The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(84)

I’m comforted a bit by my own face. I think of Deacon, how much he would have liked to see me now. How I occasionally catch him gazing at me like I’m his favorite thing in the world. Last night he admitted that he’s been keeping his distance, said it was because he was afraid he’d hurt me again. But then he let me close; he was open to loving me. I felt it. This time I walked away. Maybe one of us always will.

A rush of sadness rolls over me. I miss him, and I wish things were different. Wish we were different. But I don’t think either of us can change.

Out of the corner of my vision I see movement, and when I look up, I notice Angie, her long hair blowing across her face so that she has to pick it out of her lip gloss. She’s walking with a friend, one I recognize from that first day at the bleachers. My heart starts to race, and I consider leaving without ever uttering a word. She sees me and it’s too late.

Angie’s posture stiffens, and she turns to say something quiet to her friend. The other girl turns to me quickly, horror on her face. She says good-bye to Angie and heads in the other direction. I get out of the car and move around to the front, slipping my hands into my pockets to look casual. Less combative.

Angela walks past, aggressively ignoring me, but then stops and turns. She jabs her finger in my direction. “What?” she asks, her face screwed up in disgust. “Are you here to tell me again what a terrible daughter I am? Because I don’t really want to hear it.”

“Angie,” I say in my own voice. She starts, surprised that I don’t sound like her sister. She stares at my eyes, noticing the color. But it only succeeds in making her more afraid. After all, I am a closer. “I’m leaving today,” I tell her. “But I wanted to talk to you before I did.”

A flash of grief crosses her face, but she forces herself to be angry again. “You’ve been running around with my sister’s boyfriend,” she says bitterly. “Stealing her identity. And you think that I’d want to talk you? You’re delusional.”

“Angie,” I say, moving toward her. She throws up her hands, falling back a step like she’s repulsed by my existence. She turns to stalk away, but I can’t let her leave without knowing the truth about Catalina. “Angela,” I call, sounding exactly like her sister. Angie stops, frozen. Slowly she turns back to look at me, hurt registering in her expression.

“Don’t do that,” she says, her voice weak. “Don’t . . .” But instead of chewing me out again, Angie dissolves into tears, covering her face.

I hurry around the car to where she stands and awkwardly pat her back, telling her it will be okay. Her reaction isn’t entirely unusual. I’ve seen it before. Even though Angie didn’t want me here in the beginning, I did represent her sister. Once I’m gone, Catalina’s gone for good.

To my surprise, Angie turns around and hugs me, clinging to me as she cries against my shirt. I brush my hand over her hair, my heart aching at her loss. I’ve never had a brother or sister, at least not one of my own. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose them. How much it would hurt to have your blood, your friend, taken away. I close my eyes and hold her close, trying to absorb her pain.

“I miss her,” Angie mumbles. “I don’t know how we’ll be okay without her.”

“You will,” I say. I take her by the shoulders to straighten her up, and she wipes her face, fighting back her flood of emotions. She’s failing at it, though. “Your mom and dad,” I continue, “they’re some of the best people I’ve ever met.” She squeezes her eyes shut, choking on another cry, only this time it’s because she knows how lucky she is. “To be honest,” I tell her, “they’re the best parents I’ve ever had.”

She looks at me, confused at first, but then she sees that I’m trying to lighten the moment, even if my comment is entirely true. She laughs self-consciously and takes a step back, trying to regain her composure. She smooths down her hair and clears her throat.

“I like you better like this,” she says. “It was too hard to talk to you as Catalina; it . . .” She shakes her head and decides not to finish the thought. There’s a boom of thunder, and we both look up at the ominous gray clouds. Angie motions to her car. “Want to talk in there?” she asks tentatively. “It looks like it’s going to pour.”

I smile, grateful that she’s letting me talk to her at all. In a way, I think she wanted to connect before, but was scared. Now that I’m leaving, it’s her last chance. We climb into her SUV, and she turns on the engine to get the heat running. For a moment we both stare out the windshield at the road, watching cars drive by.

“I heard about the intervention last night,” she says quietly, looking over at me. “Kyle told me she hit you. She felt terrible about it.”

There’s a sharp stab of humiliation and hurt, but I shrug like it didn’t matter—even if the cruelty of it all still stings. “They were worried about Isaac,” I say. “I understand.”

“You’re worried about him too,” she says, like she’s figuring me out. “Is that why you’re leaving early?”

“No,” I tell her. “I’m leaving because your parents don’t need me anymore. They’ve accepted that Catalina’s gone. They need you. They need to get their lives back on track.”