CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHEN I GET BACK TO my room, I call next door with unsteady fingers. I bring the phone to my ear. “Hey,” I say when it clicks.
“Should I keep apologizing?” Nathan asks sincerely. “Because I’m an idiot for not—”
“You don’t have to apologize anymore,” I say, relieved that I still have him on my side. It hits me now how alone I felt without him today, even if it was only for an afternoon.
Nathan hadn’t intended to hurt me when he told me about The Program; rationally, I know that. Nathan has always tried to be the best friend he could. And when Wes was in the hospital, nearly dying because of the Adjustment, Nathan was there for me. We promised to never lie to each other again. It’s part of why he told me about The Program in the first place. He wanted everything out in the open, even if it was something he’d promised my grandparents he’d never talk about.
I can’t hold it against him. I won’t. If anything, I need to know more.
“Wes’s mom just left,” I say. “She was . . . cruel.”
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. But I’m ready. I want you to tell me everything,” I say. “I can’t stand not knowing. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’ve already lost my grandparents.”
“I’m not telling you how to feel,” Nathan says, “but please keep in mind that it’s Pop and Gram you’re talking about. They love you. Whatever has happened, there’s an explanation. You know that.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”
I’m pretty sure I do. But right now, it doesn’t entirely feel that way. “Will you come over?” I ask. “It . . . it’s too weird right now. I need you.”
Nathan must hear in my voice how scared I am—he doesn’t hesitate. “I’m on my way,” he replies.
I hang up and head downstairs. When I get into the living room, Pop walks in from the kitchen.
“Want to help me get dinner ready?” he asks. His voice is tight, but he’s acting like it’s any other day. Like we can just make meatloaf together.
“Sure,” I tell him. Behind me there’s a sharp knock on the front door. My grandfather glances at it, and I quickly go answer it before Pop can ask why Nathan didn’t just walk in.
Nathan looks nervous, and I elbow him in his side to let him know he needs to pull himself together. He scowls at me but then notices my grandfather.
“Nathan?” Pop says, sounding surprised. “Didn’t you just leave?”
“Uh, yeah,” he replies, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “But then I saw Weston’s mom storm out of here like she’d committed double homicide, so I figured I should check on it. Seems you both survived.”
“Barely,” my grandfather says. “Are you going to stay for dinner, then?” he asks.
“Yep,” I answer for him, and Nathan looks down at me. He doesn’t argue, though.
“Great. Could use the extra hands,” Pop says, and walks into the kitchen. He starts banging around pots, closing cabinets, and Nathan sighs.
“She was awful?” he asks sympathetically. “Wes’s mom?”
“Beyond,” I say, and tell him what she said. Nathan rolls his eyes a few times and groans when I mention her threat of a restraining order.
“What about Pop?” Nathan continues. “Did he stick up for you?”
“He sort of did,” I say, looking in the direction of the kitchen. “Although I don’t think he disagrees with her. But now he’s acting . . . normal. Am I just paranoid?”
“Uh . . . no,” Nathan says like it’s a ridiculous question. “I mean, take a look at your day, Tatum. If you weren’t suspicious, I’d be worried about you.” He falls quiet before looking over at me. “You said you wanted to know everything, and I can fill in some blanks. At least about the night before.”
I stare at him, dread creeping up my spine. “What do you mean ‘the night before’?”
“Hey,” my grandfather calls to us, poking his head out from the kitchen. “These potatoes aren’t going to peel themselves.”
“Have you asked them?” Nathan jokes good-naturedly, and rushes ahead of me into the kitchen. I watch after him, clinging to the edge of what feels like devastation.
“You all right?” my grandfather asks, startling me.
I blink quickly. “Yep. Excited to churn the butter and shuck the corn, too.”
Pop laughs, tossing the dish towel onto his left shoulder, drying his hands on the bottom of the red fabric.
“Well, then,” he says, putting his arm around me when I get to him. “Everything is right with the world.”
• • •
My gram comes home from her shift at the hospital, and the four of us chat at the kitchen table about our day—although Nathan does most of the talking. He overtalks when he’s nervous. I mention Wes briefly, and my grandmother doesn’t react, which leads me to believe my grandfather already informed her. Of course he did.
“Oh,” my grandfather says when he’s done eating, swiping a napkin over his mouth. “I grabbed a new battery for the Jeep. Do you need me to put it in?”
