Page 62 of Backward Motion

Ellie was in the nursery, napping, while Matty watched cartoons in the living room. Sam and Brian had spent the afternoon prepping a week’s worth of hot meals and frozen dishes for Connor and his mom, who’d practically been living at the hospital for the past three days. With Brian’s help, Sam had spearheaded a meal train with their group of friends, and together, they’d devised a schedule so that for the next month at least, the Finnegan family wouldn’t have to worry about cooking.

Sam was glad to have something practical to do. Sitting around in that waiting room, not knowing what to expect or how to help, had been hard. He’d brought a pack of cards one day and Scrabble the next, but Connor had been too distracted to play. Instead, he seemed to enjoy listening to Sam talk. He wanted to know about everything—what Sam had been like as a kid, whether he got on with his sister, his experience attending UNL.

“I feel like I’ve just been going on and on about myself,” Sam protested at one point, to which Connor had given an adamant shake of his head.

“I could listen to you talk about yourself all day.”

The previous day, Sam’s mom had joined them at the hospital with blankets and brownies, and her shrewdly funny observations about people in town added some much-needed levity to their vigil.

“You know not everyone would be this cool, right?” Brian asked, pausing his stirring to turn to Sam. “Stepping in to help even after you guys called things off.”

Sam tried to hide his embarrassment. “He told you?”

“Not willingly. I had to force it out of him. With wheedling and wine.”

Sam surveyed the array of ingredients splayed out across the counter so he didn’t have to look at Brian’s face. “Yeah, well, he would do the same in a heartbeat.”

“Hundred percent. That’s our boy.”

“And it was me who called things off.”

“I gathered as much.”

The good news was that Ian’s condition was finally improving, and if he continued to make progress, the doctors were considering bringing him out of the coma in the next few days. Whether he would make a full recovery was still unclear, and then there was the issue of how to prevent this from happening again. MS would continue to weaken Ian’s muscles and affect his ability to carry out regular functions like chewing and feeding himself. His hospitalization had led to a larger discussion about how to best take care of him as his disability became more pronounced. Sam saw how heavily that weighed on Connor. While Ian had made it through the worst of the infection, it was a reminder to Sam of just how serious his disease was and how much of a toll it took on Connor and his family. BecauseIan would never get better. He could only manage his ever-changing symptoms.

Sam had come away with a new understanding of what Connor had been up against all these years. While he still felt strongly about not living a lie, he couldn’t help but regret pitting himself against Connor’s dad.

“What are you mulling over?” Brian asked, pulling Sam from his thoughts.

Sam realized he was standing at the counter with a wooden spoon in his hand, staring into space. “Nothing,” he replied instinctively then backtracked, opting for honesty instead. He was trying to get better at sharing his feelings and not keeping them bottled up inside. But to do that, he had to practice. “Just about how hard this is for Connor. He’s always so pragmatic, but how can any of this be easy? He has dreams too—things he wants to do.”

Brian gave a thoughtful nod. “Yeah, it’s tough to figure out what’s going on in that head of his. You did, though—you brought something out in him. It seemed like he was coming to terms with some of the stuff he’s been avoiding.”

Sam fought a tug of shame. “But I made him choose. I told him we couldn’t be together if he wasn’t out. That wasn’t fair.”

“I think it’s fair—to who you are and what you need. And maybe what Connor needs as well. What if he needs a bit of a push to fully realize the stakes? Maybe it’s time he chose between his cover and the person he’s completely nuts about—” Brian busied himself adjusting the settings on the stove. “Whoops. Just ignore me over here, meddling away.”

Sam’s face had gone hot. “He said that?”

“Come on, Sam. It’s obvious to anyone with half a brain how much he likes you. How great you guys are for each other.”

Sam tried hard not to smile, knowing how hopelessly goofy he looked. He placed the wooden spoon on the cutting board and deftlychanged the subject. “Hey, while I’m here, can I check out your graphic novel?”

“Why, Mr. Bryant, I thought you’d never ask!” Brian said in a breathy Southern accent. He turned the soup down to a simmer and peered over at Matty—engrossed in his TV show—then gestured for Sam to follow him. “Let me show you to my lair.” They climbed the stairs, and Brian led him to a small study at the end of the hallway. “Jules gifted me this space when we bought the house. She thought it was only fair I had an office, considering she gets to escape to hers every day.”

Brian flicked on the light, and they stepped inside. An old wooden desk sat in the center of the room, and the walls were lined with shelves groaning under the weight of hundreds of books and figurines. Brian opened a large black sheet protector on the desk, and Sam began to flip through. Each sleeve contained a hand-colored series of panels with funky-shaped dialogue bubbles and sound effects punching through the borders. It was fun and pulpy and crazy good. Sam had kind of been expecting rough sketches and napkin scribbles, but this was high-quality work.

“Brian, this is excellent!”

“I’ve got most of the first volume done and an outline for the second. I wanted to have it all mapped out before approaching anyone with the concept. I was actually hoping you’d take a look at the storyboard. It would be nice to have another head to knock against, maybe tease out some ideas. It seemed to work pretty well in the past.”

Sam looked up at him. “You’re serious?”

“As much as I love whittling away at my little project, I’ve always enjoyed the collaboration more. Where the story kind of morphs into something I couldn’t have come up with on my own.”

Sam grinned. “Of course I’d be honored, even just to see where you’re taking it next.”

“No pressure, man. I heard you were looking to leave town, so I don’t want to put any more on your plate.”