Free Coming in from the Cold by Sarina Bowen

wall that the disease had built between them had started out low enough that it could be stepped across, if not ignored completely. But layer upon layer had grown these past fifteen years. Now it was so high as to be impenetrable.
    “Hi, Finn.” He took his brother’s fragile hand into his and straightened it out as best he could. This hand, once incredibly strong and lithe, had helped Dane into his first ski boots, snapping the buckles into place. Now it was bent like a discarded piece of cardboard, cupped onto itself, useless.
    And feverish.
    Dane felt the pressure settling into his chest—the inescapable pain that always hung on him in this place. He looked around and found Finn’s copy of the
Boston Globe
, unruffled, on the bedside table. “Let’s find the sports section,” he said, opening up the pages. “Who’s on top of the basketball standings?” he asked. Then he began to read.
    He read every article in the section out loud. Before Finn had deteriorated so far, Dane used to tell him things about his own life. His brother had given him drool-y smiles after hearing all of Dane’s antics on the ski hill. But things were looking so desperate now, the feeding tube snaking out of Finn’s blankets, the IV that delivered the newest antibiotic. It seemed unfair to talk about all the good things Dane enjoyed that Finn did not.
    Or maybe he’d stopped telling Finn good news because talking to his brother felt too much like looking in the mirror. Now that Dane was knocking on thirty, his own unfortunate future loomed large. How long would it be before he was in Finn’s shoes, perhaps in this very room? Dane had chosen this nursing home because it was the nicest he could find. At fifteen grand a month, it was expensive. But when Dane visited, his brother was always well cared for. He was clean and well tended, and the nurses who came through were cheerful and quite obviously well paid.
    The best nursing home in New England. Now there was a dubious honor.
    The sports section completed, Dane was fast running out of things to talk about. He watched Finn’s eyes flicker across his face. There was still a person in there, paying attention. The disease had a marked effect on the sufferer’s personality, but dementia didn’t hit every victim the same way. He had no way of knowing how much his brother still understood, because the muscular deterioration had taken away his ability to speak more than a year ago.
    Dane hesitated, wondering what to tell Finn next.
So, I met a girl
. Some part of Finn might still like to hear what his little brother was capable of pulling off in the back of a Jeep. But Dane wouldn’t tell the story. Because if Finn were still able to understand it, then both of them would be depressed by the inevitable conclusion. Dane couldn’t see the girl again because fate had determined that he would likely also be a loser in the same harsh game of genetic roulette.
    Fate was a tricky bitch, anyway. Because if it weren’t for Finn, Dane would have never met Willow. He would never be training in New England, and he wouldn’t have crossed her path. Heads you win; tails I lose.
    This kind of math—disease math—was always on his mind. How many years until his brain faltered, and he began to forget things? How many people would assume he was a drunk when his gait went goofy?
    Lost in thought, he hadn’t spoken in a couple of minutes. “Sorry,” Dane said, his own voice echoing into the silence. “I’m shitty company today.” He ruffled the newspaper again. “Let’s see what’s happening in the TV section. Maybe there’s something good coming on for you this week.”

Chapter Nine
    “I really appreciate this favor, Willow.” Her friend Travis swept his hand across his head again, trying to keep his wavy blond hair under control. “I really don’t want to miss the big game.” When he smiled, Travis’s eyes crinkled at the edges. He had the open face and friendly gaze that a good