by Gina Watson
“Can you feel this?”
“No.”
“Whenever you’re ready take a deep breath, and you’ll need to hold it for ten seconds.”
Parker inhaled deeply and then held his breath as instructed. He felt some pressure on his back where the doctor worked, but there was no pain. The doctor talked through the procedure, but Parker wasn’t able to comprehend his words. All he could focus on was Bailey.
“All done. We’re going to send this tissue down to the lab for analysis against Bailey’s. Nurse Hutchins will take good care of you as your local wears off.”
“Thank you.”
Nurse Hutchins wheeled him into a large room equipped with beds and curtained examination rooms. “Would you like orange or apple juice?”
“I’m fine, thank you. When can I see Bailey?”
“You’re not going anywhere until you choose and drink the juice. And then I’ll need you to urinate. Precautionary, but necessary.”
“Apple.”
She handed him three ice-cold juice cups. “Drink up.”
He pulled back the foil wrapper and sipped. What if he wasn’t a match? He’d call his father. If there was a way to buy a kidney his father would make it happen. One way or another, Bailey would get her new kidney. He felt tired as the adrenaline coursing through his system started to wane. He closed his eyes to rest and when he woke forty minutes had passed.
Nurse Hutchins eyeballed him like he was a wayward child. He held up a juice cup for her to see and then he slammed it. He’d just finished his third juice when he saw Dr. O’Rourke headed his way. His eyes sparkled and there was an ease about his face that wasn’t there before. He stood before Parker and said, “Good news, son. You’re a match for your wife. You can be her donor.”
Parker couldn’t process so many feelings at once: despair, hopelessness, worry, anxiety, optimism, relief, joy. He’d been put through the ringer, microwaved on full power, and had come out on the other side to find a miracle existed. “How do we proceed?”
“I can do the surgery if you don’t have a doctor. I’ve completed seven kidney transplants, all successful.”
“Great. Can we schedule it?”
“I’ll get Nurse Williams in here and we will get the paperwork rolling.”
“There is just one thing … ”
Parker’s heart stopped. “What?”
“We’ll need Bailey to be a little stronger. The dialysis should do that, but she’ll need to come out of her coma—which I fully expect her to do at any moment, but we can’t harvest your kidney until we have a healthy recipient.”
“What should I do?”
“Right now they will take you to her room. As I said, Nurse Williams will see that your paperwork is completed so that we’re ready. At this point we just wait on Bailey.”
Chapter 10
Parker stared down at Bailey in her hospital bed. She was pale and still, so unlike the real Bailey. For the one hundredth time he cursed himself for suggesting they go to Grand Isle like two people with no responsibilities. He pulled her away from consistency and routine, the very things that were keeping her alive.
He rested his head in his hands, his elbows on her bed. He prayed again that it would all work out, but so many things needed to happen in order for her to receive the kidney.
“Oh my God. Bailey.”
Parker turned to stare into the face of Maura. He stood and let her have the chair next to her sister. Julian walked through the door after her.
“Julian?” He put his arm around Parker. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought Maura.” He frowned.
Whatever. He was just thankful his brother was there. “Maura, I have some news. I had a biopsy done on my kidney and it turns out I’m a match. So whenever Bailey is stronger, her blood less toxic, they will harvest my kidney and she’ll no longer have to wait.”
Maura’s lips tightened and her brow arched. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been seeking. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, but Bailey won’t take it.”
He hadn’t expected that. “What? Why the hell not?”
“She won’t.”
“But she’s on a waiting list for a kidney.”
“She’s on the list for me. All she does is make snide and sarcastic remarks about her failing body. Perhaps the scariest thing of all is that she’s not afraid to die.” Maura wiped tears from her eyes. Parker and Julian eyed one another, hopeless.
God, he thought of her under the sun, looking up into the sky. The look of euphoria on her face, she’d seemed so at peace. Had she been ready to die then?
