Page 110 of The Song We Lost

I huff a laugh that barely makes it out of my chest. “That sounds like her.”

“She isn’t nauseous today. So she said she wants to make up for all the food she hasn’t been able to eat.”

Another quiet moment stretches between us. Then Cole steps closer, just enough to bump his shoulder lightly against mine.

“I see you trying to fix it,” he says quietly.

I stare straight ahead.

“Someone has to.”

His voice breaks slightly when he answers. “Fuck, Bailey… You think I didn’t try…It kills me too.”

I suck in a ragged breath. I don’t mean for it to sound accusatory. It is just all too much.

He wraps one arm around my shoulders suddenly, pulling me sideways into him like I’m still a teenager who had a rough day. My head falls against his shoulder before I can stop it.

“We have to let her choose,” he whispers.

A choked sound rips out of me.

“She wants this,” he continues softly. “She wants the baby. She wants to be here. She wants the orchard and the house and the family. She wants to live the dream for whatever time she has left.”

My throat tightens. Tears fall freely now. “I know.”

“We don’t get to take that from her,” he says. “This prognosis, the doctors. They have. But we can give her back her voice. Her choice.”

Tears continue to slip down my cheek, as I repeat, “I know.”

We stand there like that for a long time. Two people holding the same unbearable truth.

Finally he presses his forehead briefly against my hair. “We’ll be there every step,” he says quietly. “ We can give her everything she can dream of until…” He chokes on his tears and then whispers, “You and me.”

I nod.

Every step.

Every moment.

However long that is.

Eventually he pulls away and clears his throat. “Come on,” he says. “Before Sadie comes looking for us.”

We walk back toward the barn together.

The big barn looks different today.

Rose and Thomas dragged the harvest tables out earlier this morning, lining them up beside the open doors where Sadie and Cole said their vows.

Long wooden tables covered with things collected from around the property. Pumpkins tucked between platters. Strings of small lights hanging from the rafters.

The smell of turkey and roasted vegetables drifts through the air.

This morning, Sadie insisted on getting ready upstairs like we used to when we were teenagers.

Braiding each other’s hair, arguing about stealing each other's sweaters. Pretending for a little while that we are just sisters getting ready for a family meal.

Now she stands near the tables talking animatedly to Rose about pie. Her cheeks are flushed and her hands keep drifting to her stomach.