22. Bailey
bailey
. . .
Ihaven’t slept, not properly, every time I close my eyes I see medical charts. I see the words the oncologist said dancing in my head. I see a timeline counting down in numbers I don’t understand yet.
The house is quiet when I come downstairs at five in the morning. The sky outside is still navy, the property nothing but shadows. I make coffee, because I don’t think tea will cut it, and open my laptop before the machine even finishes dripping.
I take in everything I can get my hands on.
Pancreatic cancer survival rates, late-stage pregnancy treatment protocols, clinical trials, immunotherapy and experimental combinations.
I have spreadsheets open now. Columns labeled: Location.
Specialist. Trial Phase. Eligibility Criteria. Survival Increase.
If I can put it in a box, a column, I can solve it.
I email two more specialists before the sun comes up.
Upstairs, I hear Sadie moving. She’s humming. Humming. Like this is any other week of her life.
By the time she comes down, wrapped in one of Cole’s sweaters, she’s glowing again in that fragile, almost fever-bright way.
“I felt her kick,” she says immediately, hand pressed to her stomach.
I close my laptop slowly.
“Really?”
She nods, eyes wide. “Up until now it only felt like a flutter. Or maybe gas,” she laughs. “But now, it’s stronger, it’s her.”
Her.
Sadie walks into the kitchen and starts pulling out cereal like she isn’t dying.
“Did you sleep?” she asks casually.
“Some,” I lied.
She narrows her eyes at me.
“You don’t get to fall apart before I do,” she says teasingly.
I don’t respond, what do you say to that…
Later, I’m back at the table with printed reports spread everywhere. Cole sits across from me, elbows on the table.
“They all say the same thing,” he says quietly.
“I… I’m just not asking the right people,” I reply.
“Bailey.”
“There has to be someone who’s seen this before. Someone who knows something different. Some trial.”
“Bails,” he says gently.
I shake my head. “No. We’re not accepting this.”
From the hallway, I hear Noah’s voice low and frustrated.
“I’ve been trying,” he says. “I keep getting Dave.”
My body goes still.
“What does he say?” Rose asks.
“That Luke doesn’t want to talk. The fucker is saying, Bailey walked away and we chose her side. So Luke doesn’t want contact.”
My chest tightens.
“That’s not true,” Rose argues.
“I know that,” Noah snaps. “But that’s what he’s being told.”
I stand abruptly and walk outside before anyone can see my face. The air is colder today. The leaves are turning faster now. More gold than green.
I haven’t spoken to Luke.
I haven’t asked about him.
I haven’t pushed.
I don’t have room in my body for that kind of hurt.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Rachel.
“They’re pushing,” she says immediately.
“For what?” I ask flatly.
“To record. They want the album done now. They’re talking about award windows again.”
Award windows. Like my grief can be paused for a release strategy.
“I’m not leaving,” I say.
I keep walking, the orchard stretches out in front of me, workers moving between rows.
“I’m not leaving her, Rachel, I can’t,” I repeat.
“I know,” she says. “But Bailey… this is your last album under contract. If you don’t deliver, they can make it ugly.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I don’t care if they make it ugly.”
“I know you don’t,” Rachel says softly. “But you might later. I need you to think this through. I will back whatever you choose, Bailey.”
When I hang up, I don’t go back inside immediately, I walk in a massive loop until I make it back to the house.
Sadie finds me first. She steps out onto the porch, sweater sleeves pulled over her hands.
“You’re thinking too loud,” she says.
I huff a laugh that isn’t funny.
“They all agree,” I say. “Every specialist. Every referral.”
She nods.
“I know.”
“I can fly you somewhere,” I say quickly. “Anywhere.”
“I don’t want to spend my last months in hospitals,” she says calmly.
I freeze.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” she replies gently. “I want to be here. In the home you sacrificed so much to give us. I want to feel her kick. I want to argue about baby names and to eat too much pie and sit in the orchard.”
“I am not letting you talk like that,” I snapped. “I… I can’t… Sadie. Don’t you understand…”
She looks at me carefully.
“You don’t stop living because I’m dying, Bailey.”
I suck in a ragged breath, trying to blink back the tears.
“I’m not leaving you,” I say.
“I didn’t ask you to,” she replies. “I asked you to keep being you. Be my sister, my best friend.”
I can’t agree to this. I can’t stop trying. I can’t give up on her.
So much is bubbling up inside of me. I open my mouth to say something, anything but a choked sound comes out. So I turn away from her, and I walk. Past the barns. Past the stacked bins of apples. The smell of crushed fruit thick in the air.
My brain won’t stop.
Luke refusing to talk to Noah.
Dave screening calls.
Specialists saying no.
Label saying now.
Baby kicking.
The divorce.
Palliative care.
Sadie is dying.
I start walking faster and the ground slopes slightly toward the far field. My boots sink into softer earth.
My chest feels tight, like something is pressing down from the inside. I break into a run without thinking. My lungs burn almost immediately. My body is exhausted but I push harder.
If I move fast enough maybe the thoughts can’t keep up.
The orchard rows blur beside me. The sky is painfully bright. I trip once and catch myself. And then the scream tears out of me.
It’s not controlled or pretty. It’s raw and animalistic and it rips my heart wide open. I drop to my knees in the middle of the field.
“Why?” I shout at nothing.
Why her?
Why now?
Why after everything we built…
I have given everything, isn’t that enough?
My hands dig into the dirt.
I see Luke’s face in my mind. The headlines. The silence.
I see Sadie smiling over baby name lists.
I see an ultrasound screen.
I see her lab results and the doctor's mouth moving when he told me we need to make her comfortable.
I can’t fix this.
I can’t control it.
I can’t sing it away.
The scream comes again, hoarse and breaking. And when it fades, I stay there on my knees in the dirt, chest heaving, the wind moving through the field like nothing has changed.
For a long moment, I let myself feel how small I am.
And then, slowly, I lift my head.
Because I am still her sister and Sadie needs me.