“No, I’ve got it,” I say. I only have the basic idea of how to do it, but it’ll give me the perfect excuse to head outside with Nathan. “Want to help?” I ask him, smiling brightly.
“Uh . . . I’m not exactly a car guy, but I can hand you a wrench or something.” He pauses. “I’ll need a wrench, right?”
Me and my grandparents laugh as Nathan and I get up. I put our dishes in the sink and then go over to kiss my gram on the head since I hadn’t gotten the chance to do it when she first came home. It was such a natural response—something I always do; it isn’t until I straighten and see Nathan staring at me, his eyes glassy, that I realize the level of affection.
He was right. There will be an explanation. I know my grandparents love me.
“Let me know if you have any trouble,” Pop says, going over to start the coffeemaker for his and Gram’s after-dinner drink.
“I will,” I murmur, although I’m still watching Nathan’s reaction. In a world after The Program, we have to have some level of forgiveness for the adults in our lives. Sometimes, though, it’s hard to know what’s forgivable. Right now, I don’t think we know the line yet. We’re still learning.
I lower my eyes and walk ahead, plucking my grandfather’s fuzzy sweater from the hook before going to the garage to grab the battery that Pop bought me.
• • •
“Do you really know how to change a battery?” Nathan asks as he leans his elbow along the edge of the open hood of my Jeep. There’s a rumbling of thunder in the distance, the night stars blotted out by clouds.
“Pop showed me how once,” I say. “And I’ve seen Wes do it. Figured I’d give it a shot.” I look over at him. He nods and checks to make sure my grandparents aren’t watching out the kitchen window before coming closer.
“It was nice in there,” he says. “Really had me rethinking the entire sinister plotline that was starting to develop.”
“Same.” I sigh and leave the battery where it’s at for now, wiping my hands on the rag I grabbed from the garage. “Now,” I say in a hushed voice. “What were you going to say earlier? What happened the night before I was taken?”
“It was around the time of Casey Jones’s party,” Nathan begins. “One night, you showed up at my house, I don’t know, around midnight. My mom was at a Mary Kay convention in Vegas. You’d been crying, which, let’s be honest, was a bit scary during Program times. You asked if you could come inside, and then we went to sit in the living room. You were shivering, and I was terrified for you. When I put my arm around you, your skin was ice-cold.”
I don’t remember any of this. I don’t even remember his mother being out of town. “Why was I crying?” I ask, feeling sorry for that girl—a girl distant from me.
“That, I don’t know. At the time, I assumed you and Wes had gotten in a fight, or maybe it was because handlers had taken two people from class that day. It could have been anything. I just knew you were broken, and I didn’t know how to help.”
“Well, then—what did I say to you?”
“You asked if you could stay awhile,” he says like it was the most pathetic request in the world. “But it was late. . . .”
The idea of me at his house, broken down like that, makes me feel vulnerable.
“I told you to go home,” he continues. “But you begged me not to send you out into the dark.” His face cracks, and tears well up and spill over. “You told me you were scared of the dark and not to send you into it. So I sat back down, and you crawled over to me and cried. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to call Wes, but he didn’t answer.”
Nathan wipes his face and then blinks quickly, as if the emotional moment passed. He reaches to touch a few bolts in the engine, fidgeting.
“So when I couldn’t get ahold of anyone else, I walked you to the door. And you looked up at me with those sad brown eyes, and . . .” He stops and turns to me.
“What?” I ask.
“I just realized, that was the last moment,” he says. “My last moment with you—the old you.”
The idea is heavy between us, and I look away, feeling like an imposter. The wind kicks up, and above, a brilliant flash of lightning electrifies the sky.
I finish installing the battery, and when I’m done, Nathan takes my grease-streaked hand.
“I sent you out into the darkness,” Nathan says apologetically. “I told you that I loved you and closed the door. And the next day, I went to your house to check on you. But you were gone. Pop pulled me inside, and then he and Gram told me The Program had taken you. They weren’t even sure why. They said you’d been completely fine, which—if I’m being honest—wasn’t true.”
“None of us were fine,” I say.
“Yeah, but you were worse off than most. But that’s not all of it,” he tells me. “Pop said . . . well, he said he knew who called the handlers. Who turned you in.”
I slam the hood of my Jeep, my entire body alert. “Who was it?” I demand. “Who did this to me?”
Nathan swallows hard. “It was Wes’s mom.”
