Page 103 of Things I Wish I Said
“The chemo didn’t work to remove what was left of the cancer, and it’s now in my lymph nodes.”
My pulse pounds in my ears as her words buzz in my head.
I don’t accept what she’s telling me. I don’t want to believe it, so I choose to ignore it.
“I called a ton of times. Why didn’t you answer or call me back?” I ask, desperate to understand where her head is at.
“Sorry. I just . . . I needed to wrap my head around this, to work out a few things.”
What things?
So many times when we’ve been talking, I’ve been obtuse, purposefully vague, and now that she’s doing the same to me, I fucking hate it.
“But you’ll fight this, right?” I ask, hating how desperate I am for her to say yes. “There are other treatments?”
It’s lung cancer, not pancreatic cancer. My father never had a chance, but her odds are better, they have to be.
She hesitates, and I can tell there’s something she’s not telling me.
“There’s no reason to think chemo will work, since I haven’t responded to the latest treatment, but there’s a trial my mom found. My doctor said it’s a longshot but might be worth it. It’s either that or . . .” She pauses, as if deciding her next words. “Any further treatment at this point is likely just prolonging the inevitable.”
I swallow the scream building inside my chest.
It’s like my father all over again.
Fuckingno.
I refuse to accept it.
“So, you’ll do it, right? The trial?”
Shestares at me for a minute, like she’s trying to decide something, and when she smiles, it’s not right. It’s not Ryleigh. It doesn’t crinkle the corners of her eyes or light up the room. It’s not snarky or the bright toothy grin I’m used to. It’s stiff and forced, like someone’s pulling a rubber band too tight, and any minute it’ll break.
She shakes her head, but what comes out is: “I don’t know.”
The air leaves my lungs, and I deflate.
“At this point, if I would’ve responded to treatment, I’d have a thirty percent chance of beating it, but I’m not responding. The odds aren’t great, and this trial is a long shot.”
“Yeah, but you’re young. You’re only eighteen and strong, so your odds will be better. You can’t—”
“My mom is broke, Grayson.” Her eyes soften as if it might ease the impact of her words. “She’s already taken out a second mortgage on the house and is behind on payments. I found out a few weeks back. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want me to know, but she’s in debt up to her eyeballs, and any further treatment will only add to that.”
For the first time since meeting Sinclair, I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know what to say because money has never been an issue for my family, and though I’ve never talked about it with her, I’m sure she has some idea that I’m well-off. I want to give her advice, talk some sense into her, but I’m not sure it’s my place, and I find it wholly unfair there are treatments available that she can’t have while I could.
“There are programs dedicated to helping in these kinds of situations.”
Ryleigh snorts. “You mean, charities?”
I swallow, feeling sheepish when I say, “Well, yeah.”
“I don’t want charity.” She shakes her head.
“The Wishing Well can—”
“Grayson.” She places a hand on my arm, and I clench my jaw to keep the words from spilling out. In the grand scheme of things, I’ve just begun getting to know Sinclair. If she wants to stop fighting, I have zero reason to stand in her way. Except that in the short amount of time we’ve been hanging out, I already know she’s someone worth fighting for, and the throbbing ache inside my chest tells me I don’t want her to quit.
“So, what? You’re just gonna give up? Your mom would probably rather have all the debt in the world if it means keeping her daughter alive.”
