The Complication (The Program #6)(54)

Nathan tells me that he already filled in Foster on the fact that he and Jana/Melody have broken up and that she has been working for the Adjustment. As Nathan relayed it, Foster’s response was: “Well, fuck her. I knew it.”

Nathan promises to tell me what Melody said to him after they left the office, but first he wants to head home.

As we drive back to our houses in my Jeep, I’m torn on how to feel about Dr. McKee’s death. I didn’t want him to die, obviously. But I also think about Vanessa, how the Adjustment contributed to her death. How it nearly killed Wes. How Dr. McKee has spent his life manipulating others. It doesn’t justify him dying—I’m not a monster. But it does add an extra layer of emotions.

“She used me,” Nathan says under his breath. It’s dark outside, and I glance over at him and see he’s still the same brand of sad he brought with him to the hospital.

“Nathan,” I say, but he shakes his head and looks out the passenger window.

“She used me,” he repeats. “She was a fucking spy, and I was stupid for not seeing it sooner. I put us all in danger.” He turns to me, miserable. “I put you in danger. I welcomed her into our lives, and I even made you be friends with her.”

“You didn’t make me do anything.”

“You did it for me,” he says, and he’s not wrong. Jana and I were never completely on the same page, but I gave it a shot because he’s my best friend.

“And that’s not all,” Nathan says. “She wasn’t just a handler. I was right to be uncomfortable the other day. The woman she lives with is not her mother. Jana—” He stops and closes his eyes. “Melody was assigned to her as . . . a closer, she called it. She was . . .” Nathan doesn’t seem to want to go on, and I reach over and put my hand on his leg.

“She was impersonating Jana Simms,” Nathan says quietly. “A girl who died last year. Melody took over her life, originally at the mom’s request—some twisted kind of therapy. But lately, she and her ‘mother’ had been arguing. I guess the mother had gotten her closure, and wanted Melody to move on. But Melody hadn’t finished her assignment.”

Nathan looks at me. “That’s you. Her assignment.” The words seem to make him sick, but I don’t want his apology. Nathan hasn’t hurt me. Melody did.

“So what does she do now?” I ask. I take a left onto our street and continue toward the light of my front porch.

“She’s pretty tore up,” Nathan says. “She actually cared for Dr. McKee. She’s done with the Adjustment—I can tell that much. She hinted she might leave town soon. But I’m not sure she has anywhere else to go.”

“If it matters,” I say, “I think she really did care about you.” I pull into my driveway and turn off the engine of the Jeep. I look across the car, and Nathan meets my eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says simply.

He gets out of the car, and I watch him from the driver’s seat as he crosses the driveway toward his house and disappears inside.

? ? ?

Over a late dinner of reheated food, my grandparents ask what I was doing at the Adjustment office. My grandmother flinches when I tell her that Dr. McKee died in front of me, but she adds nothing other than to say it’s a tragedy. It’s especially unsettling given the fact that Dr. McKee told me they were close. Given the fact that she and my grandfather offered me up to this experiment more than once. And yet, my grandmother sits there showing only quiet concern.

I tell my grandparents about Jana really being Melody. I lie and say Nathan and I were there to find her, afraid she was getting an Adjustment. But it turned out she worked for them. I try to gauge my grandparents’ reactions—my heightened sense for bullshit ready to find any discrepancies.

But either my grandparents didn’t know, or their lying skills are expert level now. My grandmother frets about Nathan and wonders if she should call his mother. But it’s late, and I agree to invite him over for dinner tomorrow.

“And how are you feeling, honey?” my grandmother asks me. I notice that Pop hasn’t said much the entire meal, and his passivity in this pisses me off.

“Well,” I say, pushing my plate away. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I’ve ended things with Wes; I’ve gone to therapy; hell, I even tell you about my headaches. So basically, I’m miserable.”

I’m purposely prodding them, seeing if they’ll break down and confess. Confess what, I still don’t know. It’s already bigger than I imagine.

“It’ll pass,” my grandmother says. “You’ll be in college soon—things will be better. You’ll see.”

I stare at her, and my eyes must be cold, because she lowers her gaze.

“I’m going to bed,” I say suddenly, and stand up. I’ll be better at faking normal tomorrow. Right now, I’m spent. Unable to pretend for another second.

My grandparents stay at the table, murmuring good night as I leave. But when I get to the top of the stairs, I don’t go directly to my room. I’m drawn to the box in my grandparents’ closet. Something about it felt off. And I want to know exactly why.

I slip inside their bedroom and stride over to the closet. I open the doors and get on my tiptoes, but as I reach up, I find the box is gone. I take a step back, surveying the space, in case I put it back in the wrong spot. But my heart sinks because I know I didn’t. The box is gone.