The Program (The Program #1)(71)

“So how was school?” she asks. “Settling in okay?”

“Pretty good, I guess.” I chew slowly. “Mom, what happened to all my clothes?”

“We got you new ones. Do you not like them?”

“No, they’re fine. I just wonder what my old clothes looked like.”

“Pretty much the same. But Dr. Warren suggested that we get you a new wardrobe to give you a fresh start. If you don’t like them, we can go shopping after school.” She smiles. “That might be fun.”

A fresh start. My heart rate begins to speed up. “Great,” I say halfheartedly. “But I was wondering . . .” I swallow hard. “Would you tell me if I asked if I ever had a boyfriend?”

My mother doesn’t noticeably react as she cuts into her chicken. “Sure, honey,” she says, not looking up. “You did date a little, but nothing serious.”

“Oh.” I can’t explain why, but that answer makes me feel bad. “Friends?” I ask. My mother bristles then.

“What’s this about, Sloane? You should be worried about the present, not the past.”

“You’re right,” I say, just to get rid of the crease between her eyebrows. We start eating again, and after a minute, I smile. “Do you know anything about a James Murphy?” I ask, cutting into my meat.

My mother looks up at me. “No. Is he a classmate of yours?”

“We have math together, and my friend said that he’d been in The Program just before me. He sounds kind of bad.” I laugh.

My mother nods, smiling kindly. “Then that should be a real sign to steer clear of him, don’t you think? The last thing you need so soon after returning is more problems. You have to remember that you were unwell, and now you’re cured. You’re not supposed to dwell on the past. You’re supposed to be focused on now.”

“I’m not dwelling,” I say, my face stinging from her scolding me. “I don’t have a past. Can you understand how confusing that is?”

“I’m sure it is. But they took the memories that were corrupted. And if you keep digging around in your head, reality is going to slip away. The doctor told us—”

“How do you know they only took the bad memories?” I challenge. “I can’t remember anything. I don’t even know what happened to Brady, only that he’s dead. What happened to him?”

“He drowned,” my mother answers simply, as if that in itself is an explanation. I knew this already. Dr. Warren had told me in a therapy session. But there were never any details.

“How?”

“Sloane,” my mother says in a warning voice.

“Who’s to say they only erased what they were supposed to?” I ask. “My life has so many holes in it and—”

“This discussion is over,” my mother says quickly. I meet her eyes over the table, and I can see she is in full panic mode. “You tried to kill yourself, Sloane. They told us you were resistant in The Program, too. We could have lost you, just like we lost your brother. The Program kept you alive, and for that I’m blessed. Any inconvenience you may feel now will fade soon enough. And if you just can’t bear it, maybe we should call the doctor and see if there is another treatment available. I can’t go through this again.” She starts to cry. “I just can’t.”

My mother pushes back from the table, leaving her barely touched food behind as she heads toward her bedroom. I feel guilty, as if I’m just a problem that continues to repeat itself.

And so with that, I toss my napkin down and retreat upstairs.

• • •

It’s an hour later when my mother knocks at my door, asking if she can talk to me. I let her in, still hating that I upset her. She looks older than she does in my memories, making me think the way I remember things isn’t accurate at all.

“About your brother,” she says, coming to sit next to me on the bed. “It was a very tragic loss, Sloane. One we’d all prefer to forget.”

“What happened to him?” Chills spread over my body. “Brady was a great swimmer. How could he drown?”

“It was a rafting accident. And your doctors had to take the memory because it was very traumatic for you. They felt it contributed to your illness.”

I hadn’t considered that my brother might have hurt himself. Brady wouldn’t do something that selfish. He loved us. We were happy.

“I miss him,” I tell my mother, looking at her.

She blinks back her tears and smiles sadly. “I miss him too. But we had to move on as a family. Your brother drowned in that river and it devastated us. Still, we’ve found our peace again. Please don’t make us relive the pain. Do you promise?”

There’s a tightness in my chest, and I think what she’s asking is unfair, especially because I can’t remember losing my brother. I need a little more closure, a chance to grieve now that I’m home. But instead, I just nod, and she pats my thigh.

“Now,” she says as if everything is cleared up. “Tell me again about all these friends you’re making.”

“Oh . . .” I furrow my brow, surprised by the subject change. “Well, it’s only one friend. The girl Lacey I told you about? She’s really nice. I think you’ll like her.” I’m not sure that’s true, but I’m hoping it’ll make my mother less cautious with me. “I was hoping that maybe she could come over for dinner one night.”