Page 60 of Backward Motion

Because I was living two of them.Connor’s lungs emptied. All this time. They had wasted all this time doing their little dance of pretend. And because of that, Connor had lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he snapped, standing up from his seat, furious. “Do you know how long I’ve been agonizing over this?”

His mother’s breath caught. “I didn’t think it was our place. I wanted you to be ready to tellus—”

“Ready? How could I ever have felt ready with the way he talked to me?”

She nodded, and her mouth formed a grim line. “I think he was so hard on you because he was worried you’d have a tough life. When you were young, you were such a sensitive boy. He thought it would make you stronger, more resilient.”

“That’s messed up,” Connor rasped.

“You’re right. It wasn’t the best way, but it was his way. Your dad... struggled with a lot. He didn’t have a father growing up, and he didn’t know how to deal with you. We tried for other children, but it never worked out. He put so much onto you. His only son.” She wiped away fresh tears with the back of her hand. “I don’t know, Connor. I don’t know how we should have done this. I thought surely you’d tell us, but when that never happened, I assumed we were just reading into things. And I think, if we’re being honest, part of him didn’t want it to be true. So not dealing with it was his way of avoiding what he found difficult to face.”

“I’m his son!” Connor cried. “How difficult is it to face your own son?” But then, hadn’t he been unable to face his own father?

His mom bowed her head, no longer bothering to wipe her tears. “We did the wrong thing, didn’t we? We did it wrong.”

Tears pricked Connor’s eyes. “No, Mom, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He looked over at his father fighting to breathe, his life reduced to the steady blip on the monitor standing by his bed. “I just wish I could’ve told him myself.”

“You still can. He’s not gone yet,” his mother said softly. “And he loves you, Connor. Even if he’s terrible at showing it.”

Connor swiped a hand across his eyes, holding back a sob. “I think I need some air,” he said and bolted out of the room. He strode down the hallway toward the waiting room, feeling like someone had smacked him in the face. His thoughts were muddled and racing, and nothing made sense.

When he opened the door and stepped into the waiting room, his eyes caught a familiar brown, and the next thing he knew, Sam had him wrapped tightly in a hug and was pressing his face, wet with tears, into Connor’s neck. Connor grabbed the back of Sam’s jacket for dear life. He hadn’t realized how deep he was sinking until he felt those familiar arms around him, pulling him up.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam murmured. “I’m so sorry about your dad.”

Connor took a shuddering breath and squeezed him hard. When they drew apart, Sam brushed his tears away with his sleeve.

“I thought you were leaving town,” Connor managed in a shaky voice.

“I, um, decided to stay a bit longer.”

“Will you sit with me?” Connor asked hoarsely, suddenly unable to face the prospect of the next hour, let alone the next minute, without Sam by his side.

“Of course.” Sam took Connor’s arm and led him to a set of chairs in the corner of the room. They sat, and Sam placed Connor’s hand between his own, soft and warm. “What happened?”

“The doctors said the disease must have weakened the muscles in his throat, which affects his ability to swallow and increases the chances of aspiration—food slipping into his lungs.” Connor repeated what the hospital staff had told him after finding his mother frantic in the ED. “It could have been going on for days, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t even mention it to my mom or his specialist.” Connor was angry, thinking of how infuriatingly stoic his father could be. “By the time it got bad enough that he was having trouble breathing, my mom called the ambulance, and they brought him here. The infection had already progressed to pneumonia, so he was intubated and put in a coma. They’re hoping it will give his body a chance to fight the infection, but they said he could deteriorate quickly.” He looked over at Sam, who was observing him silently.

“You did your best,” Sam said. “You both did your best.”

Connor nodded, not because he agreed but because it was the right thing to do. The truth was, he hadn’t done his best. Not by a long shot.

Despite having lived with his illness for almost a decade, Connor’s father had remained cryptic about the eventual realities of the disease. His mother had told Connor there was a will—thank God—but all the rest, funeral wishes and service requests, he’d never spoken with her about. If Connor were to hazard a guess, his father’s inability to prepare for death was indicative of how unwilling he was to confront it. But all of them had been unwilling to confront it. Connor had dragged his feet about telling him because he thought he had the luxury of time, that his dad would be around forever. And now, he faced having to spend the rest of his life wondering whether things would have been different.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” Connor asked weakly as if Sam himself had the power to determine the outcome. “He’s not going to die?”

Sam pressed his lips together before answering. “We’re going to stay hopeful until we know any different.” He shifted then rose slightly from his seat, and Connor gripped his hand.

“Don’t go,” Connor blurted.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam said, squeezing his hand. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and sat down again. “I cracked a screen sitting on it once.”

Connor let out a short laugh. “Thank you.”

Sam smiled and shook his head. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

Sam stood by the taxi stand outside the hospital and took a furtive drag on the cigarette he’d bummed off a nearby cab driver. Ian hadbeen admitted late that morning, and it was now well after midnight with no change to his condition. Connor had told Sam the doctors thought keeping Ian in a coma would give him the best chance of fighting the infection, and when he was through the worst of it, they’d wake him up. But there hadn’t been any evidence of improvement yet, so they waited.