I’m not sure what he means, and I lean forward to ask for an explanation. Nathan lowers his head, smiling sadly.
“Do you remember the last time you came over like this?” he asks quietly. When he lifts his eyes to mine, there is vulnerability there. There’s a sting on my heart, but I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“When?” I ask.
Nathan closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Never mind. It was a long time ago.” He jumps, and takes out his phone. Once it’s out, I hear it vibrating with a call.
“It’s your pop,” he says, clicking it off. “We’d better get over there.” Nathan stands, holding out his hand to help me up. When I’m facing him, he stares down at me intensely, like he’s trying to read me.
“What?” I repeat.
Nathan reaches to slide my hair behind my ear, a move more intimate than I’m used to. “Do me a favor,” he says. “Let’s not mention the Adjustment to your grandparents yet. We’ll deal with Wes first. I’ll take you back over to the hospital.”
“You will?”
He nods, and then we walk out. I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted. Ready to lean on him for support. And together we go over to my house.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MY GRANDPARENTS WERE WORRIED, AND when I show up with Nathan a few minutes later, they scold me about not calling. Nathan does his best to take the blame, distracting them from my reddened eyes and disheveled appearance.
Nathan tells them we have dinner plans that I owe him from a previous bet, and when they look to me for confirmation, I nod quickly. I hate continuing to lie to them, but if I need more time, I have to lie to get it.
I grab a few Motrin from the medicine cabinet for my headache, bypassing the pills my grandmother had given me before, and then Nathan and I head out. I let him drive as I wait for the headache to fade.
I use Nathan’s phone to call the hospital to check on Wes, but since I’m not family—and due to his parents’ request—they won’t tell me anything.
“You look terrible, Tatum,” Nathan says, glancing sideways at me. “That stuff they did to you for the Adjustment . . . Are you sure it isn’t messing you up too?”
I rub my forehead, closing my eyes for a little relief. “I don’t know,” I say. “It’s not supposed to.” I look over at him, and we both laugh shortly. It’s an unsanctioned procedure. I knew the risks; I didn’t care. Who knows what will happen to me now.
“Wes’s mom is at the hospital,” I say, scrunching up my nose. “Maybe that’s stressing me out. She scares the shit out of me.”
“I won’t let her near you again,” Nathan says. “And definitely not if she’s going to threaten or intimidate you.”
“She’s not entirely wrong,” I say.
“Maybe not,” he says, stopping at a red light. The color plays across his face. “But it doesn’t mean she’s not a total and complete dickhead.”
I snort a laugh. With Nathan there, I actually don’t think Wes’s mother would harass me as much. As if I’m in the inner family circle she can cuss out at Thanksgiving but not on a regular basis in public.
“Okay,” I say. “So long as you have my back.”
“Shit, Tatum,” he says. “You know I’m going down with this ship.”
I lean my head on the back of the seat, watching him. Grateful. “Thank you,” I whisper.
His mouth twitches with a smile, but he doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to.
A few minutes later, we arrive at the hospital. The lot is almost full, but Nathan finds a spot relatively close. My breathing has quickened, and I’m so nervous that I’m shaking. After we park, Nathan turns off the engine.
“Wes is going to be okay, Tatum,” he says, and looks sideways at me. “And he loves you. He always has—with or without his memories.”
I press my lips into a smile, thanking him for his kindness right now. But I have no illusions—this is partly my fault. I should have accepted Wes as he was. I should have loved him anyway. But I know it wouldn’t have mattered. Wes had been getting sicker. He needed help. We were doomed from the start.
“We’ll figure it out?” I ask, hopefulness in my voice. Nathan nods and then reaches to pat my knee before opening the driver’s-side door.
We get to the sliding double doors, and I stop as they open, staring down the hallway in case Wes’s parents are waiting for me. Rationally, I know they’re not. They have bigger concerns. But until I’m sure they’re gone, I wait there.
