The Remedy (25 page)

Isaac texts me throughout the day, telling me how he wishes I could be his lab partner in physics class instead of Byron, who’s “dumb as shit.” He says he’s been dodging Kyle most of the day, and that he thinks he’s going to fake sick one day this week so he can hang out with me instead. I tell him I like this plan.

“Who’ve you been talking to?” my mother asks curiously as we sit at the picnic table, eating burgers. I feel myself blush, and wipe off a bit of ketchup that’s smeared on the corner of my mouth.

“Isaac,” I say, and take another bite. I have a quick worry about their reaction.

“He’s better with you,” she says, but not dreamily. I look up and find her staring at me, her expression clear. “We thought we’d lost him; no one could get through to him,” she continues. “But your sister told me he’s improving. That he’s been better since you arrived. If you stay . . .” She tilts her head. “I think he’d be really happy.”

My mother is saying what I already feel. There’s a place for me here, with Isaac and with them. Maybe after Isaac graduates, I can go to California too. Take classes. I can fill in all of their empty spaces and make something of this life that was cut too short.

I set down my food and grab a new napkin to wipe my hands. “I think I’d be happy too,” I tell my parents. My heart swells at the idea of being part of their family. I don’t let myself think about how impossible it would be—how the department would never let me. In my head, it could be real.

My father reaches to put his large hand over mine. “Then stay,” he says.

*  *  *

Isaac and I don’t watch much of the movie. The theater was almost completely empty, and we sat in the shadows of the very back row. Now his mouth is on my neck, his tongue occasionally touching my skin and driving me wild. I don’t think about anything. My mind is blank and I just feel, blanketed by heat and emotion.

We kiss again, his mouth sweetened by candy. By the time we stop, still breathing each other in, the movie is almost over. We pull apart and look around, glad no one has noticed us, or at least they’ve pretended not to. I’m embarrassed by our complete lack of control. My lips are raw and swollen, and Isaac is watching me, wild with passion. But then suddenly . . . it worries me. Like this is too much too fast.

“We should go,” I say abruptly. Isaac’s face twists in confusion, and I lean in and peck his lips. “Sorry,” I tell him. “But you’re too tempting.”

He laughs. “Me?” He looks me over and then moves in to kiss me again. I hold out my hand to stop him. Despite the fact that I’m insanely attracted to him, I’m too aware of us now.

“Come on,” I say, taking his hand to pull him up. We skip out before the final scene of the movie, but neither of us cares. Isaac’s arm is thrown over my shoulders as we walk through the outdoor mall, and he talks about practice and school—regular things that I don’t know much about. But I listen, nod when I should. When a cool breeze blows by, I snuggle up a little closer and he holds me tight, kissing the top of my head.

This is what it’s like to be normal,
I tell myself. I watch the people who pass us on our way to his truck, watch their expressions and try to mimic them. Try to take their normal.

*  *  *

When I get home, I see I’ve missed three calls from Aaron and two from Deacon. They’ve sent text messages too, but I don’t read them. I’m tired. I climb into bed and close my eyes. But I don’t retreat into any memories tonight. Or the next night. This time, my world is enough to comfort me.

And so I let the week stretch on like a beautiful dream that I never want to wake up from.

THERE IS AN INSISTENT BUZZING.
My eyelids are heavy, as if I could sleep for a few more hours. I finally sit up, pushing my hair away from my face, and turn to see my phone lit up on the side table. It’s Aaron. I click ignore again and turn my clock so I can read the numbers. It’s nearly ten a.m.

I get dressed and find my mother cleaning up the living room. My father has already left for work, and my mother is really focused on getting the details right for my party next week.

We spent Wednesday afternoon going over invites, and I listened to her stories about my parties past. Yesterday we went back to the mall to pick out the perfect dress, one that needed to be let out just a little. Today she wants to run some errands to get the decorations, but I’m worn out from all the planning. She asks if I want to go with her, but when I scrunch my nose, she laughs. She tells me to take the day off.

She leaves soon after, and I make myself scrambled eggs and clean the pan. I shower and get dressed, and by the time I check my phone again, Isaac has messaged to say he left school early and wants to hang out. I smile, and think about my empty house. I haven’t seen him since the movies, although our texts have taken a turn for the affectionate. He tells me how he thinks about me all the time. How much he wants to kiss me again. I get butterflies just thinking about it.

In a streak of rebellion, I ask him to come over to my parentless household. When he agrees, I’m a mess of nerves. I’ve never done anything like this in my real life, had a boyfriend skip school and come over when my parents weren’t home. I never had to. Deacon didn’t have any parents, so we always had a place to go. I clench my jaw, annoyed with my thoughts. I don’t want to think about Deacon right now.

I grab the house phone and call my mother, settled on the idea of sneaking around with my boyfriend. I smile slightly; Isaac
is
my boyfriend. My mother answers the phone, and I straighten up as if she can see me.

“Hey,” I say casually.

“Hi, honey,” she responds, sounding a bit frazzled. I have a small twinge of guilt, but I quickly suppress it. I need to know how long she’ll be out.

“Are you going by the grocery store later?” I ask. “I was thinking of baking some cupcakes together after dinner tonight.”

“Oh,” she says, like it’s a fun idea. “I’d love that. I’ll be tied up at the dress shop for a while. I might not be back before your father gets home at three. That okay?”

I grin. “No rush, Mom. See you then.”

I set down the phone and spin around to look over my room. My body is tingling with nerves and possibilities. I smooth out my blankets, but my fingernail catches on a loose thread, and the tip snaps off.

“Ow,” I say, checking my finger. It broke short, leaving a sting on the skin. I look down at the sheet, and the sight of my bed sends me in a different direction of realization.

