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“What else did he say?” There might not have been more, but Bailey had a haunting feeling that churned inside and made her wonder if she wanted the answer.
He turned his gaze to his feet and worked his jaw up and down before finally looking at her. “There was a fire downtown when the power came on last night. They think the wind blew branches into exposed electrical and sparks went up...”
“Is everyone all right?” Her looming dread crept in further.
“No one was hurt. They got it before it spread through all of Main Street, and put it out before the wind picked up again.” He clenched his fist, then jammed his hand into his pocket.
“And...?”
He furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” She didn’t like this. Did he realize dragging things out made it worse?
“The fire started in Margaret’s gallery. The prints, photos, paintings in oil... Phillips says it lit up like a pile of tinder. But she’s all right. She left for the mainland before they closed the roads.”
“That’s something.” Bailey’s head spun, and she leaned against the wall for support.
“I know you were— You would have done a good job with the place, I’m sorry it’s gone.”
She forced herself to stand. “Nothing to do about it.” She didn’t believe her words. “I’ll be fine. We need to get to the doctor, right?”
They kept up a steady string of conversation—or rather, Jonathan did most of the talking—on the drive into town. She was grateful he didn’t bring up the gallery again. It wasn’t as though she’d lost something that was hers, and she was grateful no one was hurt, but she needed to process losing that dream, and she wasn’t sure how to cope.
The clinic’s waiting room was packed to the point of standing room only with people with sniffles, coughs, and minor injuries they’d held onto through the hurricane. Bailey chatted with all of them and refused to acknowledge the knowing looks they shot Jonathan. She was grateful for the reprieve when she was shown back to a room. Even waiting another thirty minutes to see the doctor didn’t bother her. It was a chance to be alone with her musings.
While she never thought she could find the funds to buy the gallery, that hadn’t stopped her from hoping. The loss wouldn’t wreck her business, which followed the estate sales. She’d still spend her weekends in Georgia and marvel at the antiques and memories people collected without realizing they did it.
The nurse made small talk while they X-rayed Bailey’s skull, then left the room again. Moments later, Dr. Phillips joined her and pinned the slides to the lightbox on the wall.
“You’re looking good.” He pointed at the black and white image. “On the surface, there are no cracks. How are you feeling?”
Physically? Fine. Mentally, tired of the question. “Arm hurts, but the dizziness is gone.”
“Glad to hear it.” He flipped off the light beneath the images. “I don’t think you’ll have any long-term damage, but I want to know the minute you have any issues with things like balance or memory.”
Issues with memory. A thought was triggered in her head, and she failed to grasp it. “Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly.”
“Did Nancy Woodhouse have any issues with her memory?”
Dr. Phillips let out a breath as if he’d been socked in the gut, and turned away from her. He pulled off his glasses and polished them with the hem of his scrubs top. “Why do you ask?”
“I found two prescriptions in the medicine cabinet.”
“Youdid.”
She didn’t like the evasion. Did no one in this town know how to give a straight answer? “Yes.”
“I’m grateful it wasn’t Jonathan, but I’m sorry it was you. She insisted I leave the bottles there after her death, but I didn’t want either of you to find out this way. I was hoping you wouldn’t have to find out at all.”
Fuck.Bailey’s world tilted, and the missing pieces of the puzzle, the ones she refused to see before, clicked together. “Was the Percocet bottle I found really full two weeks ago?”
“I shouldn’t tell you this. Patient privacy and such. But she wanted you to know. I wish to God she’d told you two herself.”
The words wouldn’t form in Bailey’s head, despite the knowledge being there. “Tell us what?”
“Four years ago, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. She didn’t want anyone to know. The medication didn’t work the way we hoped, and she was slipping.”