Nathan walks in ahead, and then waves me forward. With him at my side, I’m braver. Or, at least, I tell myself I’m braver. I glance at the information desk, and the nurse there is on a call and ignoring us.
I lead Nathan to where I last spoke to Dr. McKee, and just then, as if I conjured her up, Kyle Mahoney and another girl stand with the doctor. Seeing her drops me dead. It feels like a betrayal even though I have no reason to lay claim on Dr. McKee.
“So am I not supposed to say anything?” Kyle asks, annoyed. She doesn’t realize I’m here yet. She looks sideways at the other girl, and I realize it’s Jana Simms.
“I can’t stop you,” Dr. McKee tells Kyle. “But if you care . . . then yes. I’d expect you to stay out of it for now. The memories are—”
Jana notices me first, and taps the doctor on his arm. Dr. McKee looks over to find me standing in the middle of the hallway, dumbstruck, as I stare at them. He slips his hands into the pockets of his coat. Am I imagining that he looks guilty?
Kyle furrows her blond brows, and then turns in my direction. She sways at the sight of me. I take in her appearance, how thin she seems—her clavicle is sharp through her worn white T-shirt. Kyle crosses her arms over her chest, seeming unsettled by my presence here.
A lock of blond hair falls over her left eye, but she doesn’t swipe it aside. The only hint of color rushes to the high points of her cheeks. Dr. McKee looks from her to me, and then nods without explanation.
“I’ll let you know if there’s a change,” the doctor says to Kyle in a low voice. He exchanges a pointed look with Jana, and then he walks away. Were they discussing Wes? I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’m the one who brought Wes to him; I’m the one who’s been keeping the secret. He should be confiding in me.
“Jana?” Nathan calls, coming to stand next to me. “What are you doing here?”
“Vanessa,” she says. “They think she had a stroke earlier, but she’s stable now. Thank God.”
Kyle uses that moment to start walking out, determined in her steps. But I don’t think she was here about Vanessa at all. My fingers begin to tremble, dread curling through my veins.
“I need to talk to you,” I call to Kyle before she can leave. Her blue eyes widen at my directness, and I’m not imagining that Jana winces. Kyle looks back at her before turning to me.
“Sure,” she says evenly. She uncrosses her arms and slowly walks in my direction. Overhead there is dull music playing from the speaker—no words, just a jazz version of a popular song. It’s haunting in a way, especially when Kyle stops in front of me, pale and thin as an apparition.
“Tatum,” Nathan says softly from behind me, but I ignore him. A million thoughts run through my mind, but I’m not sure where to start.
Kyle must notice my hesitancy, but she doesn’t start the conversation either. I think back to the first time I saw Kyle in the hallway, watching me that first day Wes came back—she wasn’t confident like she is now.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, careful not to sound nervous.
“Dr. McKee tracked me down,” she says. “Nice guy.” Although she says it like she can’t stand him.
“Why?” I ask. “Why would he call you?”
“Maybe he was worried that Wes was going the way of Vanessa,” she says bitterly. “It was stupid, you know. Bringing Wes to him. He didn’t need an Adjustment.”
I hate how she’s judging me right now. How she knows all the details. “Why do you even know about the Adjustment?
” I ask. “You’re not a returner.”
“Remember that research I was doing?” she says like I’m an idiot. “I have my reasons, Tatum. And I certainly have bigger concerns than you.”
“Like what?” I ask.
Her posture stiffens, as if I’ve somehow crossed her sharing line. She casts a glance over my shoulder toward Nathan and Jana, and then looks back at me.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s late. I have to go.”
She starts to walk away, but it feels like my heart wants to tear from my body. I can’t stand not knowing anymore. Can’t stand my own insecurity. And I can’t keep the misery out of my voice when I call after her, “Were you seeing Wes behind my back?”
The words are a wrecking ball, and across from me, Nathan groans with the honest pain in them. Kyle stops and slowly turns to look back at me. There is a moment of vulnerability in her expression, her own brand of pain, I guess.
