CHAPTER Eleven —six months later
I ROLL DOWN MY WINDOW TO LET THE WARM AIR
blow through my hair. James switches between radio stations, but all we hear are updates: The Program is dead, doctors and nurses testify in front of Congress about the lobotomies, the drop in suicides. Kellan Thomas is a household name—the rogue reporter who got the scoop of the century. He found the studies, and his interview with Dr. Evelyn Valentine was broadcast on every major news outlet. He never even used the story he collected from me and James.
The epidemic continues, but shortly after The Program received a cease and desist order while under federal investiga-tion, the outbreak calmed—much like Evelyn had thought it would. Suicide hasn’t vanished, not entirely, but every month brings better statistics, and hopes are high.
James’s phone vibrates in the center console, and I look down just as he reaches to click ignore. Michael Realm. After all that’s happened, James and Realm have forged a friendship I try not to get between. I’ve never been able to trust Realm again, and I don’t know if I ever will. But my boyfriend is allowed to be friends with whomever he chooses—even if said friend once had me erased.
“I thought he was out of town,” I say. “Wasn’t he making some bad choices down in Florida?”
James pulls the car over to park in front of a pasture with cows milling about so he can quickly type out a return text. “I hate when you use your disapproving voice,” he tells me. When I don’t laugh, he sets down the phone and tugs me closer, resting his forehead against mine. “Be nice.”
“Shut up,” I mumble.
James smiles and then leans back to watch me. “That’s not very nice. Come on, baby. Life is good.” He runs his fingers between mine over and over as he talks. “We’re good. I don’t want to ruin it with talk of Michael Realm.”
“Says the person who’s now his best friend forever.”
“Not true.” Tingles races up my arm at James’s touch, warming my body. “What I am is grateful,” he says. “He got me out of The Program; he helped me get to you. He was grilled by those investigators and he didn’t once mention our names. We owe him. Not to mention that, without him, you would have ended up lobotomized—”
I pull my hand from his and cross my arms over my chest.
“Yeah, I got it,” I say, still uncomfortable talking about my last hours in The Program. Even when I was questioned by authorities, I told them I was too drugged to remember the final details, the escape. I told them to defer to Program records, which I knew had probably been destroyed by then.
James is quiet for a moment, letting my anger pass as it always does. Then he starts in on my new favorite pastime since escaping the control of The Program: recall.
“There was this one night,” he says in that far-off voice he reserves for memories, “where you and Brady were about ready to throw down. I told you both you were being stubborn, but I was, of course, ignored.” He rolls his eyes, but I’m smiling, the thought of my brother settling over me like a blanket.
“What were we fighting about?” I ask.
“What else? Me. You didn’t want me to stay the night because Lacey was coming over, and you said I was too obnoxious to play nice with others. Brady said Lacey was a lawsuit waiting to happen and that I was the safer bet. It got kind of ugly.”
“Who won?”
James laughs. “Me, of course.”
I lower my arms, grinning at the way the memory plays across my head. I don’t remember any of it, but I love when James tells me the stories. I love that he has them. “And how did you pull that off?” I ask.
He licks his lips, leaning a little closer. “I promised to be sweet. I may have had a little twinkle in my eye when I said it.”
“Hm,” I say, reaching to take the fabric of his T-shirt in my hand to pull him closer. “I know that look. So, what? I just gave in? That doesn’t sound like me.”
“It wasn’t at all like you,” he whispers, pausing just as his lips brush against mine. “That’s how I knew you loved me. And that’s why I started leaving you notes. I told myself I wanted you to talk me out of it, but really, I just wanted you to talk to me.”
I kiss him; it’s playful and easy—we have time now. There’s no one after us. We’re free.
My phone rings from my back pocket, and James groans, trying to grab it from my hand when I take it out. He’s still kissing me as we both fumble for the phone, and when I finally pull away to check it, I see it’s my mom. “She has impeccable timing,” James says, and then drops back into the driver’s seat with one last mischievous glance in my direction.
I laugh and answer. “Hi, Mom.” James shifts the car into gear, leaving the pasture behind as we continue down the peaceful, winding road toward our destination. “What’s up?”
“Hi, honey,” my mother says, her voice distracted. “I can’t remember what you told me—was it mac ’n’ cheese you wanted me to pick up? That stuff is horrible for you.”
“I know, but I’ve been craving it. I haven’t had it in forever.” Not since I was on the run with the rebels, I think. I’m trying to convince myself I can handle memories of that time, even though my subconscious quickly tries to wipe it away.
“Your dad still wants pork chops, so I’ll make that junk as a side dish. Oh, here it is.” The phone rustles, and I tap my nails on the door.
“Anything else?” I ask, wanting to get back to James.
“No, that’s it,” my mother says happily. “Tell James I said hello. Make sure you’re both home by six.” I agree, and as soon as we hang up, I look sideways at James.
