too—”
“It doesn’t matter. The money from Anthea is ours, Martin. Whatever needs to be done to help you get better, we’re doing it.”
“Maggie.” He tugged at her hand. She moved to the edge of the bed, reached out to brush hair off his cheek. He’d missed a few appointments with the local barber. “I may not—” He cut himself off, staring at their joined hands. “I may not recover from this.”
“And your point?”
He blinked at her, opened and closed his mouth a few times before he finally shook his head. “You are a constant surprise, my beautiful wife.”
Heat spread across her cheeks at the compliment. “I like to keep you on your toes.”
He freed his hand to cradle her flushed cheek. “Keep doing it.”
Tears blurred her vision. “I will,” she whispered.
“Come here, love.” Martin tugged at her hand, pulling her forward.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
He tapped his cast. “I am quite numb at the moment.”
Maggie stretched out next to him, carefully wrapped her arm around his waist, and closed her eyes when he cradled the back of her head.
“I was so scared, Martin,” she whispered. “When Geoffrey ran out of the house, swearing he would have the box, every worst case flashed through my head.”
“Of course.” He kissed her temple, his fingers untangling her curls. “That busy mind of yours must have conjured several.”
“At least. Who is Mary?”
His fingers stilled. “Why do you ask?”
“Geoffrey shouted that name at Anthea. I think he was confusing her with someone else.”
“My mother. It was her middle name, and the name she used professionally, to avoid embarrassing my father.”
Maggie lifted her head, hearing the pain in Martin’s voice. “Oh, Martin. Why would he think she was your mother?”
“Because he drove the car the night my mother died.” Martin avoided her eyes, staring at the ceiling. “He caused the accident, then left her there, the bloody damn coward.”
“Oh, God. She died here?” She sat, caught his chin when he tried to turn his head away. Tears slid down the sides of his face, into his hair. Gently, she wiped at them, then lowered her forehead to his. “Martin—I’m so sorry.”
He closed his eyes, let out a ragged sigh. “My father refused to talk about her, after. I have no idea how much he knew about her death, if anything. She went by her maiden name when she was on a dig, again because of my father. The local authorities may not have known who she really was.”
“We’ll find her, I promise you.” She kissed him. “I promise.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Maggie shifted until Martin’s head rested on her shoulder. She held on, let him know he wasn’t alone as he mourned his mother, again.
She would talk to Ian; if there wasn’t a statute of limitations, she wanted what Geoffrey had done to Martin’s mother tacked on to his current crimes. Even if there was, she wanted the coward to know that his dirty secret was not a secret anymore.
A quiet throat clearing opened her eyes. Sara Chamberlain stood in the doorway, what looked a like a patient file in her hands.
“Forgive the intrusion. I came to see how Martin was doing.”
“Better,” he said, tightening his grip on Maggie when she tried to slip off the bed. “How am I doing long term?”
“That is what I came to talk to you about. May I?” She waved to the empty chair.
“Please.”
Maggie shifted so she faced the doctor, though Martin refused to let go of her.
Sara sat, studying the chart for a few minutes. Finally, she looked at Martin.
“You are aware of the damage to your leg. We had to insert a pin, to keep the bone stable as it healed. Between the break and the muscle damage from the knife, your recovery will take some time. The wound in your side will delay any physio, until it has completely healed.”
Maggie spoke before Martin had the chance to say something foolish—like he’d live with it. “Whatever he needs, Dr. Chamberlain. We have sufficient funds to pay for any length of rehab.”
She smiled. “We can discuss the financial aspect of it later.” Her smile faded as she studied Martin. “First off, you will not be able to work for some time. Not at a dig site, at any rate. I am sorry about this, Martin, but the weather will be too much for your injuries.”
“I understand. How long?”
“An educated guess—eight to twelve months.”
Maggie turned in time to see him flinch at the numbers. She took his hand. “Dr. Chamberlain, how much of that will be actual physical therapy?”
“Please, call me Sara. We will start physio as soon as you have healed enough for it to help instead of harm. Once you’ve started, we can reassess.” She leaned forward and laid her hand on Martin’s arm. “Everyone is different, when it comes to healing. Your own path may be shorter, or longer.”
After patting his arm, she let go and stood.
“I will leave you to rest. Oh,” a smile tugged at her mouth, “you also have another visitor.”
She strode to the doorway and leaned out, waving to whoever waited there. A second later, Spencer appeared, Kit bouncing in his arms.
“There’s your mum, sport, just like I promised. Your dad’s awake as well.” He kept his voice light, but concern darkened his blue eyes. “Let’s go say hello.”
Maggie slid off the bed and met him halfway, gathering Kit into her arms. “There’s my little man.” She nuzzled his neck, smiling when he giggled. Here was Martin’s best medicine. “Come and say hi to your dad.” Kit was already reaching for Martin, chattering at him. “Tell him all about your adventures, sweet boy.”
She didn’t give Martin time to refuse, just settled Kit on his chest and stepped back. They looked at each other, Martin holding Kit with his right hand. When Kit braced both hands on Martin’s chest and leaned down to kiss him, she covered her mouth, tears stinging her eyes.
Spencer draped an arm across her shoulders. “He is quite the kid, Mags.”
“He is.” She leaned against him, watched father and son get reacquainted. “It’s going to be a long road back for him, Spencer.”
“The Professor will make it, Maggie.” He squeezed her shoulder. “He’s got you. And you all have me.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, grateful that he was part of her life. With his help, along with their friends, she knew that road was going to be easier.