She shrugs like she can’t answer the question, and without another word, she walks out of the hospital.
She didn’t deny it. I stand still, frozen. I try to wrap my brain around this situation.
And I try to understand if my entire history with Wes is a lie.
• • •
After Kyle leaves, I demand to talk with Dr. McKee, but the nurse at the station tells me he won’t be available until tomorrow. I ask for Marie, and when that doesn’t work, I beg to see Weston. But all my requests are declined.
Nathan and Jana stay with me, and it’s only a little weird when she comes to dinner with us in the hospital cafeteria. I’m used to a thin layer of hostility between us, but that seems to have dissolved. She has a bruise on her cheek, a scratch. I can’t forget that her friend is in the hospital right now. I ask how Vanessa is.
“They’re not hopeful,” Jana says, picking at a plate of chicken tenders and fries. Her voice is thick with grief; little fly-aways stick out from her top bun. I want to apologize a hundred times, but I know it won’t make a difference. I can see she truly cares about Vanessa, and I realize how hateful the gossip about Jana has been. She would do anything for her friend.
Nathan puts his arms over her shoulders in the booth, and she leans into him, closing her eyes. He turns to kiss her forehead, and I stare at my salad.
They’re not hopeful. I feel the emotions welling up. People are dying. Something is killing us again.
The three of us sit quietly until Jana’s phone buzzes on the table. She sniffles and grabs it, holding it close to her chest as she reads the message. She slips it into her pocket and looks up at us.
“It’s my mom,” she explains. “I have to go. I, uh . . . thanks for dinner,” she says absently to Nathan, climbing out of the booth. She seems distracted.
Nathan tells her he’ll call her later, and Jana says good-bye to both of us, watching me a second longer than necessary. “Wes will be okay,” she tells me. “Just hang in there.”
I thank her, saying that I will, and she walks out of the cafeteria.
“Remember when I said things were going to get worse?” Nathan says in a low voice, staring down at the table. “Well, I’m an asshole. I take it back.”
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
He looks up suddenly, and I see he’s completely torn up inside. “It’s you I’m worried about, Tatum,” he says as if I’m missing a larger point. “Jana told me again that it’s not the Adjustment, it’s all returners. There was another kid at school today.”
I curse, fear climbing over my skin. “You don’t have to worry about me,” I say. “I’m fine. Wes and Vanessa are the ones in the hospital. And I don’t know how to help them.”
Nathan leans his elbows on the table, his face in his hands. “I don’t know either,” he says.
I’m not used to seeing Nathan so tortured. I reach out and pull his hand from his face, holding it on the table. “We survived The Program,” I whisper. “We’ll survive this.”
His expression crumbles, but he quickly pulls it back together. Like I’ve brought up something too painful for him to bear. I squeeze his hand, and he nods like he’s better.
“We’re good,” he says. “We’re all good.” He takes his hand back, and uses it to pull Jana’s plate in front of him. He doesn’t eat, though. “So what was up with Kyle Mahoney?” Nathan asks. “It was super sketchy of her to be here.”
“Yeah,” I say self-consciously. “Is it jumping to conclusions to say that Wes was cheating on me?”
“Still jumping,” he says, but there’s less conviction in his words. “She didn’t come out and say that, you know,” he adds. “But if there’s a problem with Wes’s past, I’d say it definitely starts with her.”
I grab my Coke and bite down on the straw, chewing it between sips. “Did Jana talk to her?”
Nathan shakes his head. “Not that she mentioned. Then again, she’s pretty torn up about Vanessa right now.”
I feel for Jana, having to watch Vanessa fight for her life. It’s not fair—it’s not fair that returners have already suffered so much, only to end up no better off.
Nathan picks up a french fry and takes a small bite. “It sounds like Wes is going to be okay. though. Jana heard Dr. McKee talking about him.”
“Dr. McKee,” I repeat bitterly. “He won’t do any more Adjustments; we have no way to stop Wes from crashing back like the others. Like Vanessa. But . . . he did say that if we find out what’s wrong with the memory, if we find the truth, it might trigger a landslide. He advised against it, of course.”
