The Complication (The Program #6)(61)

Nicole turns on her fiercely. “Why would you do that?” she demands, hurt in her voice. “Why wouldn’t you let him talk to me?” Marie doesn’t answer, and Nicole tightens her jaw. “It’s time to stop bullshitting me, Marie! You can’t really think I’m this stupid.”

Marie watches her, softening, and shakes her head. “Of course I know you’re not stupid.” The kindness in her voice seems to annoy Nicole more than anything.

“Then tell me what the fuck was going on here,” Nicole says.

The phone on the desk rings. Marie glances at it and then back to Nicole. “I need to take that in my office,” she says briskly. “Wait here.”

Nicole tilts her head as if asking if she’s serious, and Marie darts her gaze between Nicole and Deacon before pulling open the door for the back offices. When she’s gone, Nicole looks at Deacon in disbelief.

“Not much changes,” he says.

“Apparently not,” Nicole replies. “Marie lies as easily as she breathes.”

Nicole sits in the chair between me and Deacon and presses her palms together before bringing them to her lips, staring at the office door. Lost in a thought. It’s almost like she forgets she’s not alone.

I cross my legs to get more comfortable, and she jumps and looks over at me.

She smiles politely, embarrassed that she drifted away. “Thank you,” she says. “For calling her out. I’ve found it’s the best method to deal with her constant deceit.”

“I’m really sorry about your dad,” I tell her.

At the mention of him, her blue eyes begin to water, and she lowers her gaze to the floor. “I’ve been a grief counselor for the last few years,” she says. “And I’ve worked with grieving parents most of my life.” She looks at me, tears running over the light freckles on her cheeks. “And you know the one thing people say when they find out someone they love died? The universal response?”

I give my head a little shake, not knowing the answer.

“Almost every time, they say, ‘It’s not true.’ In one form or another, their body’s initial response is to deny that it happened. Deny the death. Deny the loss. They can deny it so completely that sometimes the people around them believe them and start to doubt it too. Grief is a bitter pill. It can destroy everything if you let it. It’s a beast.”

She rubs her hand over her cheeks to wipe away the tears.

“And this time,” she says, sounding lost again, “I was the one saying it wasn’t true when Melody told me.”

“When did Melody call you?” I ask.

“About two in the morning,” she replies. “Deacon and I jumped in the car and drove through the night. Why? Do you know her?”

“Yes.” I furrow my brow. “Not really. It’s actually pretty convoluted.”

“It usually is if McKee or Marie was involved,” Deacon says. He puts his arm around Nicole and pulls her into him, kissing the top of her head and closing his eyes. Whatever his relationship was to Dr. McKee, I can see that he’s grieving too.

I’m a third wheel, uncomfortable with their closeness. Nicole straightens, brushing her blond hair back from her face.

“Tatum, is it?” she asks me.

“Yeah.”

“You’re a patient of my father’s . . . I’m assuming,” she asks.

“I’m not sure how much of his patient I really was,” I say. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“That sounds like McKee,” Deacon says, and the intimidation I felt when he first walked into the Adjustment office is completely gone. Around Nicole, he’s gentle. He holds her hand while she continues to talk to me.

“Tatum, I don’t mean to pry,” Nicole says. “But what exactly have my father and Marie been doing here? I don’t expect Marie will tell me the truth.”

“She won’t,” I say. Nicole smiles as we bond over the fact that we’re both dealing with someone who is a compulsive liar. I don’t know Nicole’s or Deacon’s history, but they’ve clearly been involved with Dr. McKee and Marie their whole lives. What could it have been like having Tom McKee as a father? And how, after whatever happened, could she still love him this much?

It makes me wonder if we forgive our parents (or grandparents) for their sins too easily. Or if it’s because when you love someone, you’d rather forgive it as a mistake, a bad choice with good intentions, than accept that they’ve nearly destroyed you.

At least, I wonder if that’s why I’ve waited so long to confront my grandparents. Yes, I’m scared they’ll deny it. But I’m also scared they’ll admit everything. Because then . . . what? What comes after that?

“What have they done to you?” Deacon asks. Concern creases the skin between his brows.

I’m embarrassed, even though it’s not my fault, when I say, “Have you heard of the Adjustment?”

Nicole and Deacon exchange a look, but it doesn’t seem like either of them connect with the word.

“Would you mind explaining?” Deacon asks, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

I tell Nicole and Deacon all about the Adjustment procedure, the implantation of memories. I include the fact that they’re trying to get a patent, and I was their proof of concept, something they neglected to tell me until yesterday. Nicole smiles ruefully.