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She’d already used her joke. “Like crap.”
“To be expected.” He strolled past Jonathan, fitting his glasses on as he walked, then pulled a mini-flashlight from his pocket. He held her eyes open and shone the bright light in one and then the other. He tapped, poked, and tested her responses to various stimuli. “The storm broke a few hours ago. As long as you’re up for it, you can go home. But you can’t be alone for the next twenty-four hours. Will that be an issue?”
Last night she would have saidit’ll be finein a heartbeat. Now she wasn’t sure where she and Jonathan stood.
“Not an issue.” Jonathan spoke up.
Dr. Phillips didn’t look surprised. “As long as the weather is calm tomorrow morning, I want you in my office... God willing, it’s still standing. Until we can get you to the hospital, I want to do an X-ray and make sure everything is where it should be. Both the arm and the head. No driving yourself, and he has to wake you up every few hours to make sure you’re responding.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Good. Take your time getting up. No standing quickly. No heavy exertion.” He glanced at Jonathan, and Bailey’s cheeks heated. “Be careful.”
An hour later, Phillips cleared her to leave. Mrs. Phillips loaned Bailey a tank-top that could be pulled on around the cast without too much effort. A small thing to be grateful for, but Bailey would take whatever she could find.
The room spun when Bailey sat up and then stood, but it righted itself quickly. There was nothing sexual about the way Jonathan helped her into the top. He cradled her arm, ensuring it wasn’t jarred, and when he tugged down the hem, he glided his fingers over her skin with a tenderness she wasn’t used to when he tugged the hem down.
On the way out, Mrs. Phillips handed Jonathan a paper bag that looked weighed down. She told him it was leftovers and to make sure both of them ate. She pulled Bailey aside while he took things out to the car. “I’m so happy to see the two of you together. You deserve it.”
The simple comment, as well intentioned as it might be, sent a cascade of emotion to clutter the inside of Bailey’s head. She didn’t have the strength to correct the older woman, so she simply smiled and thanked her for the hospitality.
Bailey fell into her own thoughts on the short drive back to Nana’s, and stayed there as she and Jonathan made their way inside. He got her settled on the couch and opened a couple upstairs’ windows, to clear out the lingering smoke.
Jack and Ale. Up until the point Bailey got engaged to Danny, everyone here assumed she’d end up with Jonathan. Sometimes it was embarrassing, but mostly younger-her loved it and fell into the same fantasy. Now the presumption nagged at her. It was one of the things she both loved and hated about living in such a close-knit community—everyone knew everyone else’s business and that certain things would happen, because people expected them to.
No one here knew Jonathan anymore, but he’d been a nice boy, and heaven forbid she stay single. The bitter thought bothered her. Or maybe what sat at the heart of it all disturbed her more than anything. His offer echoed over the questions and doubt. It was sweet, despite being misguided. Turning him down was the right thing to do, and once she convinced all of herself, this muddled mess would clear up.
“You want lunch?” Jonathan’s question carried from the kitchen.
Her stomach growled. Had it really been more than a day since she last ate? The last twenty-four hours seemed as though they lasted an eternity. “Yes.”
Moments later, he handed her a plate with pasta salad and fresh vegetables. “Note to self.” He settled into the overstuffed easy chair. “Always visit the house with a backup generator when we forget to stock up for a big storm. I mean—” His head shot up.
“I know what you mean.”Hello, awkwardness.
Most of the meal passed in silence, interrupted by Jonathan telling her he’d finish the clean-up work and sorting. She had to tell him what was worth auctioning when he asked. He cleared away the lunch dishes, and she made her way upstairs. The sky was graying again. There was a good chance they’d ridden out the eye of the storm and were in for Round Two tonight. They’d have to shutter the windows again soon, just in case.
She locked herself in the bathroom and let the silence and solitude wash over her. Pale light bled in through the window—enough to see without power. She let the water run until the cold stung her hand and numbed her skin, then splashed her face. The chill gave her something external to focus on and drew her out of her thoughts. It was getting crowded in her head. She looked up, and her reflection stared back. Bleary eyed, with messy hair and the hard lines of a frown etched everywhere.
If she looked into her own eyes long enough, would she find answers or simply get lost? She flung the cabinet door open in frustration, not wanting to see the image. Three shelves greeted her. This was better. Boxes of bandages and bottles of vitamins, allergy medicine, and acid reducers didn’t care if she was indecisive.
The cabinet would need to be cleared, and most of this could be thrown out. She grabbed the plastic trashcan from the floor, set it on the counter, and began to fill it. She pulled the items from their shelves one by one, liking the simplicity of the action.
When she reached an empty prescription bottle, she paused. Nana never threw away memories, but an empty bottle was a different story. Bailey frowned when she saw the prescription name on the bottle, for the same painkiller Dr. Phillips gave her this morning. Where Bailey only had five pills—enough to hold her over until they could do more tests—this said it was for fifty. She never realized Nana suffered that kind of pain.
Bailey’s curiosity and confusion grew when she saw the date on the bottle. Written and filled less than two weeks ago. She struggled to match the information to the time she’d spent with Nana, as she set aside the bottle and moved to the next. It was half full. A drug Bailey didn’t recognize. Or did she? The name tickled her thoughts, but she couldn’t grasp the association. Whatever it was, Nana had been taking it a lot longer. The bottle had three refills left, and the prescription was written ten months ago.
She set the two orange bottles aside and continued her cabinet cleaning, letting the question roll around in the back of her head. It was a much better place for her focus than trying to figure out what to do about Jonathan.
When the pieces clicked, she frowned. She knew the drug name because Margaret mentioned it one day, when Bailey was at the art gallery. It was a new Alzheimer’s drug Margaret’s father was on. But Nana didn’t have...
Crap. More of the picture formed in Bailey’s head. The lapses in memory that started to show over the last few years. Nana asking where Jonathan was, then laughing it off later as a joke. Prodding Bailey about her marriage, then shaking it away as a lingering concern. There was more, too, but Bailey couldn’t wrap her brain around how the two bottles were connected. What were the odds Dr. Phillips would give her information during her visit tomorrow? Nonexistent, most likely. It wouldn’t stop her from trying.
She filed away the questions for later and opened the bathroom door. She came up short when she almost ran into Jonathan.
“You all right?” He searched her face. “You look pale.”
“Other than the concussion? I’m fine.” She stopped short of telling him what she found. The knowledge wouldn’t change anything, and she didn’t know what she’d say.I think Nana had Alzheimer's and never told anyone.It felt like there would be more to that conversation. The statement felt incomplete.