“Maura, I’m sorry. I should have never taken her out on the boat.”
Her intense eyes settled on his. “Parker, you didn’t know. She won’t have anyone know. She wants to live a carefree life—one where she isn’t sick. But she is sick and as hard as I try I can’t convince her to fight. She wants to seize what little life she has left and live it the way she wants to live it. Stubborn to the end. You did nothing wrong and I’m grateful for your offer. Please, I implore you to convince her to take your gift. Selfishly, I want her here as long as possible. She’s all I have left.”
Maura was strong, though not as strong as Bailey, and when she broke down, her sister’s hand in hers, Julian went to her. Parker went for a walk to give them some privacy.
So Bailey was done fighting. He wondered how long her kidneys had failed her. He supposed twenty-four years of fighting could render a person indifferent or even angry. He purchased a cup of coffee from a machine. It tasted like diesel fuel, but he drank it anyway. He felt numb as he slurped the hot coffee, the hot liquid burning his throat all the way down. His tongue singed, but feeling something was better than feeling nothing. He made his way back to the room to find Julian standing outside Bailey’s door.
“Parker, walk with me.”
“What’s up?”
Julian sighed. “I think what you’re doing is honorable, but you barely even know this girl and you want to give her your kidney?”
“I do.”
“I think you should reconsider.”
“She’s not going to take it anyway. You heard Maura.”
“Yeah, but I also know you. You’ll stop at nothing to get what you want. That’s not a bad thing, but having a kidney removed is a huge endeavor. And I reiterate, you don’t really even know this girl.”
“I know her.”
“You know her, but were unaware she was in acute renal failure, that her days were numbered.”
“Well I didn’t know that, but I know who she is. And I love her.”
“Christ, Parker. You always do this. You latch on to what you can’t have. It’s all just a game to you. You did it with Brook. She didn’t want to be more than friends and you couldn’t take the rejection. Now you’ve found a girl with a terminal condition, who is about to die, and you love her?”
Parker scrubbed his face. “Look Julian, I don’t expect you to understand or even approve, but I know that woman, Bailey Rose Jones, and I love her. I’ll do whatever has to be done to save her—even from herself.”
He turned on his heels and walked back toward the room.
***
As soon as he walked through the door and into her room his eyes connected with the electric blue of hers. “Bailey.” His voice was a whisper. He went to her and squeezed her knee. Her arms were full of hoses and needles, but her legs were free. She smiled and, despite her lack of color, she was beautiful to him.
She laughed nervously. “I bet you’ll never take a girl on the water again. Talk about a drama queen.” Her eyes were large as she waited for his reply.
“Bailey, none of that matters now. The only thing that matters is getting you well.” He silently pleaded and prayed, please, I need this. “Bailey I got tested and it turns out I’m a tissue match for you.” Her lips tightened indicating her set position. “You have your kidney. Doctor O’Rourke says he can do the surgery.” Parker whispered the rest of h
is message as tears rolled down his face.
Julian and Maura left the room and time stood suspended. Her eyes sparkled with tears that had yet to fall.
“Parker, you giving me your kidney doesn’t miraculously fix me and it doesn’t mean that somewhere down the road I end up sitting on the front porch when I’m eighty-five surrounded by a throng of grandchildren.” Her head dropped to the pillow with a thud.
When her gaze found his again, her eyes had lost their sparkle. “A kidney transplant may only keep me well for five, six, seven, eight years. There is something inside of me that wants to destroy me. I’m not supposed to grow old, have babies, or even fall in love. I don’t want to fight fate. I don’t even think it’s possible.”
His skin stung like he’d been stamped with a hundred hot branding irons. He couldn’t understand her reasoning. A knot formed in his throat, but he spoke around it. “It is possible, but you’ve given up.” His voice cracked.
