The Complication (The Program #6)(19)

My stomach drops. Nathan definitely knows something’s up now. I wish Foster had stayed home, sick in bed.

“Nathan said he hadn’t seen you since lunch,” Foster continues, studying my reaction. “In fact, he said he didn’t even have lunch with you. Which, of course, set off my ‘Tatum is doing something dangerous’ alarm. Nathan promised to find you, but turns out, I found you first. Now,” he says. “You want to tell me why you’re avoiding him?”

I should tell Foster the truth. I can trust him. I have to trust him. “I’m scared to tell you,” I say. And immediately my eyes fill with tears. I’m embarrassed, afraid of how he’ll react to the fact that I might not really be me anymore. Not the Tatum he knew last summer. I could be someone else entirely.

Foster reaches to put his clammy hand over mine where it rests on the couch. “We don’t keep secrets, Tatum,” he says seriously. “Look what it did to Wes. I can’t have that happen to you. Just tell me what’s going on.”

I swallow hard, my words filled with grief. “I was in The Program,” I whisper.

Foster continues watching me, seeming confused by my statement. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Nathan told me this morning,” I say. “He said it happened last summer, and at first, I didn’t entirely believe him. But then . . . I had a memory. A crashback. There were handlers”—my voice chokes up, and I point toward the entryway—“and they dragged me out of my house. This house. And I realized Nathan was right—it was true.” I sniffle and wipe away the tears that spilled onto my cheek with the back of my hand. “I was in The Program,” I repeat.

Foster stares down at his lap like he’s thinking over my words. His face flinches a few times, his horror at the revelation clear.

“You didn’t know?” I ask him.

“Of course I didn’t know,” he snaps, and then looks over apologetically. “What’s bothering me is that if Nathan knew, why didn’t he say something sooner? Why didn’t he tell either of us?”

“He said my grandparents begged him not to,” I explain. “They warned him that it could make me break down, even kill me. Nathan only now decided he didn’t want to hide it anymore. But that doesn’t change the fact that he kept it from me all this time. And my grandparents . . . they haven’t told me shit. They’ve all been lying to me.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Foster says. “If you were in The Program, why were you allowed to hang out with us again? Why aren’t you labeled a returner?”

“I don’t know. But it proves Wes’s Adjustment failure wasn’t my fault—not on purpose. The Program did something to my memories, and I’d bet that Marie and Dr. McKee knew that. My grandparents, too. And yet, they’re all still trying to make me feel guilty about it.”

“Why would they do that?” Foster asks.

“Because they want me to stay away from Wes.”

Foster lifts one eyebrow. “Not a terrible idea,” he allows. But when he looks over at me, he smiles. “So did you tell him about your relationship anyway?”

“No,” I say. “I didn’t. Although he knows something’s up thanks to the monitor. And then he came by my Jeep and asked me to lunch. I couldn’t say no.”

“Definitely not.”

“I didn’t tell him that we were together before,” I say again. “But I needed someone to talk to; I was freaking out. We came back here, and—”

“And you had sex,” Foster says like he’s finishing my sentence.

“What? No,” I say. “We talked a little. Then my grandfather came home. Dr. McKee called him. Like, what the fuck, right?”

“How did Dr. McKee know you were with Wes?” Foster asks.

“He had someone watching me. For real,” I say, shaking my head. “There’s seriously too much to tell you.”

“Seems so,” Foster agrees. “Well . . . let’s start with Wes at your house. What did Dr. McKee tell Pop?”

“I’m assuming he told Pop to make sure I don’t tell Wes about our past. But I wasn’t going to.” I pause. “Okay, I wanted to. But I didn’t. I don’t need to be micromanaged. I mean . . . he’s not even my doctor.”

“That was very selfless of you,” Foster says encouragingly. “Not telling him.” I appreciate that he understands how hard it was for me to restrain myself from professing my love to Wes. “What else happened?” he asks.

I tell Foster about going to see Marie, about her dodging my questions. I tell him about Michael Realm, and how, in the end, I’ve realized my grandparents might be more deeply involved than I first imagined.

“I searched their bedroom,” I say. Foster scrunches his nose like maybe I’ve crossed the line, but he seems to internally fight his reaction as he weighs all that I’ve told him so far.

“And I found a box in there,” I continue. “Dated a few months before my birthday, and the contents seemed familiar. But at the same time, it was kind of creepy. It was packed away in the closet like I was . . . gone.” I swallow hard. “I’m not entirely sure it’s mine, but it has to be, right? Unless it was my mother’s or . . . I don’t know,” I say, exasperated.