“Of course,” Nathan repeats.
“We have to take that chance,” I say. “Figure out what’s real.”
Nathan shifts uncomfortably. “And you think Wes cheated,” he says.
“I don’t know what to think. The only time I saw them together was for a second at a party. I would have known, right? There would have been more signs.”
“Yeah,” he says, barely audible. “You would have known.” He reaches across the table to grab a napkin from the dispenser, wiping his hands loudly with the stiff paper.
“I was thinking,” I say. “Over the summer—”
Nathan’s eyes snap to mine.
“Wes was going through something; it’s all a blur now. But when he didn’t call me, I found out it was because he’d run away. I’ll never know what happened because of The Program, but . . . do you think he could have run away with Kyle?” My voice cracks and I have to force myself not to believe it. But it actually would make sense. So what does that mean for me and Wes?
“I don’t know the answer,” Nathan says. “But ask yourself if you really need to know. Let Wes fight his own demons. People got sick, Tatum. They did things . . . things they regretted. They weren’t themselves.” He pauses. “Wes is in the hospital right now. Let the therapists deal with it. It doesn’t have to be you.”
I stare at him for a long moment, seeing the logic in his eyes. “You’re right,” I say, and look across the cafeteria. My emotions eat away at me, devouring me from the inside. Love, loss, betrayal, grief—I run the gamut.
And I think that The Program had at least one thing right: The past has the power to destroy us if we let it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I DIDN’T SAY MUCH AFTER leaving the hospital with Nathan, focused on Wes’s recovery. When I get home, I research the best therapists in town, ones who specialize in returners. I’m happy to find that my therapist does just that. And I trust her completely. I plan to set an appointment for Wes as soon as he agrees.
I wake up the next morning in my bed, and when I sit up, my head still aches. I can’t decide if it’s the same headache or a medication hangover. There are no messages from Nathan, and when I call Wes’s phone, it goes directly to voice mail.
It’s time I came clean with my grandparents. I owe them at least that much. I quickly get dressed and head downstairs to talk to them. I’m scared, but when the other person will still love you unconditionally, it makes the talk go much easier.
/> I start from the beginning, and I tell them everything.
I’m sitting on the couch, my grandfather standing at the fireplace with his elbow on the mantel. My gram has cried at least three times, once for not realizing sooner what I was going through, and once at the memories—how painful they must have been. And then, of course, when I tell her that Wes is in the hospital.
“I’m not going to criticize you right now,” my grandfather says. “It’s not the time, but we will have that conversation later, Tatum. We’ve always stood by you—more than you know. We always will. Perhaps if you would have trusted us with your plans for the Adjustment, it could have saved everyone some pain. In fact, the moment you leave, I’ll be having a conversation with Dr. McKee myself.”
“I just don’t understand why he would do it,” my grandmother says, wringing her hands. She and my grandfather exchange a look, and she lowers her eyes.
Pop turns back to me. “I told you to stay away from the Adjustment,” he says, sounding disappointed.
“I know,” I say, ashamed. “I thought . . .” I pause, realizing that my excuse doesn’t change the facts. “I’m sorry,” I say instead.
“I know you are,” he allows. “Now, what’s the latest on Weston’s condition?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “I couldn’t get in to talk to him. His parents—”
“I’ll call Michelle,” my grandmother says immediately, referencing Wes’s mother. “She’s not going to leave you here to worry like this. She at least owes us that much.” She stands from the chair and goes to the kitchen. My grandfather moves to follow her, but then pauses to look back at me.
“Why don’t you take the day off from school?” he says. “You don’t look well.”
“I have a headache,” I admit.
He nods like it proves his point that I shouldn’t go. “Let me get you something for it,” he says, leaving the room. When he returns with a glass of water and two large white pills, I pause. These were the same ones that my gram gave me the other day, the ones that knocked me out.