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Acid churned in Bailey’s gut, and she considered telling him to stop—insisting she didn’t want to hear the rest. This was a truth that needed to come out, though. “And?”
“You knew Nancy better than anyone.” Dr. Phillips didn’t look at her. “Knew how much her memories meant to her. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing them while she was still alive.”
“No.”
“I tried to talk her out of it.” He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes, as if searching for forgiveness. “She made her point. Convinced me this was the right thing to do. I don’t regret helping her. She went quietly, with as little pain as possible. Took her memories to the grave with her, rather than having them evaporate into nothing. Went out on a high note.” Exactly what Nana used to say about Hemingway.
“Jesus.” Bailey couldn’t hold back her sob. Nana killed herself.
“I wish there was a better way for you to find out.” Dr. Phillips rested a hand on her knee. He didn’t say anything else, just let her cry and handed her a box of tissues.
When she was spent, he helped her stand and let her wash her face in the sink. “Do you want me there when you tell Jonathan?” he asked.
That needed to happen. How was she going to do it? She couldn’t even process it herself. “No. Thank you.”
“Either one of you can call me if you need anything. Take your time in here, and leave the door open when you’re done.”
She nodded and struggled to keep her breakfast from repeating on her. What was she supposed to do with this information? She didn’t want to deliver the news to Jonathan. But it would be best coming from her. Once she figured out how.
Chapter Sixteen
Jonathan braced himselffor bad news when Bailey vanished for more than two hours into one of the patient rooms. Was the head injury worse than he thought?
When she emerged, he was on his feet in an instant. “Are you all right?”
She hesitated, and then gave him a weak smile. “Fine. Everything looks okay.” She pretended to knock on her skull. “Right as rain, and all that.”
Relief filled him. “Good.” They headed toward his rental car. “Do you want to pick up lunch while we’re in town? Or early dinner, I guess.”
“I’d rather get back to the big house.” Despite her assurance of being fine, sadness tugged down the corners of her eyes.
He held open her door for her, then hurried around to his side. As they pulled onto the main road, he asked, “Do you want to stop at your place first? Make sure everything’s intact and pick up fresh clothes?”
“Maybe later. I’m kind of tired.” She fiddled with everything. Her seatbelt. Her fingers. The hem of her shirt.
“Ale?”
