It strikes me how vulnerable he’s been. At any point, I could have changed my interpretation of his past. I could have lied. I didn’t, but I could have. That thought must occur to him now.
“The party,” I say. “I told you in the Adjustment office.”
He looks around like he’s trying to think, but shakes his head. “I don’t remember that,” he says. “She’s not in the memory I have of that night. Tell me about it,” he demands.
I don’t know why it’s not in his memory. Could Dr. McKee have taken it out when he patterned it? But . . . why?
“It wasn’t anything huge,” I say, although my mind is racing to make sense of the discrepancy. “But Kyle was at the party and the two of you were talking.”
“About what?” he asks. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
“I’m not sure what you were talking about; you didn’t tell me. But she was there. And it felt wrong—like she didn’t belong in the story of us.”
“A lot of things feel wrong,” he mutters.
I narrow my eyes, working through that statement. “What does that mean?” I ask, a hitch in my voice. “What else feels wrong?”
He winces. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that the other memories—although I can picture them . . . I don’t entirely feel them. Not like the one I had on my own. I asked Dr. McKee about it before, asked if it was normal.”
“And he said it was,” I respond, but Wes’s pause makes my stomach turn.
“No,” he says. “He said it’s not. He said the memory itself should trigger matching emotions in my brain. Only mine don’t match.”
His words stun me. “Your emotions?” I repeat. “You don’t . . . feel . . .”
“Not us,” he says immediately, reaching for my hand. “That I can feel. I told you that.” He puts his other palm over his heart. “I feel you right here. It’s just the details—the emotional details that seem to be wrong.”
I look down at my hand in Wes’s, thinking how perfectly they used to fit together, but that somehow they don’t quite match up anymore. I slide my fingers between his.
“Kyle Mahoney was at the hospital, too,” I say.
“Why? What does she have to do with any of this?”
“I, um . . . I asked her if you were cheating on me with her.”
“What?” Wes asks, sounding offended. He pulls his hand from mine. “Well, what the fuck did she say?”
“She shrugged. She didn’t answer, which makes it sound . . . like maybe you were. I don’t even know anymore. Nathan said to not let my past—”
“Nathan,” Wes repeats with an edge. “Yes, what did your good-looking best friend have to say on the matter of our relationship?”
“Hey,” I snap. “You don’t get to do that. Nathan has been there for me—he’s got my back. But we’re just friends.”
Weston looks ashamed, and apologizes. We’re quiet for a moment, and then he lowers his eyes. “Do you believe that?” he asks in a low voice, one filled with hurt. “Do you believe I was seeing someone else?”
My lips part, but I don’t answer immediately. It hurts to not trust him. But I’m also not stupid. I won’t be willfully ignorant. “I don’t know,” I say. “It could be. You were gone for an entire week, and—”
He turns away, and I see the muscles in his jaw flex. He shakes his head, adamant, and turns back to me. “No,” he says. “I wouldn’t do that, Tate. You’ve been telling me that we had this amazing relationship. I believe you. I feel it. And now . . . what? That was a lie?”
“No,” I say. He blinks quickly and presses the heel of his palm against his forehead like it hurts. “Wes,” I say, softer, worried about how I’m affecting him. “We were amazing. I didn’t lie about that. But Kyle’s been showing up ever since you came back. And like I said . . . you disappeared.”
“And you think I was with her?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I hope not. But you were sick; you weren’t yourself. And when you came home, you wouldn’t tell me where you were. You hardly said anything at all. And then The Program took you.”
Wes starts to pace, and I can see how the idea of this bothers him. Wes is an outstanding guy—he doesn’t lie. He doesn’t cheat. But he wasn’t himself at the end.
“We have to find out,” he says. “Call and make an appointment with the Adjustment office. One more and—”
“I can’t,” I say. Wes stares at me.
“Why not?”
“Dr. McKee said he won’t treat you anymore. He said no more Adjustments because the memory was corrupted. It would be dangerous . . . for both of us, I guess.”