“I wish she’d stop trying so hard,” I say, although not unkindly. When I first returned home after the scandal broke, my parents were overwhelmed with the attention from the press and then the horror of the stories broadcast on the news.
It’s taken months of therapy, normal therapy with normal doctors, for me to stop blaming my parents. Then they had to stop blaming themselves. We’re finally in a good place, I guess.
“At least she’s trying,” James says, continuing to stare straight ahead. My parents helped him buy a small stone at the cemetery to keep his father’s remains. Although it alleviated some of his guilt, James is still haunted by the fact his father died alone. But we all have our crosses. Now James is at my house, staying in Brady’s old room. Soon it’ll be just us, because despite how much my parents kind of annoy me, I told them I’d stay a year. I realize I’ve missed them. I missed who they could be.
The sun glitters in the sky, but James stays quiet, maybe thinking about his dad. I don’t like when he falls silent, bothered by things I can’t remember. Sometimes he cries out in his sleep—an aftereffect of The Treatment—as a tragic memory floods back in. He’ll be quiet for a few days, but eventually we talk it out. It’s not always easy to remember—I can see that now.
“Tell me another story about us,” I whisper.
The corner of James’s mouth twitches and he flicks a glance at me. “Clean or dirty?”
I laugh. “Let’s try a clean one.”
James seems to think for a moment, and then the smile fades to something softer, sadder. “There was this one weekend where we went camping with Lacey and Miller.” At hearing the names, I feel a sharp twist of grief. But I need to hear their stories. James checks to see if I’m okay with him going on, and I nod to let him know that I am.
“So Miller, he was crazy about Lacey—I mean, the kid thought she walked on water. So you, being the insistent little matchmaker you are, thought camping would be a perfect double date. Which could have been the case if Lacey wasn’t completely allergic to nature. She was miserable, and Miller was like, ‘Oh, you don’t like mosquitos? Me either! Oh, you think beans are gross? Me too!’ It was painful to watch! So finally I pulled the kid aside and gave him some advice.”
“Uh-oh.”
“I told him he needed to play a little harder to get. Only he didn’t quite understand the concept. He spent the rest of the night ignoring her. The next morning Lacey cornered you, crying, asking what she did wrong.”
“How did it all work out?” I ask. I can’t remember Miller, not the way James does. I never really will. But hearing about him, it makes me feel connected to myself. Miller’s like a favorite character in a childhood story.
“Well, you little charmer,” James says, “you went to Miller and told him to stop being an a*shole. You had no idea I’d talked to him at the campsite. He went back to Lacey and apologized, she gave him a hard time, and then eventually they met up without us and became blissfully happy.” James smiles.
“Miller never ratted me out, either. He let you think he was an idiot. But really it was me.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t guess that. I must have been blinded by your good looks.”
“Who isn’t?”
James pulls up to the empty spot near the grass and parks the car. We sit a minute, both of us feeling so much after the memory. “I wish I could remember,” I say, and look over at James. “But I’m glad you do.”
“I won’t stop until you know every second of our lives,” he says simply. “I won’t leave anything out. Not even the bad stuff.” I nod. James has made that promise every day since we left Evelyn’s house. Sometimes he repeats stories, but I don’t mind.
When we visit Lacey, we tell her some of them, and although she smiles, I’m not sure she really gets it. But she was well enough to finish school, take some college classes. Her therapist even thinks she’ll get feelings back one day. So we don’t give up.
We never give up.
“I got you something,” James says, trying to fight back a smile.
“Is it shiny?” Really, I just want to taunt him a little.
“Not really.”
I furrow my brow. “Uh . . . is it flesh-colored?” He laughs. “No, that’s for later.” He reaches into his pants pocket, but pauses, arresting me again with his gorgeous blue stare. “Do you remember the dream-slash-memory you had the day we were taken from the farmhouse? The one about my seed?”
“Ew, no.” I don’t remember anything about the day we left the farmhouse, not anymore. “I hope to God you’re talking about farming.”
James takes out a plastic bubble, the kind you get from a gumball machine. There’s a flash of something pink and sparkly inside. I bite my lip, giddy with the smile trying to break through.
“That looks shiny,” I say.
“I’m a great liar. Anyway”—he pops the top, taking out a ring—“you knew after that memory we loved each other madly—I think you even said I was sweet. Now I remember how I felt that day. Even then, even with everything going on, I knew I’d never let you get away.”
“Don’t you dare make me cry,” I warn, but I can already feel the burn in my eyes.
James takes my hand and slides the ring onto my finger.
“I’ve given you a ring twice before,” he says, “and trust me, both times were way more romantic than this. But I’ll keep giving them to you—same Denny’s, same ring.” His smile fades into a look far too serious for a sunny afternoon. I reach to put my palm on his cheek, leaning in to kiss him.
