Page 23 of Evermore

Ripple Effects

Finn

T he bookshop bell announced Maya's arrival with its usual cheerful chime, but there was nothing cheerful about the way she moved through the door like a woman on a mission to save someone from themselves.

Finn looked up from the restoration project he'd been pretending to work on—another piece he apparently couldn't remember starting—and felt his stomach drop at the expression on his sister's face.

“We need to talk,” Maya said without preamble, her psychology training evident in the way she controlled her tone despite obvious emotional distress. “Now.”

“Hello to you too,” Finn said, attempting lightness that fell flat in the face of Maya's obvious concern. “What's got you looking like you're about to stage an intervention?”

“Mrs. Patterson called me yesterday. She's worried about you.” Maya settled into the chair across from his workstation with the careful attention of someone preparing for battle.

“She said you seemed confused during your conversation, that you asked her the same questions multiple times and didn't seem to remember things she'd told you just minutes before.”

Finn felt heat creep up his neck. “Mrs. Patterson is eighty-three and probably confused herself about what happened.”

“Then there's Mr. Maury, who said you recommended the same book to him three times in one visit, each time like it was the first time you'd thought of it.

And Sarah from the coffee shop mentioned you seemed disoriented when you went in for your usual order, like you couldn't remember what you usually ordered.” Maya's voice was getting tighter with each example.

“Finn, people are noticing. Your condition is becoming public.”

“So what if I'm having some memory issues? Everyone forgets things.”

“Everyone doesn't have entire conversations they can't remember having.

Everyone doesn't complete professional work with no recollection of doing it.

Everyone doesn't—” Maya's voice cracked slightly.

“Everyone doesn't scare the people who care about them by disappearing mentally while their body goes through the motions.”

Finn wanted to argue, but the evidence was mounting in ways he couldn't dismiss.

His condition was no longer something he could hide or downplay.

It was affecting his interactions with customers, his professional competence, his ability to maintain the basic social connections that kept his business running.

“I'm managing,” he said, though the words sounded unconvincing even to himself.

“Are you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're pretending everything is fine while your life falls apart around you.” Maya leaned forward with the intensity that meant she was about to say something he really didn't want to hear.

“Maybe it's time to consider more structured care.

Someone to help you manage daily tasks, monitor your episodes, ensure you're safe when these memory gaps happen.”

The suggestion hit Finn like ice water, triggering every fear he'd been carrying since his mother's diagnosis. “Structured care? You mean supervised care. You mean treating me like I'm incompetent to manage my own life.”

“I mean protecting you from the consequences of a condition that's obviously getting worse.” Maya's voice rose with frustration and fear.

“What happens when you're working with dangerous restoration chemicals and have an episode?

What happens when you're driving and lose time?

What happens when you can't remember basic safety procedures?”

“What happens when you decide I'm too broken to live independently and I end up in some facility being managed by strangers who don't give a shit about who I am?” Finn's voice came out sharper than he'd intended, months of accumulated terror bleeding through his attempt at rational discussion.

“That's not what I'm suggesting?—”

“Isn't it? Because that's exactly what happened to Mom.

First it was 'just some help around the house,' then it was 'supervised activities,' then it was a fucking memory care unit where she forgot who we were and died surrounded by people who called her by the wrong name.” Finn was on his feet now, pacing behind his workstation like a caged animal.

“I'm not going down that path, Maya. I'm not giving up control of my life because my brain is acting weird.”

“Your brain isn't acting weird, Finn. You have a serious neurological condition that's progressing faster than you want to admit.” Maya's voice was thick with tears she was trying not to shed. “I can't watch you deteriorate while pretending everything is manageable. I can't go through that again.”

The raw pain in her voice stopped Finn's defensive anger cold.

Maya had watched their mother disappear gradually, had managed the practical details of progressive cognitive decline while trying to maintain hope that treatment might help.

Now she was watching him develop symptoms that looked terrifyingly familiar, and her protective instincts were colliding with his desperate need for autonomy.

“I'm not Mom,” Finn said more gently. “Whatever's happening to me, it's different. Dr. Voss thinks it can be managed.”

“Dr. Voss is researching experimental treatments for a condition that might not even exist. You're betting your safety and independence on someone whose credentials you haven't even verified.” Maya wiped her eyes with angry swipes.

“What if she's wrong? What if her treatments make things worse?

What if you're just postponing the inevitable while putting yourself at risk?”

“Then at least I'm making my own choices about my care instead of having decisions made for me by people who think they know what's best.”

“And what about River? How long do you think he's going to stick around when your condition gets worse? When the episodes become more frequent and severe? When caring for you becomes a full-time job that interferes with his research and his life?”

The question hit Finn's deepest fears with surgical accuracy.

He'd been wondering the same thing, lying awake at night terrified that River's feelings would change when the reality of his condition became clear.

That the man who'd fallen for the charming bookshop owner wouldn't want to deal with someone whose brain was systematically betraying them both.

“River's not going anywhere,” Finn said, but his voice lacked conviction.

“How can you know that? You've been together less than two weeks, and you're already depending on him for medical advocacy, emotional support, and basic reality testing. That's not sustainable, Finn. It's not fair to either of you.”

“It's not fair for you to show up here and demand I give up my independence because you're scared of watching another family member get sick.” Finn's voice was rising again, grief and terror making him cruel.

“I'm not asking you to take care of me the way you took care of Mom.

I'm not asking you to sacrifice your life for mine.”

“But you're asking River to do exactly that,” Maya shot back. “You're asking someone who barely knows you to manage a medical crisis that trained professionals can't even diagnose properly.”

The accusation hung between them like a blade, cutting through Finn's defenses to expose fears he'd been trying to ignore.

Maybe Maya was right about his relationship with River moving too fast, becoming too dependent, asking too much of someone who hadn't signed up for progressive neurological decline.

“Get out,” Finn said quietly, exhaustion replacing anger as his emotional resources hit their limit. “Just go, Maya. I can't do this right now.”

“Finn—”

“Go. Please. Before we say things we can't take back.”

Maya left with tears streaming down her face, and Finn stood alone in his workshop surrounded by evidence of work he couldn't remember doing, wondering if everyone he loved was going to abandon him or if he was going to drive them away first to avoid the pain of watching them leave.

The emotional turmoil felt like a physical storm building in his chest, pressure and electricity that made the air around him seem to vibrate with potential energy.

Finn recognized the warning signs from previous episodes, but this time the approaching displacement felt different—bigger, more comprehensive, like a wave that would sweep away everything in its path.

The episode hit like stepping through a doorway into a parallel life.

One moment Finn was standing in his workshop surrounded by familiar tools and half-finished projects, and the next he was in the same space but everything was subtly different—brighter, more organized, filled with work that demonstrated expertise he'd never developed.

But this wasn't like his previous episodes. Instead of brief confusion or partial displacement, Finn found himself fully aware that he was experiencing something impossible while simultaneously living it as if it were completely normal.

He was himself, but he was also a version of himself who had made different choices, developed different skills, built a different life.

The knowledge existed in his mind alongside his actual memories, creating a strange double consciousness where he could access both versions of his experience simultaneously.

In this reality, his mother's illness had been diagnosed earlier, treated more successfully.

She was still alive, living in a comfortable assisted care facility where she maintained most of her cognitive function and could still recognize him during visits.

The crushing grief that had defined Finn's last two years simply didn't exist here, replaced by manageable sadness about her condition but also ongoing hope for her recovery.