Wes’s expression sags, like he’s just been abandoned. “What am I supposed to do, then?” he asks. “How—”
“He suggested therapy,” I say. Wes scoffs, but I hold up my hand to tell him to listen. “I asked about the corrupted memory—what would happen if you figured out the truth.”
Wes’s eyes widen. “What did he say?”
“He said it might trigger all your memories. He warned me against it, though—”
“That’s what we have to do, then,” Wes says, shaking his head. “We need the truth. There’s no other option.”
“There is,” I say, but Wes won’t hear me.
“No,” he says. “We have to find out. I don’t want to depend on someone else’s version of my life anymore. And if I was with Kyle Mahoney . . . well, other than being an asshole, I’ll have more questions than answers. But at least I’ll know the truth.”
Wes sways suddenly, and he reaches out to hold the top of a kitchen chair. I go over to steady him. His eyes are closed, but when he looks down at me, there’s concern there.
“I’m mixed up, Tate,” he says softly. “I’m starting to . . . You said my mother called The Program on me?” he asks.
I’m startled by the question. “Uh, yeah,” I say. “They picked you up the same day you came back.”
Wes looks at me, and for a second I’m afraid he’s going to pass out. “I’m starting to get confused,” he whispers. “I’m . . . having trouble figuring out what’s real.”
“I’m real,” I say. He pulls me into a hug, and guilt attacks my conscience. “I’m sorry I ever told you about the Adjustment,” I say. “I should have known better. We should have both known better.”
Wes slides his fingers under my hair. “Probably,” he says, resting his chin on the top of my head. “But this is where we’re at. I have to find out the truth, because I’m telling you, my memories are wrong somehow. They hurt because they’re wrong. And if I can sort them out, maybe the pain will go away.”
The terrible part is I know he’s right. But what does it mean if my memories are wrong? I’m scared of the answer. Of the truth. And of the fear that I’m going to lose him once again.
• • •
After telling Wes everything relevant I can think of, I grab a sweater and we walk out to my Jeep. I left a message for my grandparents when they didn’t answer their phone. I let them know that I was with Wes, that he was okay, and that we’re going to try to figure out some of his missing pieces. I don’t have to lie to them anymore about me and Wes, and the relief of that is a huge weight off my chest.
We know there’s only one place to start, so Wes and I look up Kyle’s address. Rain has started to fall, and I click on my windshield wipers as we drive toward her house.
“So Kyle Mahoney knows me,” Wes says, looking out the passenger window. “Do you think she kept a diary?”
I turn to him and laugh. “You’re going to ask to read her diary?”
“Oh,” he says, looking over. “Is that too personal? She showed up at the hospital and talked with my doctor. She wouldn’t clarify about an affair I may or may not have had with her. I think she’ll understand if I ask to read any diary entries she has about me.”
“I think you’re joking,” I say. “But just in case you’re not, we are not going to ask to read her diary
. I still actually value privacy.”
“Fine,” Wes says. “We’ll do it your way.” The corner of his mouth curves up, and I know he was joking. I want to lean in and kiss him, but I don’t. And I can’t explain, but for the first time since he came back, I feel completely connected to him. Inexplicably drawn to him, the way I used to be.
I reach for his hand, and he doesn’t flinch. He holds it in his lap, casually, like he’s done it a million times before.
And I can’t help but think that this is why. This moment right here, despite the absolute shit show of tragedy surrounding us, this is why we did it. This is why we risked everything. Whether it was worth it remains to be seen.
I look at Wes as he stares out the window, see his sharp angles. How worn down and broken he’s become. And I worry what I’ve done to him. What we’ve both done to him.
CHAPTER TEN
WES IS QUIET THE REST of the ride over to Kyle’s. He seems lost in his thoughts, and every so often, he’ll flinch for no reason. Each time he does, my panic heightens. I don’t know much longer before he shuts down again. It seems inevitable. All the returners are failing. This might be the only way to save him.
