The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(7)

“I’m a coldhearted bitch, Marie,” I say. “Promise.”

She chuckles, and pats my knee before standing. “Oh,” she adds. “And don’t be too hard on Aaron. He didn’t want to tell me about the shirt. It’s a new line of questioning your father added in. Aaron had to tell me the truth.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me about him?” I say, confused.

“Because the questions are only about you.” Her expression is unreadable, unapproachable, and then Marie spins—her braids swinging—and walks back to her office.

* * *

Aaron and I are quiet as we get into the Cadillac and start toward my house, where Aaron’s car is parked. Marie’s words clog up my mind, and I wonder why my father would add in questions about me. Why he’s checking up on me. I’m also concerned. Although I didn’t lie, I wasn’t completely honest. Did Marie . . . did she do something different this time? Am I different this time?

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says in a quiet voice from the driver’s seat. He doesn’t look over, but he’s raw—a little shell-shocked from his debriefing. “I didn’t want to tell her.”

“What did she ask?”

He swallows hard, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “We went through the events like usual, but at the end she asked if I noticed anything odd when I picked you up. I didn’t know what she meant at first, but she asked if I thought you were growing too attached to the clients. I . . . I told her about the shirt.” He looks over, his dark eyes miserable. “I didn’t mean to, Quinn.”

“It’s fine,” I tell him, mostly to alleviate some of his stress. “She wasn’t even mad.”

Aaron’s eyes narrow slightly before he turns back to the road. “That’s good, I guess.” He pauses. “Did she ask about me?”

“Nope,” I say. His mouth flinches with a smile, but he quickly straightens it. Aaron doesn’t want anything to mess up his contract. In just a few weeks he’ll have his lump-sum payment, enough to start over somewhere else. He hasn’t been a closer for nearly as long as I have, but then again, my father is the head of the department, so I’ve gotten double the pressure to continue. I’m jealous that Aaron will be gone soon, living his own life. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever have that, or if my father will find a way to keep extending my contract.

The typical contract is for three years’ time, although many closers sign on for a second term. Rarely beyond that, though. It’s not recommended, because the stress puts a closer at risk for a whole host of problems—like losing oneself completely. I’m on my fourth contract. Even now, I couldn’t say which of my favorite childhood memories actually happened to me. The lines blur. Occasionally, I look through old photo albums, but there are a few pictures that don’t fit with my memories, and vice versa.

One of my most confusing memories is that of my mother—her shiny dark hair and wide smile, even as she lay in a hospital bed, obviously sick. I would crawl up the white sheets to be next to her, and she’d read me a story, tell me she loved me, and kiss my hair.

But my mother had blond hair and blue eyes. She was delicate and pretty, and then she was gone. She died in a car accident, and I never saw her in the hospital, never saw her after that day. I can find no pictures of the other woman from my memory, and when I ask my father, he insists I must be remembering an assignment, even though he can’t pinpoint exactly which one.

That’s part of my problem—the lives of my assignments blend together after a while, blend with mine. That uncertainty haunts me on occasion, especially when I’m deep in my role playing and longing for a connection. Then again, they all haunt me, all the girls I’ve portrayed, so I try not to dwell on the reality too much.

My most recent contract expired when I was fifteen, but somehow my father convinced them (and me) to sign another one. He’s always logical, and it’s hard to argue with him. It’s even harder to disappoint him. In the end I’ll get four times the money, plus a bonus. He says I’ll be able to pay for college outright, be able to buy a house. He tells me I’ll be set for life. Although those things sound nice to him, I think I’d rather go to prom or something frivolous like that.

Corvallis still has two open high schools, but I don’t attend anymore. Closure kept me away too much. Online high school just doesn’t have the same drama. The biggest scandal I’ve seen was when the servers crashed and the teachers had to reset our passwords. Deacon went to my old school until he dropped out. I never understood why he wanted to quit; I would kill to go back to regular high school.

Aaron takes the exit for my house, and I groan. I’m angry about my father checking on me, and I don’t want to show up so pissed off. “Want to swing by Deacon’s?” I ask. Aaron shakes his head.

“Myra’s waiting up for me. I can drop you there, though.”

“What about your car?” I ask.

“I’ll park the Caddy and hop in my ride before your dad can even look out the window,” he says. “Let him know the keys will be in the visor.”

I agree, and settle back against the seat when Aaron passes the turn for my house. My father is probably at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee so he won’t sleep through my arrival home, but I don’t mind making him wait a little longer. That’s what he gets for spying on me. Now that the stress of going home passes, I realize how incredibly tired I am. How drained.