I stare at him, although I shouldn’t be surprised. “Why?” I ask, feeling like I’ve just been socked in the chest. “Why would she do that? Why would she try to destroy me?”
“I’m not sure what happened,” Nathan says, holding up his hands like it proves he’s being honest. “But when Wes found out, he went a little nuts. I mean . . . he hated his mother after that, Tatum. He went to her work and caused a scene. He said he’d never forgive her.” Nathan shrugs. “Wes may have been dating Kyle, or whatever was going on between them, but he still wanted to protect you.”
“Wes and I . . . ,” I start, not sure how to finish. “Like my pop said, we have a connection. Wes and I have always loved each other. Probably always will. So he would have been angry with his mother. It would have made him sick.”
“Clearly it did,” Nathan says. “Not that he talked to anyone about it. He’d already withdrawn by then. After you were taken, I only saw him once. He was sitting in front of your house on his motorcycle, reflective sunglasses hiding his eyes. He looked . . . I don’t know, it was like he was shaking even though he was perfectly still. I called out to him, asked if he’d heard anything, but he didn’t respond. He just started the engine and took off. And then . . . you came home and I didn’t see him again.”
“Maybe he felt guilty for what his mom did to me.”
“Or what he did with Kyle,” Nathan offers, and when I flinch, he quickly apologizes for bringing her up again. “Anyway,” he says, trying to cover. “You came home, but I wasn’t allowed to see you at first. Then, that Saturday, Pop called and invited me over for dinner, like it was any other Saturday. But he caught me outside the house before I went in.”
I watch him, trying to see the memory through his eyes. “Why?”
“He asked me not to mention The Program to you,” Nathan says. “He said he’d gotten to you early, and that although they might have taken a few smaller memories, you were completely intact—just like before. I didn’t want to tell him I hoped it wasn’t exactly like before.
“And then,” Nathan continues, “Pop made me promise not to bring up The Program because the doctor warned him you were a special case—short-term memory loss, but with the highest potential for danger. He told me a crashback could kill you, so I made a deal to never bring it up. And then I went inside, and we ate enchiladas like nothing had ever happened.”
I wonder how Nathan could have gone through the motions, ignoring something so huge. Was he as awkward as he was tonight with my grandparents? Worse? I’m not sure, because I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t know anything was wrong.
“Was that the night I found out Wes was missing?” I ask, piecing it together.
“Yeah,” Nathan says. “You called him after dinner and found out he was gone. None of us knew what had happened to him, but privately, I assumed he ran away because you were in The Program. I figured he didn’t know you got out. Thought maybe he couldn’t live with what happened to you. I’ll be honest, Tatum,” he says like this pains him. “I thought he’d killed himself.”
“So did I,” I whisper, laying my hand flat on the cold metal of the hood. “But he didn’t. He came home.”
“He must have heard you were back,” Nathan says. “And that’s why he showed up at your door. I was scared when you went to his house to bring him home. I was scared Dorothy would call the handlers again. But she must have seen you were cured.”
“It was never a cure,” I say immediately.
Nathan allows this, and then looks at the house just as the kitchen light goes out. “That’s all I’ve got,” Nathan says, turning back to me. “That’s everything I know. I wish I had told you sooner.”
“But what if my grandparents were right?” I ask. “What if it had knocked something loose in my head? Caused a crashback? What if that’s happening to me now, and I don’t even realize it?”
“I won’t let you crash,” Nathan says like it’s something he can stop through sheer will. “Do you trust me?”
I wait an extra second before nodding at him. “Yeah,” I say.
“Good.”
Nathan and I survey the house for a moment, and then he groans and says he has to study for his math test. He gives me a greasy high five and begins to walk away. Before he crosses onto his front lawn, his hair blowing in the wind, he turns back to me.
“I am curious about something,” he says in a low voice. “Did The Program take any of our memories? Anything between us?” For the first time, I see vulnerability in Nathan’s eyes. The idea that he could be erased from my memory scaring him. Invalidating him.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but I really wouldn’t remember.”
He smiles sadly at this. “I guess you wouldn’t. Still holds true that I’m your healthiest relationship.”
I laugh and agree that he probably is.
“Let me know if your Jeep starts in the morning, Dale Earnhardt,” he says.
“That honestly doesn’t even make sense,” I say.
“Told you I’m not a car guy.” And he turns around and walks to his house while I test out the new battery.