The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(18)

Despite the rejection, Deacon kisses my hand again and then leans in to quickly kiss my cheek. He grabs his bag from the floor, and I can’t decide if I want him to argue or get out before I change my mind. I’m going to miss him like crazy. And I never miss him more than I do just before I’m gone. I may be a little nostalgic right now.

“Wait,” I say. Deacon’s breath catches, but before my comment can be misinterpreted, I work the extra car key off the ring in the ignition. “So you can use it while I’m gone,” I tell him.

He smiles and holds out his hand, looking disappointed that I didn’t have a different offer. Back when we were dating, I’d leave Deacon my Honda while I was on assignment so he could use it. My father wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, saying Deacon could afford his own car. But then Deacon would ask him how big his carbon footprint was and my father would laugh and tell him to go home.

I’ll be gone for two weeks this time—longest assignment ever. Maybe I just don’t want Deacon to forget me. I set the key in his hand and Deacon closes his fingers around mine, holding for a long moment before thanking me and saying he’ll take good care of the car. I nod, knowing he will.

“Be safe, Quinlan,” he says, opening the passenger door and getting out. He ducks down to look at me one last time. “And make sure you come back,” he adds. If Deacon has a visible insecurity, it’s me. All of his arrogance fades when I’m about to go on assignment, because he always worries I won’t come back to Corvallis. I wouldn’t be the first closer to jump ship without a trace. Deacon’s afraid I’ll tire of this life and pick another.

I smile at him, not admitting that I’ll be at his door in two weeks, looking for comfort. Not admitting that seeing him with Shelly tonight annoyed me. Not admitting the way I still feel about him. Or maybe I’m just highly emotional right now and looking for any connection.

Deacon shuts the car door and heads to the front of his house. Just as he grabs the doorknob, he turns to look back at me, serious and solemn. And then he slips inside and disappears from my new life.

CHAPTER SIX

AT 6:59 A.M. I LIE flat on my back in bed, staring up at the stars on my ceiling, which have faded to a yellowish-green hue in the soft morning light. My room is stuffy because the heater kicks on full blast and neither my dad nor I have been able to figure out how to reset the timer. My hairline is damp with sweat, but I don’t make any initial moves to get up. I’m drawing out my last moments, mentally saying good-bye to my room. I’m like a little kid trying to give thanks at a holiday meal, randomly naming objects. Thank you for the lamp, I think. The stars on my ceiling. These itchy pajamas and my soft, fluffy sheets.

I sniff a laugh and roll out of bed, pausing to glance around. I really do hate leaving my room, my life. And maybe that’s why my thoughts turn to Deacon, and I wonder if he’s lying in bed thinking of me.

“Quinlan,” my father calls from downstairs. “You awake?”

“Yep,” I say back automatically, and start toward the door. The folder is still sitting on my vanity, and I’ll want to go over it several times more before we leave. After that, it’s a matter of getting to the house and looking through Catalina’s things. Smelling her perfume and trying on her clothes. I won’t do this in front of the family, of course. I can’t break the illusion. I’ll show up with my hair back, hood up. I won’t say too much at first—I won’t want them to think of my voice. Instead, Marie will bring me inside and take me to the room. After that, she’ll wait downstairs and have the initial consultation with the family. When they’re ready, which can take anywhere from thirty minutes to several hours, I’ll come in and meet them. At that point . . . I will be Catalina Barnes. I’ll continue studying her family while there, but I won’t break character if I can help it.

I don’t know how I’ll deal with her boyfriend, though. It’s so out of my realm of expertise—I’ve never even been able to deal with my own boyfriend, although I’m not sure if mine and Deacon’s relationship was ever exactly typical. What Catalina had with Isaac would be more normal. I furrow my brow, my worry once again spiked—I don’t know what normal is. After another second of doubt, I push away the thoughts to steady myself. I’ll have to lose these feelings of uncertainty if I hope to be successful. A confident closer is an effective closer.

I laugh to myself, walking out to the hall. I’m starting to sound like one of Marie’s lectures. Every so often, we’re brought into the offices to go over the rules, get recertified. We review the “person-centered” approach to what we do and how our role play frees up their minds to heal. Like tricking your brain out of its grief. People think it’s a broken heart that hurts; maybe that sounds more romantic. But it’s the brain, and it can be fooled.

“The closer must demonstrate empathy and understanding toward the clients, always maintaining a professional role, especially during the assignment,” Marie would tell me in front of the panel observing us. “The goal is to use the client’s own memories to help them close their loop of grief and accept their new life. The closer helps them find their place in a new world without their loved one, maintaining the delicate balance between denial and acceptance. This is achieved through nonjudgmental and careful guidance.”

I always hate those reminders, as if I’d ever sit and judge the people I’m supposed to help. Or even act unprofessionally. I’ve been a closer most of my life—I’m more qualified than the experts on the panel. I think that should make me exempt from those horrible recert meetings.