The Complication (The Program #6)(23)

I measure my breathing, preparing to go downstairs. Surprisingly, the most shocking part of the day has faded—I’ve come to accept that I was in The Program. “Accept” is too strong a word, really. I’m not that far along. I’ve compartmentalized, but my mental catalogue is beginning to reach maximum capacity.

Right now, the biggest struggle for me is that I’ve always trusted my grandparents unwaveringly. They’ve always been there for me. I can still see them in the memory, how brokenhearted they were when I was taken away. How does that compare to now—where I know they’ve actively kept things from me? There has to be a bigger reason.

I’m scared to face them, acknowledge their betrayal. And I can’t accuse them without having some way to check their story. It would be careless on my part. I have to get more information first—it’s the most logical approach. I’ve made too many mistakes in the past. I have to do this right.

I’m considering my next move when my phone buzzes next to my hand. Startled, I answer it without looking at the number. “Hello?”

“Tatum?” a woman says. “Hi, it’s Dr. Warren. Have I caught you at a bad time?”

Dr. Warren’s voice is soft, yet professional, just like it is during our therapy appointments. The kind of lulling sound that makes you want to tell her your secrets, as if she truly understands. I wonder if that was part of her therapist training or why she became a therapist. We’ve been meeting for the past year, ever since Wes was taken to The Program. She honestly seems to get me, and I like her.

“Hi, Dr. Warren,” I respond politely, confused as to why she’s calling me. “And now is fine.”

“Good,” she says. “Well, I just wanted to check in. You haven’t been seen in a few weeks, and I wanted to see how you were feeling.”

There’s a twist in my gut, prickles of realization. How did she know I was having a hard day? That I’d need to talk about it?

“Did . . . did my grandparents call you?” I ask.

Dr. Warren laughs, a soft lilt that’s almost infectious. “Is the timing that obvious?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t get the details,” she says. “But yes, they’re worried. Your grandfather told me Weston came back to school today. And that you left campus with him,” she adds gently. “We talked about this, Tatum.”

“He was just giving me a ride home,” I say. “My Jeep wouldn’t start.”

“I understand,” she says. “But it must have been jarring to see him. Does he remember you?” Dr. Warren has always been invested in my and Wes’s relationship. Always asks about him. In fact, I daresay she was rooting for us.

But after his reset, she advised me to keep my distance from him, for both our sakes. She’s worried that if I cause a crashback in Wes, it’ll destroy me, bury me in guilt. She’s right—it would. So I promised to be careful. And I promised to let her know if that changed.

Still, I’m uncomfortable. I have no idea what my grandparents might have said to her, and that thought suddenly leaves me hesitant. Exactly how much does Dr. Warren already know? Can I trust her? I decide to test it.

“Wes doesn’t remember,” I confess. “And I didn’t tell him anything. He hung out for a few minutes, and then Pop came home. Wes didn’t even know my name, Dr. Warren. I kept my promise.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I hear her sigh. “I’m so sorry, Tatum,” she says. “I know how hard that must have been for you.”

The compassion in her voice makes my eyes tear up, and I decide I do need to talk to her. Talk to someone who knows me. I settle back against my pillows and close my eyes, the phone cradled to my ear.

“He looks really healthy,” I say.

“Then it seems the procedure was successful,” she offers. “That’s good news.”

“It is.” I wait a moment, my eyes still closed, and try to decide how much more I should tell her about my fucked-up day. I have to wonder if she’ll have insight. A way for me to reconcile how I feel about my grandparents. Isn’t that her job?

“Dr. Warren?” I start, my voice low. “You aren’t allowed to tell my grandparents anything I say, right?”

“Not without your permission,” she says cautiously. “After all, you’re my patient—not them. However, if you’re a danger to yourself—”

“It’s not that,” I say. “It’s something I was told today. A secret.” I open my eyes then, check that I’m alone in the room. It all feels a bit surreal, waiting to confess that my grandparents aren’t who I thought they were.

“I’m listening, Tatum,” she says.

“Did you . . . ?” I falter with my words, but then sit up straighter and force them out. “Did you know I was in The Program?” I whisper.

“No,” Dr. Warren says with finality. “No, you were not in The Program. Weston was.”

“And so was I,” I say. “I heard it today, and then . . . I remembered.” My eyes tear up as I go through the moment the handlers took me in painstaking detail, reliving it. For her part, Dr. Warren stays very quiet. I wonder if she’s writing any of this down.

Dr. Warren clears her throat. “I’m not disputing your memory,” Dr. Warren says. “But . . . that’s just not how The Program worked. And your grandparents certainly never mentioned it to me. I doubt they could keep a secret that big from you.”