The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(29)

I grab a purse and stuff in a few essentials, and then head out into the hallway. Why is Isaac’s practice on my calendar? And why am I even considering going? He was clear that he didn’t want anything to do with this therapy. Then again, he showed up here last night, reached out to me in that message. Sure, he was a jerk, but at least he opened up a little. Marie said not to engage him in person, but what if I’m only observing him? That doesn’t totally count as breaking her rules. Especially not if I can help him.

I enter the family room, searching for my mother, and find her sitting on the couch alone, an album opened on her lap. She jumps when she realizes I’m there, and I feel a tug of sympathy at the sadness in her expression.

“Hi,” she says brightly, wiping tears quickly off her cheeks. She sees my hoodie and purse. “Are you going somewhere?” She sounds worried, but not because she’s afraid people will see me; she’s afraid I won’t come back.

“I . . .” Now I’m torn about leaving her. I motion to the outside. “There’s a baseball practice?” I phrase it as a question, because I’m not sure if I would actually go to see Isaac. Maybe I just kept tabs on him.

“Oh,” my mother says with a small laugh. “That’s right. It’s Saturday. How could I forget?”

I shrug because I don’t know what she means by Saturday. I want her to clarify, but I’m afraid to ask. I have to be careful how I phrase things, or I could pull her out of the illusion of me. I fidget with the zipper on my hoodie, nervous as if I’m actually asking permission to go out.

We’re quiet for a moment before my mother closes the book, a family photo album, and sets it aside on the couch. She seems to realize my hesitance, and points to the sofa table, where the car keys lie in a small wicker basket. “You can use the Jetta,” she says. “It’s yours. On Saturdays you normally watch Isaac’s practices. Although sometimes you go out with Virginia instead.”

My lips part in surprise. Virginia—I didn’t know about her. She’s not in the file. She’s not anywhere on my social media pages. Pinpricks race up my arms because, once again, I’ve been keeping secrets.

“I think it’s a great idea, Catalina,” she adds, standing and brushing off her beige skirt. “Your father needs a little time alone, and I’m sure Isaac would want you there today. You never miss a practice. At least . . . you never used to.” My mother crosses the room and pauses in front of me, studying my every feature as if trying to memorize the new me. I want to hug her, but I resist.

She smiles gently and reaches her finger to smooth the crease between my eyebrows, startling me with the kindness of her touch. “Don’t look so worried,” she says. “He’ll come around.” She pats my arm before turning to walk toward the bedrooms, leaving me wondering if she’s talking about Isaac or my father.

CHAPTER TEN

A WARM BREEZE BLOWS THROUGH my hair, tickling the back of my neck. I’m not used to wearing my hair so short. I slam the car door and tug up the zipper of my hoodie, wishing that I’d changed into something a little more appealing before leaving the house. After talking with my mother, I almost didn’t come at all. But her words echoed in my head, telling me I wouldn’t normally miss a practice, that Isaac would appreciate seeing me. In hindsight, I’m pretty sure this is the opposite of how Marie wanted me to handle this. But if I’m going to help him, I need more information.

My phone is set to vibrate in my back pocket in case Aaron calls. I sent him a message earlier, asking him to check into a girl named Virginia. When I get back home, I’ll read through the journal again—look for clues. For now I start down the side of the field, combing my fingers through my wig to keep it looking natural. The baseball team practices on my left, and I squint against the sun toward the metal bleachers on my right, relieved to find them mostly empty.

There is a low murmur from the girls sitting on the bottom row, but I keep my eyes downcast and climb up to the very top. My nerves start to take over, and I consider running off before anyone else notices me, but I don’t want to walk past those girls again so soon. I sit down, feeling the warmth of the sun-heated metal through my jeans. The red-headed girl from the front row glances over her shoulder at me, but I pretend not to notice. I stare past her, scanning the field for Isaac.

In uniform all the guys look the same, but my gaze eventually finds the shortstop. Isaac’s biceps stretch the sleeves of his jersey; the tight pin-striped pants accentuate his lean frame. As if sensing my stare, Isaac turns his head in the direction of the bleachers. He adjusts the brim of his hat, and when I see a flash of his dark eyes, I lift my hand in a self-conscious wave. He stills, his reaction completely unreadable, and I’m sure I’ve made a mistake in coming here. He’s not ready. But then, just as awkwardly, Isaac raises his hand in return.

There’s the crack of ball against bat, and his attention is torn away and back to the game. I smile and look down at my lap, deciding I can stay a little longer. It’s not like I’m interacting with him in person—not really. I’m studying him. It’s no different from how I studied my videos. This is all part of the process.

“You’re sick, you know,” a voice calls. I jump and see one of the girls from the front row turned around and glaring at me. My gut hits the ground when I realize who she is. Angie—my sister. “Yeah,” she continues with a vicious nod, “I know who you are. And I think what you do is disgusting. Both you and my parents are twisted. I would never do that to someone I love. I could never replace them.”