The Complication (The Program #6)(13)

A car pulls into my driveway, and I go over to the window, surprised to see my grandfather park his car next to Wes’s bike. He climbs out, his phone pressed to his ear.

“My pop’s home,” I say, looking back at Wes worriedly. My grandfather usually works until four or five, and he has no idea that Wes came back to school today. He has no idea that I know the truth about The Program.

“Are you not allowed to have company?” Wes asks, seeming confused by my alarm.

“Get to the table,” I say, and point toward the kitchen. Wes is apprehensive, but he does what I ask while I run to the fridge to grab two sodas. The outer door opens, and I quickly set one can in front of Wes. I open mine, drop down in the chair, and look up just as Pop walks into the kitchen. He stops dead when he sees us and lowers the phone from his ear, clicking it off.

His glasses are askew, and he straightens them before darting his eyes from Wes to me. “Tatum,” he says in a tight voice. “What are you—?”

I cross in front of him to stop my grandfather from questioning Wes. “Pop, this is Weston,” I say, like I’m introducing them for the first time. Pop turns his eyes to mine questioningly, but when Wes stands and offers his hand, Pop shakes it and forces a smile.

“Hello, son,” he says to him, a touch of grief in his voice that I don’t think Wes notices. For the most part, Pop plays along. Wes sits down and takes a drink from his soda, oblivious to the glare my grandfather sends in my direction.

“Tatum,” Pop says. “Why aren’t you at school?”

“Lunch,” I say easily.

He glances at his watch. “Lunch ended nearly a half hour ago.”

I fake a look of surprise. “We lost track of time,” I say. “It’s been a stressful day. My Jeep wouldn’t start, and Wes offered me a ride to lunch. We ate, but then came back here because I had a headache.”

Wes doesn’t acknowledge the lie I’m dealing my grandfather. He quietly sips his drink.

“Headache?” Pop asks with concern, putting his hand gently on my back. “Are you okay?”

“It’s gone now,” I say. “Wasn’t a huge deal. I think it was too warm today. Or I could be dehydrated. Who knows.” I wave away the concern. “I’m feeling better, so we’re heading back to school now.”

Wes looks at me as if asking if we’re really going back. I nod that he should get up, my expression telling him We’re definitely not going back to school. He stands and pushes in his chair.

“Why don’t you go ahead, Weston,” my grandfather tells him. “I’ll give Tatum a ride. We’ll look at her Jeep, too.”

In his hand, Pop’s phone begins to ring, and he glances at the number. “I have to take this,” he says, backing away from me. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He answers the phone with a curt “Yes?” and walks through the living room to hurry up the stairs toward his bedroom. The moment he’s gone, Wes breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Do you want me to stay while you ask him about The Program?” he offers. And I’m surprised by the question, a little embarrassed. Because even though I want to find out the truth, now that my grandfather’s here, I’ve lost my nerve.

Is it possible to both want the truth and be scared of it?

“Thank you,” I tell Wes. “But I’ve got it.”

He looks a little doubtful at first, but then he says that it’s up to me. I walk him to the door and hold it open, resting my cheek against the side as I regard him. Wes smiles, not seeming to mind my attention.

“Hey,” he says. “Since you and Dr. Wyatt are the only people who talked to me today, I was wondering . . . want to have lunch tomorrow? If not, I can see if Wyatt’s available.”

There’s a pang of butterflies in my stomach, but I’m not sure how to answer. At what point will I know for sure when I’m doing something wrong? Will I even see it? Or will I keep going until it’s too late?

“I’ll take you anywhere you want,” Wes adds, reading my hesitation.

Although I know I shouldn’t, the temptation is too great. “Maybe,” I say, insinuating that I most certainly will. Wes smiles, triumphant, and backs out of the doorway.

“Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers.

And when he leaves, I watch him ride away, my heart fuller than it’s been in weeks.





CHAPTER SIX


MY GRANDFATHER COMES BACK INTO the kitchen with a manila folder in his hand, and I get a chance to examine him. His face is pale, his breathing a little too fast. He’s obviously worried about something, probably me.

“Who called?” I ask.

“A source for a story I’m working on,” he says, and briefly looks around. “Did Weston leave?” he asks. When I tell him he has, my grandfather shakes his head, letting his politeness fade.

“What were you thinking?” he demands. “Why would you bring him here?”

“He doesn’t remember anything,” I say. “He offered me a ride home, and I took it.”

I leave out the part about Dr. Wyatt interrogating us, the part where Nathan told me I was in The Program. My grandfather doesn’t exactly have my trust right now.

“And what about you, Pop?” I ask. “Why are you home?”