“How dare you! You don’t know what I’ve been through, how long I’ve dealt with this. Do you even understand what it’s like to miss out on every field trip as a child because your mother and teacher just didn’t want you to take the risk? I wasn’t allowed to play volleyball. Volleyball. Whenever I tried to do anything I’d faint. I haven’t given up, I was born damaged. I wasn’t supposed to have a long life. In the end, my main concern is that my sister will be left alone.”
He swallowed back the hurt. “Another five years could mean a world of difference. There may be new medical developments, enhancements in technology that could cure you.”
Bailey shook her head and scoffed. “Do you know that I’ve been fed that new medical discovery crap since I was a child? Yet nothing ever happens. As I sit I’m guaranteed the time up to the point when my one working kidney fails. I don’t know when that will be, but if I undergo this surgery, I may never wake up. It’s sweet that you want to help, but it’s over. You can go. Be free knowing I turned down your generous offer. I don’t expect you to sit beside me until my last breath. Nor do I want that. Please, when you think of me, remember what attracted you to me.”
Parker choked back tears. He couldn’t talk to her anymore. He hated her. If she would just throw away life so easily without a fight, then he hated her. Careless. Lazy. Selfish. Stupid. Foolish.
“You’re a coward.”
He left her in the bed without even looking back. He didn’t have his truck or his phone. At least he had his wallet. He walked out of the hospital, down Liberty Street and then turned right on Canal Street, and walked until he hit Bourbon Street. He walked up and down the streets of the French Quarter, the raucous cacophony drowning his thoughts. He breathed in the salty gulf air, tinged with rotting food and the smell of tar and piss.
A wind gust blew the sign of The Demon Run, drawing his attention. Without air conditioning the bar was stale and humid. Condensation settled onto the slick top of the bar.
“What will it be?” An efficient man in a Grateful Dead T-shirt dried beer mugs as he spoke.
“Whatever’s cold that you have on tap.”
Sitting with his thoughts stewing in his head he felt bluer than he ever had. He’d had something great with Bailey. They could have been so much more, but she just threw him aside like moldy cheese or rotten produce. Trash. Had she ever even had feelings for him?
A busty brunette leaned against him, her breasts weighty on his arm. She cooed in his ear and he pulled away from her and sat on the next stool. However, she was proving tough to shake as she pressed her shoulder into his. He paid for his beer and left.
Outside he hopped into a cab for hire and threw a one-hundred-dollar bill at the driver. “I’d like to purchase a motorcycle. Do you know of any good shops?”
“Are you interested in an American bike or one of those foreign jobs?”
He didn’t see himself on a crotch rocket. “Harley Davidson.”
“Sure thing.”
***
Parker drove his new Harley through the streets of downtown Baton Rouge. When he saw the general hospital he parked his bike along the curb and then walked up to the door. At the nurse’s station he inquired about Dr. Olivier, but was told his friend was not working today.
Back on his bike he steered it to Clara’s Cheese Shop. She’d know how to find her husband.
Clara’s shop was busy with customers, but she did this thing where she greeted everyone who walked through the door, usually by name, no matter how busy she was.
“Hey, Parker. So good to see you.”
“Counters look good. How’s the case working out?”
“It’s perfect.”
He’d helped Jackson install the cheese case and countertops for Clara’s shop. “Do you have any idea where the good doctor is?”
“Sure do, he’s out back putting together barstools.”
“Thanks.” Parker knew the place well and made himself at home, walking through the kitchen to get to the delivery area where he knew he’d find Jackson.
Jackson was screwing bolts into barstool number four. He took a break to stand and offer Parker a man hug.
“Hey Jack.”
“You look like shit.”
“Always nice to hear the truth.” Parker pointed at the stools. “So how many of these have you got to put together?”
“Twelve.”
“Want some help?”
“Love some.”
“Place looks great, Clara’s busy with lots of customers.”
“People just like her. I think if she were to sell bee stings they’d line up around the block to buy them from her.”
“How’s the family, still treating you well?”
