The Complication (The Program #6)(67)

Just as she asks, my Jeep pulls into the strip mall parking lot, bumping the curb. Nathan is a terrible driver. I can hear the radio playing too loudly, and he immediately turns it down when he parks in front of me. He smiles apologetically and climbs out, studying Nicole and Deacon.

Nicole tells me she’ll be in touch, and I watch them leave. When they’re gone, Nathan comes to stand next to me.

“I didn’t find Melody,” he says, disappointed. “Did I miss anything here?” He turns to me, and suddenly—as if my emotions were waiting for him—the devastation and severity of what Marie told me hits.

“I’m not Tatum Masterson,” I choke out, and then Nathan catches me as I nearly collapse in tears.

? ? ?

Nathan is pale, sitting silently in the front seat.

We’re parked in my driveway, and he stares down at his lap, unable or unwilling to speak. I told him everything Marie has done, both to me and her “closers.” I told him her plan to figure out a cure using me and that The Program wants to stop us. But with every new detail, he asked, “But they’re not really your grandparents?” as if that thought is too sickening for him to accept.

“What are you going to say to them?” Nathan asks, his voice raspy.

I texted my grandparents before we left the office and asked them to meet me at the house. When they asked why, I told them it was too involved to explain in a text.

“I’ll just ask them,” I tell Nathan. “They can’t lie anymore. I already know.” My shock has worn off slightly; crying it out actually helped me get a handle on what I was feeling. It helped me focus.

“Do you want me there?” Nathan asks, finally looking over at me. For a moment, he studies me, as if I’ve somehow changed from an hour ago. But then his bottom lip pouts, hurt on my behalf, and I reach over and put my hand on his cheek.

“I’ll be okay,” I promise him. “At least now I know the truth, right?”

“I guess.” He turns and my hand falls away. “I still think I should come with you,” he says.

“Thank you, but I have to do this on my own. And my grandparents need to come to terms with it. This is their grief. It’s time we’re all honest with each other.”

“Damn, Tatum,” Nathan says. “Foster would be so proud of you.” We both laugh, and before I can ask, Nathan says he already talked to him—avoiding Foster showing up at the Adjustment office in a fit of protective rage.

“You’ll call me right after?” Nathan asks.

“Of course.”

He presses his lips into a smile, and then together we get out of the Jeep. He goes one way across the lawn toward his house, and I go the other way toward mine.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


WHEN I WALK IN THE front door of my house, I stop. I study everything, every picture on the wall, every scrape in the paint. The stairs that I’ve gone up thousands of times, even the couch we’ve had for as long as I can remember.

This is my home, but for a moment, I’m a stranger in it. I take time to adjust to the truth, and soon, the house comes back into focus.

“Honey?” my grandmother calls from the kitchen. “Is that you?”

My reaction is immediate, and I grab on to the bannister to steady myself. I close my eyes, a lifetime of memories with my grandparents playing across my mind. I wish they had been real.

I’m about to cry, but I force my eyes open, force strength into my spine. I have to face this. I have to know why they kept a little girl who wasn’t theirs.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I say, unsteadily. I’m shaking as I walk toward the kitchen. The room is brightly lit, and I blink against it—my eyes dry from crying earlier.

My grandparents sit at the table and look up as I enter. Pop’s eyes narrow behind his glasses as he studies me.

“Is everything okay?” my grandmother asks, her voice dripping with worry. She tightens her sweater against herself. “When you told us to come home,” she continues, “we thought—”

My gaze drifts past her and settles on my grandfather. There’s an irrational side of me that just wants to scream Why? and have him tell me that none of it is true. But logic wins out.

“What was in the box?” I ask Pop quietly.

My grandfather’s mouth tightens, and I don’t even need to explain about the box in their closet. He knows exactly what I mean. Next to him, my grandmother stills and looks down at her folded hands.

Pop exhales and removes his glasses, setting them on the table. It occurs to me that this is it—any lie I want to live is now over. I’m about to get smacked with reality.

My grandfather steadies his gaze on me, and his gentle blue eyes begin to tear up. “You know, don’t you?” he asks.

I sway and grab on to the back of the chair closest to me. “Most of it,” I say. “But I think it’s time I hear the whole story. And from you.”

“We were going to tell you,” Gram says, still not looking at me. “When you got older, we were going to confess everything. But it got harder and harder, especially once the epidemic hit. We didn’t want it to affect you, push you toward any behavior that might land you in The Program.” She looks up. “But you got taken anyway. And when you came back, we knew we couldn’t tell you. We couldn’t risk hurting you.”