The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(35)

“Who deserves pain, then?” I ask. “Not you or your wife. Not Isaac or Angie. No one deserves what’s happened to your family. If I can make that go away . . .” I pause. “It’s worth it.”

My father stills, a million different thoughts playing across his features. “Do you really think you can help?” he asks, sounding hopeful but cautious.

This burly man with the bushy mustache is holding on to the idea of me, his daughter. He doesn’t want to let me go, although everything around him tells him he should. In this moment, I would do anything to bring him peace. I would give up the real me for that.

“Yes,” I say simply. “I can help.”

Tears fill his eyes until they brim over and run down his cheeks. He draws an unsteady breath, and then this formidable man covers his face and sobs at his backyard patio table. My nose burns with the heat of my sympathy tears. My father’s shoulders shake with his cries; a broken sound like a wounded animal escapes from behind his hands. A broken man.

I stand up, trying to push away my own feelings so I can focus on what to say. Instead I find myself rounding the table and standing by my father’s side. I put my hand on his shoulder, and all at once he turns and wraps his arms around me, his face at my hip as he holds me tight and cries.

“It’s okay, Dad,” I say quietly, putting my palm protectively on the back of his head. “I’m here now.”

“I miss you,” he breathes out. “I miss you so much, Catalina. Don’t ever leave me. Don’t ever.”

Warm tears roll down my face as I stare into the trees, brushing my father’s thinning hair. Absorbing his grief as my own. “I’m here now,” I say again, until his pain fills me up.

CHAPTER TWO

THE HOUSE IS QUIET WHEN I return inside, my father opting to hit a few more baseballs before dinner. I give him his space. We had a moment, a small breakthrough. Pushing him now could make him distrust me again. I grab a soda and wander to my room, glancing around the unfamiliar space before dropping down at my desk. I roll my shoulder once to stretch it out, wondering how much pain I’ll be in later.

I check my phone again, surprised I still haven’t heard from Aaron. He’s usually really quick on the research end, but maybe he’s having trouble finding anything on a “Virginia.” Now that I think about it, it’s possible she’s a complete figment I made up to spend more time with Isaac. I groan. “Which doesn’t make sense,” I scold myself, taking a swig of my Coke. My parents love Isaac—I don’t think they would have minded us spending time together.

With a deep sigh, I set my phone aside on the desk and open up my computer. I click on the search and type in “Virginia” to see if I have any documents with her name in it. All that come up are a few history-class papers. Not the right Virginia. Next I check e-mails and again type in her name. Not one mention. Not from me or her or any of my friends. It’s like she doesn’t exist.

“Probably why Aaron’s not calling me back,” I murmur to myself.

Next I try all the different social media sites, and when I find nothing again, I start studying my pictures. I pause on a picture of me and Isaac—happy and beaming. It was from last year, at the lake. Isaac’s family has a house near Crater Lake, and we’d head there a couple of times during the summer to go boating, swim, sit around the fire pit and talk all night. Isaac’s mom got the house in her divorce settlement, and she would let Isaac go whenever he wanted. She didn’t really consider that he’d bring me every time. She might have changed her mind about letting him go.

There’s a flashing message on the bottom of my screen, signaling a new e-mail. I click on it and pull up my account, initially surprised to see it’s part of an e-mail chain. Someone must have forgotten to delete my account from their address book.

WAREHOUSE—TONIGHT AT 11!

I furrow my brow, trying to recall if I’ve read anything about a warehouse, but nothing comes to mind. I search for an earlier mention in my messages, and find an initial e-mail from Conner Fairhaven from last month.

WHERE WERE YOU TODAY? YOUR MAN TOLD ME YOU’RE BOTH IN. WAREHOUSE ON MAY 18TH! BOUNCER SAYS WE’RE GOLDEN.

Conner didn’t mention Isaac by name, which is why this didn’t pull up in my earlier searches. I click back to the original group e-mail and find Isaac and Angie among the recipients.

The page shifts as a new e-mail comes in, and my heart seizes when I see it’s from Angie. She tells them she’ll be there tonight. Immediately a slew of apologies soon follow, condolences on my death. Tension tightens my shoulders, and I hate how everyone is patronizing her. I wonder how often Angie has to hear about my death—as if it’s the only thing people can talk to her about anymore.

There is a ding, the sound of my instant messaging, and I quickly pull up the screen. I’m stunned to see my sister’s name and image. Her lips are puckered, her red hair in stylish low pigtails. A picture taken in a happier time, I’m sure. I’m scared of what she has to say, and I quickly try to flip into therapy mode before reading the message.

I CAN SEE YOU’RE ONLINE, she writes. There’s a yellow circle above my name, signifying that I’m here. I should have switched it to invisible.

I sit back in the chair and wring my hands, my heart thumping. Angie isn’t a client, but I know our mother misses her. Maybe if my sister could get involved somehow, spend time with our parents, make them see that life will go on, even without me, it could help.