Maybe this is a bad idea,
I think, nervously biting the edge of my nail to smooth it out.
What if I . . . if we . . .

The doorbell rings. I furrow my brow, looking at my bedroom door. Isaac must have texted when he was already on his way. I try to squash down the nervousness building up, the out-and-out giddiness I feel about seeing him. Jason called Isaac a total sap, but that’s how I feel. Completely and stupidly into him.

I leave my room, brushing back my hair and rubbing my lips together, wishing I’d had time to put on gloss. Excitement flutters through my stomach as I walk into the living room. When I get to the front door, I swing it open, smiling broadly.

My world shatters, falling around me in sharp, jagged pieces that reflect back different images. Different lives.

“Quinlan,” Marie says, pronouncing my name carefully as her dark eyes take in my appearance. “I’d like to come in and speak with you.”

My mouth opens, but no words come out. I’m shocked, fearful. I glance behind me into the house, and when I turn to Marie again, she presses her lips into a polite smile.

“I know your parents aren’t home,” she says. “So may I please come in?”

I swallow hard, looking over her shoulder toward the street, worried that Isaac’s truck will pull up at any moment. But without another choice, I nod and open the door wider, motioning for Marie to come inside.

*  *  *

Marie’s wearing a deep purple pantsuit; her braids are undone at the bottom to leave the ends curly. She’s a vision, professional and yet approachable, a complete package designed for the manipulation of trust. I remember her telling me once that every detail is used to bring about an intended feeling in others, planned down to the shade of lipstick she wears. Despite her attempt, her appearance offers me little comfort right now. I’m scared as hell.

Marie takes a seat on the couch and motions for me to sit across from her. When I do, she rests back and crosses her legs. “Would you like to explain to me why I’m getting a panicked phone call from Aaron, claiming you’re losing touch?” she asks.

My stomach twists anxiously. “He called you?”

“That’s not an explanation,” she says.

I have to regroup quickly, portray confidence. “Look,” I say, opening up my expression to show honesty. “I’m avoiding him, but it has nothing to do with this assignment,” I explain. “He’s harassing me about Deacon, total everyday stuff. I’m sorry he dragged you into this.” I feel bad for stretching the truth, making Aaron look unprofessional. But he had no right to contact our advisor.

“Say I believe that,” Marie says, eyeing me carefully. “Now I’m asking you personally: Do you need an extraction?”

“No.”

“Quinlan,” she persists. “Are you compromised?”

“No, Marie,” I say. “In fact, things are going very well. Exactly as planned. This case will be closed by next Friday.”

That may be true, but it doesn’t guarantee that I’ll leave. And if the department tries to force me to, I’ll come back when I’m eighteen. There’s nothing that says I can’t. No matter what, my career as a closer is over. I don’t care about the money, about any of it. I have everything I need right here.

“And to be honest,” I add, “Isaac is on his way over right now. He’s made huge strides in his recovery. Ask my parents.”

“That’s reassuring,” Marie says. Although I note the slight relief in her voice, the concern doesn’t leave her eyes. She leans toward me. “I trust you,” she says. “I always have. And whatever’s happening, Quinn, you need to clear this up. I can see you’re a little confused. The question is, is this enough of an issue to pull you out?”

“No,” I say emphatically. “Marie, I agree this is a hard assignment, but the family has finally let me in. Isaac trusts me too. I’ve even made headway with the sister. Let me finish this. Please.”

Marie looks me up and down, weighing my words. She stands, brushing at the thighs of her suit to smooth the fabric. “Fine,” she agrees. “But you need to end it with the boyfriend. Give him closure early and exit him from this process. Understand?”

It’s a punch to my chest, and it takes everything I have to keep my expression steady. “That’s not an option,” I tell her, standing up. “His wellness is tied into the family’s. They like having him around; they like seeing him get better. It would devastate them if he was cut off.”

Marie narrows her dark-lined eyes, and smiles. “Bullshit,” she says. My mouth opens in surprise. “Do you think I don’t know you?” she asks. “Haven’t known you since you were a child?” She steps closer to me, taller than I am in her high-heeled boots. “You’ve gotten attached, Quinlan,” she says. “And for that I should pull you immediately. But the thing is, this case, it’s bigger than you. Has bigger implications. And I honestly and truly believe that you’re a good enough closer to finish this assignment. Finish it with
you
intact. Assure me that I’m right.”

My face burns with shame, but I appreciate what Marie has said. Of course, she’s not wrong about me getting attached. I hope she’s not wrong about me being strong enough to overcome it.

“I can finish this,” I tell her, tightening my expression to show her my resolve. “Just give me until next Friday.”

Marie nods slowly and then comes close and pulls me into a hug. She smells of vanilla, and the scent is familiar, comforting me immediately. I close my eyes for a moment, breathing her in.

We separate, and Marie holds my arm as I walk her to the door. She is the closest thing I’ve had to a mother in my real life. I’ve lied to her, and yet we still trust each other.

I open the door, and she steps outside and turns to look back at me. “No more running around with Isaac,” she says, pointing her finger at me. “One call, Quinn, one call from a pissed-off friend of his and your father will send you straight into therapy. He has no idea what’s happening here, and I have no inclination to tell him about it.”

“Thank you, Marie.”

She nods, and there is a hint of hesitation in her movement. But after she turns and leaves, a new feeling starts to bubble up inside me. Anger.

I slam the door closed and march into my room, grabbing my phone and dialing Aaron. I’m furious. This is the second time he’s betrayed me, and I’m not going to give him another shot at it.

“Quinlan, thank God,” he says immediately on answering. I scoff, even more annoyed that he’s trying to sound concerned.

“You reported me, asshole?”

“Calm down,” Aaron says. “You wouldn’t take my calls. