The Complication (The Program #6)(21)

Nathan says he will, and then Jana walks out the front door. When she’s gone, Nathan rounds the couch, glaring at Foster.

“Just because you have mono or some shit doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole,” he tells him.

“It’s the flu,” Foster corrects, not matching the hostility in Nathan’s voice now that Jana is gone. “And I’m sorry if I came off that way,” he adds. “We just really need to talk. It’s important. It’s about what happened with the Adjustment, Wes coming back . . .” He looks at me, unsure if he should bring up The Program yet.

“You know,” Nathan interrupts, “Jana was part of that too. She lost her best friend.”

“And I lost my brother,” Foster shoots back. “This isn’t a grief competition. And she’s not part of our little crew, is she? I don’t remember her in middle school.”

“We’re allowed to make new friends,” Nathan says, still sore, but warming up slightly. Mentioning our time as kids is usually his go-to move, a history that supersedes all arguments. He probably hates Foster using it against him now, but he respects it.

Like he’s just realizing I’m here, Nathan looks over at me. “And what the hell happened to you?” he asks. “You skip school, and then Foster calls, saying you thought there were handlers? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He shakes his head, and the depth of his concern becomes obvious. “They were right, weren’t they?” he asks, sitting in the chair across from me. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

My heart sinks again, the heaviness of the revelations continuing to pull me down. “No,” I say. “They were wrong.” I look at Foster, who nods for me to continue. Nathan notices and turns to him.

“She told you about The Program?” Nathan asks.

“Yep,” Foster says. “Now I’m here for the explanation. From both of you, if I’m honest.”

“Nathan,” I say, drawing his attention. “I don’t remember being in The Program. All this time, it wasn’t that I was trying not to talk about it. It’s been . . . erased.”

“What do you mean?” Nathan asks.

“I have my memories, or at least my corrupted version of them—idealized version. But I don’t remember The Program. In fact, I had no idea until you told me. And then in class . . . I had a crashback. I suddenly relived the moment the handlers took me, and it was fucking awful.” My voice hitches with emotion.

“And now . . . ,” I continue, “I don’t know what’s true. Why did Gram and Pop keep all my stuff to give me when I came home, but not tell me I’d been in The Program? Why would they have you keep it from me? Did they say anything else?”

Nathan runs his hand roughly through his hair, looking perplexed. “They just said that you had a hard time in The Program, but that they got to you fast enough so you could keep your memories. I didn’t question them. They asked me not to talk about it because the doctor warned it would bring on a crashback.” He purses his lips. “Seems they were right about that part.”

“You should have told me,” I whisper.

Nathan mouths that he’s sorry, his silent words heartfelt. I nod that I accept his apology, and after a moment, he furrows his brow.

“Wait,” he says. “So if you don’t remember The Program, how do you remember Wes? Me?” he asks.

“Exactly,” Foster interjects.

“And why would they take The Program memories, but leave the stuff that was breaking my heart?” I ask.

“Unless they didn’t know about you and Wes breaking up,” Nathan offers. “Hell, I didn’t know. And if your grandparents kept your mementos from the handlers, they might not have had much to go off of. They would have had no chance to figure out what was going wrong for you.”

“The Adjustment,” Foster says suddenly, sitting up. He looks from Nathan to me. “Tatum, they gave you the Adjustment—that’s why you remember Wes.”

My lips part, and I almost argue—but suddenly it makes sense. The memories, the pills with the Adjustment office’s phone number on the bottle. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner. I’m an idiot; it was so obvious.

The Program erased my memories. The Adjustment put them back. I’ve been manipulated twice.

I meet Nathan’s eyes, his shining with the same realization. “Why did Dr. McKee act like he was meeting me for the first time?” I ask. “Why doesn’t anyone know I had an Adjustment? And . . .” I pause, fixing my stare accusingly on Nathan. “And how did they get my memories?” I ask.

“Not me,” he says quickly, hand on his heart. “I didn’t donate anything, so if that’s what happened, they lied to me, too.”

Nathan, Foster, and I sit quietly, digesting this information. I think back to when Nathan and I went to the Adjustment office for the first time, how familiar Dr. McKee seemed. Now I know why.

“Do you think Marie knows?” I ask, trying to figure out her angle.

“Definitely,” Nathan says. “They all know, Tatum. Including Pop and Gram.”

As if he summoned them, there’s the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. It’s too early for either of my grandparents to be home from work, but when I get up and peek out the window, I see it’s my grandfather again. Guess he cut his day short. Unless, of course, I’m still being watched, and someone let him know I have company. I wrap my arms around myself.