“They’re wonderful. I never dreamed I’d be this happy. I mean I knew I’d be happy as long as I was with Clara, but to have her family backing us is everything.
“Yeah.” Parker nodded.
“Something on your mind, Parker?”
“So that girl I was talking to you about?”
“Bailey?”
“Yeah, turns out the thing that was wrong with her was a failing set of kidneys.”
“Both of them?”
“Both of them. And get this, I’m a match, but she’ll have nothing to do with me and my healthy kidney.”
Jackson listened with ease. He never judged, just quietly processed what Parker told him. “Can you believe that? Why won’t she make use of something I don’t need if it may save her life?”
“Some people feel that if they have to fight to live it’s not in their destiny to have a long life. I’ve given very treatable cancer prognoses to patients who decided not to seek treatments like chemotherapy, surgery, or radiation.” He shrugged. “For some it can be a way to control the uncontrollable.”
“It’s cowardly.”
Jackson scrubbed his face. “I don’t know about cowardly—it takes some balls to stare into the face of death.”
“I took her to the Gulf, out on the boat. She slipped into a coma and then helicopter transport took us to Tulane Medical.”
“Jesus.” Jackson dropped his tools and regarded Parker with a frown. “Is she still in a coma?”
“No. Something built up in her blood. Made it toxic. Dialysis made her well again, but one kidney is completely down and the other is only thirty percent functional.”
“That’s tough.”
“The thing is, I think I love this girl and I want her to want to fight because she wants to be with me.”
Jackson didn’t say anything, just inhaled deeply and considered Parker’s statement.
“The situation is completely out of my control and I hate that. There’s nothing I can do. If she’d let me I’d find a way to make her better.”
They worked side by side assembling the stools. Jackson didn’t talk or try to offer suggestions, he simply listened as Parker laid out the details surrounding his relationship, or the lack of one, with Bailey.
“So what can I do?” Parker asked Jackson.
“I don
’t think there is anything you can do. You have a choice to make. Either choose to support her decision and soak up every last moment with her or end it now.”
Parker looked out across the back of the industrial space. The alley was used for deliveries and the walls had been sprayed with paint. To have called the work graffiti would have been wrong. The designs were beautiful. One in particular spoke to him. A sunset scene on a tropical island, maybe even a deserted island. He could do something like that with Bailey. He imagined her dying in his arms and the anguish he’d feel. He choked. No! He wouldn’t be able to do that.
“My busy bees. I’ve got iced coffees.” Clara brought a tray laden with drinks and Italian cookies. “Wow, the stools look wonderful.” She hugged Jackson tightly and he kissed her sweetly on the lips.
“Thank you, Bug.” Jackson said.
Sipping coffee and eating cookies, Parker observed their interactions.
Clara sat on a stool and watched her husband as he screwed another piece together. She smiled at Jackson and he winked at her. Parker could see himself with Bailey—he’d be tinkering with a contraption and she’d be asking her questions. They would never have that though. She would never be his. He cursed his plight. She’d hurt him. He wasn’t worth fighting for. Maura wasn’t worth fighting for. Bailey held everyone’s fate in her hands and she didn’t care if they died with her.
Chapter 11
Four weeks had passed since she’d seen him. She felt bereft—like she was hurling through space without life support or tether. Sometimes the vacuum of sorrow even prevented her from being able to breathe. Her body was weak and she’d lost another four pounds.
She sat up in bed and swung her legs over the side. Maura was preparing to leave for work, the gardenia oil she used in her bath water lingered in the air.
The soft bristled brush anchored in her hand felt like a heavy piece of metal. The drag through her hair required maximum exertion yet she continued to brush. Eventually the brush ceased making contact against her scalp. Bailey pressed harder, but she was unable to feel the bristles on her head. Pulling the brush from her body she felt the drag of hair with it. Lots of fiery orange hair had collected in the brush. So much so that huge clumps fell across her thighs. Bailey, not usually prone to tears, howled with sorrow at the evidence before her.