“I’ve lost you too many times, Sloane,” he murmurs between my lips. His hand slides up my thigh, pulling it over his hip as he lays me back on the seat. His kisses are sweet but also a little sad. I try to change the mood entirely, and James quickly pulls back, laughing.
“Hey, now Miss Handsy,” he says, nodding toward the windshield. “Are we going to do this thing or what? You still have all your clothes on.”
“I think I’d rather stay in here,” I say, grabbing his belt. He playfully swats my hand away and then wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close.
“Let’s go,” he whispers, kissing me in a way so sweet and tender, I can’t help but trust him. James climbs out of the car, and I take a steadying breath and stare out at the river. This is the first place where James kissed me, both times. I take my towel from the backseat, and with my heart thudding, I open the door.
James is standing at the top of the bank, and when he turns, his eyes are crystal blue in the sunlight. “Come on, chicken,” he says. And I smile.
“I don’t know,” James says, holding my wrist as he draws me farther into the water. “I think the problem is that you still have on far too many clothes.” I roll my eyes, my lips trembling from the ice-cold of the river water.
“You say that every time, and I’m still not convinced that’s the problem. Now shut up and do something impressive before I go to wait in the car,” I say in a shaky voice. As if on a dare he’d love to take, James grins and then dips under water, coming up to brush back his hair.
“Don’t move,” he says, pointing at me. He begins the swim out to the dock, and I cross my arms over my bikini top as I watch him. His strokes are strong and majestic, and before he even climbs out of the water, I am already duly impressed. I whistle.
James glances over, winks, and then does a backflip into the water. I clap when he surfaces, stopping a moment to admire the new ring he so subtly put on my left hand. James starts swimming in my direction; his mouth occasionally dips below the water.
“That can be you,” he says as he gets closer.
“Baby steps.”
“Toughen up.” When he’s in front of me once again, James wraps his cold arms around me, lifting me half out the water as he kisses me. His lips are slightly cooler than mine, and it takes only a minute before my fingertips dig into the skin of his back, pulling us closer. Making us downright hot.
“Later,” he says between my lips. “I think you’re just trying to distract me.”
I laugh and give him one last peck before he sets me back down into the water. He blows out a dramatic breath, tossing me a look of mock disapproval, and then he reaches out his hand to me.
“Grab on,” he says seriously. I take his hand and let him begin to pull me deeper. “Kick your legs. Scissors, Sloane.
Think of them like scissors.”
I do as he says, both of us patient—and soon my fear begins to melt away. My fear of the water. My fear of drowning. My fear of death—of life. It’s in these quiet moments since The Program that I’ve found the reason to go on. It’s not James. It’s not my parents or my friends.
I’ve found me. After all this time, after all that’s been taken and destroyed, I’ve found my way back home. I haven’t gotten any more flashes of my old life. The stress of The Program or running no longer cracks the surface of my psyche. I’ve accepted that, enjoying James’s stories in place of my memories.
And Realm, for as much as I still distrust him, has restarted his life at his old cabin. The last time he saw Dallas, he told her the truth about them—which I had forgotten from the day at the farmhouse. None of us has seen her since, but she does occasionally send me postcards from Florida. All the last one said was Don’t tell Realm.
Roger is in prison—but not for his attack on me or Dallas. Tabitha, one of the embedded handlers from The Program, pressed charges, admitting that when she was first a patient, Roger had assaulted her, too. Turns out, there were a lot of girls willing to step forward. Roger will be serving fifteen to twenty in an Oregon penitentiary and is awaiting charges relating to his role in The Program.
None of the handlers or nurses has been prosecuted yet. Dr.
Warren never resurfaced, and Dr. Beckett lawyered up. Nurse Kell didn’t report me for attacking her, although the guilt still eats away at me. I wish I could tell her I’m sorry—but I’ve never had the chance. Maybe one day I will.
I haven’t heard from Cas, but Realm has spoken to him a few times. They’ve both agreed to leave Dallas alone, let her start over. Then again, I never believe anything Realm tells me anymore.
“All right,” James says, his hands supporting my weight as he takes us deeper. “I’m going to let you go, but you’ll be just fine.” My breathing starts to become erratic, and I’m so terrified I’m not sure I can do it. “James,” I say, about to ready to grab him. He leans forward, his lips near my ear.
“Fight, Sloane,” he whispers.
I swallow hard, measure my breathing, and then give him a quick nod before I start to lap my hands. They’re uneven at first, large splashes of water coming over my face. But then I feel James’s hands leave me, the water rush past. James is beside me as we both head for the dock. There are a few moments when I think I won’t make it, that I’ll drown here just like Brady did.
But I don’t stop.
When I reach the dock, I grab on, laughing wildly. It’s taken me all this time, all this loss, to realize what really matters is now. Not our memories. Now. And right now I’m here in the river where my brother died. With James. Swimming.
The End