Page 63 of Backward Motion

“Right,” Sam said, glancing down at the folder of illustrations. Not for the first time since abandoning his flight to Chicago, he felt a pull of resistance. Like Oakdale was tugging him back. And perhaps he wasn’t in such a hurry to leave after all.

Connor removed the photo from his wallet and stared at it. He almost didn’t recognize himself—the giddy grin and how completely besotted he looked gazing at Sam beside him. The photo had captured a version of himself—perhaps the most honest one—that had existed for only a second and then—poof!—was gone. He missed that Connor. He missed how happy he’d been. He missed them.

His thoughts returned to the evening several days prior when he and Sam had held each other outside the hospital. His life felt like a bad dream, days and nights slipping and sliding together, but he remembered Sam’s words: “Right now, this is the only place I need to be.”

What exactly did he mean by that?

Sam reappeared at the doors to the waiting room and swung them open with his shoulder as he balanced two sandwiches, a selection of candy bars, and two coffees in his hands. Connor slipped the photo back and pocketed his wallet.

“Okay, hopefully there’s something in here that you like,” Sam said as he unloaded his haul onto the table in front of Connor.

“Just coffee’s fine.”

Connor barely had the energy to chew. At his mother’s insistence, he’d been going home to sleep but only managed a couple of hours before jolting awake in a panic, thinking he was still back in the waiting room. He’d spend the rest of the night staring at the ceilinguntil it was time to get dressed and pick up his mom so they could return to the hospital.

The first night after his dad was admitted, his mother had insisted on sleeping in one of the reclining chairs in the ICU. Connor had swung by his parents’ place to grab some clothes and toiletries for her. It was eerie to see the house just as they’d left it—coffee gone cold on the kitchen table, the remnants of breakfast still by the sink, his dad’s slippers by his chair. Connor walked around, tidying things up so his mom wouldn’t be reminded of that terrifying morning when she returned. At the time, a part of him had been convinced his father wasn’t ever going to come home.

Sam handed Connor one of the molten takeout cups and took a seat beside him, nursing his own. “Are you sure you don’t want to be in there?” he asked, tilting his chin toward the doors that led to the patient rooms.

Connor preferred to stay out in the bustling waiting area filled with bright lights and people talking. It was too hard to sit in the quiet little room and see his dad like that. “I’ll go back and check on my mom in a bit.”

Sam nodded. He picked up a candy bar and unwrapped one end then took a small bite. Connor wasn’t sure why watching Sam eat was soothing, but it was. Sam had been a lifeline over the past few days. He’d brought Connor food and tried to distract him with games and stories. Other times, they just sat together in silence, Sam holding Connor’s hand in his lap.

The previous morning, Connor and his mom had been driving to the hospital when his phone started buzzing in a series of short repetitive bursts, like he was receiving a tide of incoming alerts. He pulled it out of his pocket at the next red light and saw that Sam had rescheduled all his jobs, clearing his schedule for the rest of the week. In the wake of Sam’s sudden departure, Connor had forgotten to ask him to hand in his key to the office.

“Do I have chocolate on my face?” Sam asked, swiping at his mouth.

Connor jolted back to the present. He must have been staring. He shook his head and averted his gaze. It was hard to imagine that a little over a week ago, he could have reached out and brushed Sam’s lips with his thumb. He loved how soft and plump they were and how they reddened when Connor kissed them. He looked down at his coffee instead. The mouthful he’d swallowed turned to acid in his throat. Connor had spent so long playing it safe that he was on the verge of heading into his thirties with nothing to show for it. He hadn’t traveled or lived with someone, hadn’t moved out of state or been in a long-term relationship. At least he’d had his heart broken. He could cross that one off the list.

“A couple years ago, when my gran was in the hospital...” Sam picked at the chocolate bar as though he, too, had lost interest in eating. “My family did this thing where we each shared something about her we were thankful for. At first, I sat there fuming. What did we have to be thankful for when she was lying there sick, maybe about to die? She didn’t, by the way,” he rushed to add, catching the terror that flashed across Connor’s face. “But it actually kind of helped. Then when I started therapy, my therapist gave me this assignment to write down two things I was grateful for at the end of each day. I didn’t take it too seriously, just kind of typed out a few words in my Notes app. And sometimes when I look back at them, it makes me feel better.”

“Will you read me one? I’m not feeling super grateful right now,” Connor admitted.

“Uh, sure.” Sam dug into his pocket for his phone and pulled it out. He scrolled for a bit, his forehead crinkling. “Okay, this one’s legible: Tom Cruise circaRisky Business, extracrispy french fries.”

Connor couldn’t help himself. He let out a snort of laughter. “I’m sorry.”

Sam grinned. “Count yourself lucky I’m willing to humiliate myself for your amusement.”

“Another, please.”

“Let’s see... oh, this one has three. That was a good day. Hot showers, cookies right out of the oven, Mandy Moore’s first album.”

“Ugh,So Realwas so good. You’re right, this does make me feel a bit better.”

Sam scrolled some more. “Stars on a clear night, holding Connor’s hand.” A blush spread across his cheeks. “A lot of the next ones are about you.”

“Right.” Connor felt it again, the painful twist in his stomach.

Sam kept his eyes fixed on the screen, scrolling down with his thumb. “Ah, nope, that’s X-rated...”

“Now I definitely want to hear it.” Connor’s phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up and saw a message from his mom in all caps. “They’re going to wake him. They’re going to wake up my dad.” He put down his coffee and leapt to his feet then stopped, turning to Sam.

“Go on,” Sam said with a hopeful smile. “Don’t worry about me—I’ll wait here.”

Connor sprinted down the corridor to his father’s room. The door was open, and several nurses were going in and out. He snaked between them and found his mom standing by his dad’s side, holding his hand, as his father blinked rapidly. A doctor stood nearby, making notes on a chart. Connor froze, overcome by a searing anger. He wasn’t sure who he was angry at—his dad or himself.

Then his father turned his face toward him, and the noise in Connor’s head went silent. Connor saw the gleam of tears in the man’s eyes, and the next thing he knew, he was kneeling beside the bed, a sob rising in his throat. His dad was still muted by the tube in his mouth, but he reached for Connor’s shoulder and clasped it tight.