I park in front of Kyle’s house, a modest one-story with a big grass front yard and a steep roof. I have a moment of regret, concern this was a bad idea. That I’m opening a door I can’t close. I look at Wes, and find him staring at the house.
“Is it . . . is it familiar?” I ask.
I hear his throat click when he swallows. “Yeah,” he says quietly, and climbs out of the Jeep. I sit there alone for a moment, allowing myself one last chance to be ignorant. This might change everything.
But I have to be brave. I am brave.
I open my door and get out, meeting Wes on the sidewalk. Together, we go to Kyle’s front door and knock. I’m shaking, part fear, part humiliation. I feel completely vulnerable.
The door swings open, and Kyle’s eyes widen when she sees us. Her confidence falters, and she crosses her arms over her chest like armor.
“What’s this about?” she asks, looking from me to Wes. “I thought you were in the hospital.”
“Yeah, about that,” Wes says. “Can we come in?”
Kyle pauses long enough to make me wonder if she’ll say yes, but then she steps aside and motions for us to walk in.
Wes and I sit on the couch in Kyle’s living room, and I glance around. There are pictures on the wall and some along the fireplace mantel. The place is homey and comfortable. I can’t help but compare it to my home.
Kyle walks in and takes a seat on one of the matching leather chairs across from us. “My parents are at work,” she says, in case we were wondering. She watches Wes carefully, but he avoids her gaze. It is easily the most awkward situation I’ve been in all week.
The three of us sit quietly, no one willing to ask the first question. Kyle exhales.
“Did it work?” she asks, like she’s been waiting to ask for a while. “The Adjustment—did it work? Is that why you’re here?”
Wes finally lifts his eyes to meet hers, and I’m not imagining the flinch of a smile that crosses Kyle’s features under his attention.
“Not really,” Wes says. “I mean, I got memories—but not my own. With the exception of a little piece here and there.”
Kyle swallows hard, biting on the inside of her lip. “Too bad,” she says, trying to sound cool about it, even though it seems to hurt her feelings. “So then why are you here? Why both of you?”
I’m so confused about her behavior, her questions. I want to just scream, What is your deal? Tell us everything! But that would be giving her a lot of power. Power to tell the truth, but also, the power to lie. I don’t know what to ask.
“Kyle,” Wes starts, surprising me. “Can I read your diary?”
She laughs, and I turn to him in disbelief. We talked about not asking that.
“Uh, no, Weston,” Kyle says. “You may not. Why would you want to, anyway? I’m sure Tatum can fill you in on your past. The rest doesn’t matter.”
But when Kyle says the last part, her expression weakens. She was saying she doesn’t matter. And with that, I know. The pain in my chest grows because I know.
“Tell me about you and Wes,” I say in a small voice. I feel Weston look at me, but I can’t bear to turn to him.
Kyle watches me, a touch of sympathy in her expression. She leans back in the chair, crossing her legs, and she turns to look at the group of pictures on the mantel. She points to one of them, and I see her hand is shaking.
“Did you know that I had a brother?” she says to neither of us. She presses her lips together, staring at a picture of a little boy and a younger version of her on a backyard swing set.
The air in the room grows heavy, and when Kyle turns, she looks at Wes pleadingly. “You really don’t remember?” she asks.
“No,” he answers evenly.
Her eyes well up with tears, a great sense of loss. “Well, damn,” she says, like a fresh wound has opened. She looks at me. “We bonded over our dead siblings,” she explains. “I told Wes about my brother and he told me all about Cheyenne.” Wes shifts uncomfortably.
“When did this . . . When did you bond?” I ask her. She knows his sister’s name.
Kyle casts another glance at her brother’s picture before resting her head against the back of her chair. “Wes was barely functioning when I met him after school one afternoon—both of us just going through the motions of life, lost souls searching for an escape. I told him I hated his boots and he told me he hated people. We connected over our mutual misery. In fact, it made us smile. Like someone understood us.”
Her words sting because I was there. And I understood Wes. I always understood him. My mind starts to loop through the past, thinking back to that time, but it keeps coming up with the same memories I told at the Adjustment office. Things were . . . fine.
“So you started seeing each other?” I ask. My throat tightens, and it’s a fight to keep going. Like I’m purposely putting my hand on a hot burner.
“Yeah,” she says. “Wes and I started to meet up.”
“Fuck,” Wes says under his breath. I stare straight ahead at Kyle, unwilling to flinch.
“Understand it was a different time,” Kyle says. “We were just a means of escape for two really sad people. We began to spiral together.” Kyle looks over at Wes, but he can’t meet her eyes. She turns to me. “He’d talk about you sometimes,” she offers.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I say, getting to my feet. My head is spinning, complicated by the headache that’s working its way into my neck muscles. Wes starts to stand to help me, but I turn on him so fiercely, he drops back down.
I keep one hand on my throat and begin to pace, telling Kyle to continue. She looks doubtfully at Wes, and after a moment he nods.
“He loved you once,” she says kindly. “He really did. He told me that everything was his fault because after Cheyenne’s death, he’d been slowly dying too, falling away piece by piece until even you weren’t enough. You weren’t enough to fix him, Tatum. And he couldn’t fix you.”
I watch as Kyle cringes at her own words, even though they’re hurting me. I resent the fact that she’s calling me broken, as if she knows anything about me. But I wasn’t there. I don’t know what Wes said. What he told her about us.
“One night,” she continues, “Wes had me meet him at a park overlooking the city. The plan was to run away, figure it out from there. We were both a mess.”
He planned to run away with her. The thought is devastating. And the park . . . that was the park Wes took me to after he returned. Only he’d never been there with me. It was with her.
The room spins faster, the revelations too much to comprehend. The ache intensifies behind my eyes and I wince. Wes calls my name, but I hold up my hand and tell him I’m fine.
“He never showed, Tatum,” she says, as if it will help. “I thought maybe you found out about us, but I didn’t s
ee you again until school started this year. And by that time, Wes had already been in and out of The Program. They’d already stripped me away.”
“I didn’t know,” I say miserably. “I’m not sure why he didn’t show up because I didn’t know about the two of you.” Despite how hard I worked to hold it together until now, tears flood my eyes. “I didn’t know he was cheating on me.”
I turn to Wes and he hitches in a breath, a tear dripping onto his cheek. His face a mask of betrayal—betrayal of himself.
“What are you talking about?” Kyle asks. Her reaction surprises me, and I wipe my face and look at her. “Jesus, Tatum,” she says. “He wasn’t lying about your denial, was he?”
“My denial?” I repeat, confused.
“We weren’t cheating,” she says like it’s distasteful. “The two of you were already broken up.”
I turn to Wes and watch him stiffen, his eyes wide. I look at Kyle.
“Wes and I never broke up,” I say.
“Uh . . . yeah, you did. Weeks, maybe even a month, before I met him. I mean, he told me you both wanted to keep it low profile because it might tip off The Program and get you flagged. But I’ll be honest . . . it felt more like the two of you were looking for a reason to stay together. Either way, you still acted like a couple in front of other people. At least you did until this one party, Casey Jones’s? I told Wes he needed to deal with you. I didn’t want to be in the middle.”
The party—the memory. Kyle was there. She was . . . she was there with Wes? My thoughts begin to swirl, threatening to spin away like a top, and I have to take a seat in the other leather chair.
“You’re saying that Tatum and I weren’t together anymore?” Wes asks in a tight voice. I don’t know what he could be thinking right now. He might think I lied to him about everything—but I didn’t. Maybe he lied to Kyle.
“You were no longer a couple,” Kyle says to him. “But . . .” She looks over at me, pities me. “You did tell me she was having a tough time with the breakup. You didn’t want to hurt her. It was maddening to watch from my perspective.” She turns back to Wes and shrugs. “It made me jealous. You said you didn’t love her anymore . . . but I sure wish someone didn’t love me that much.”
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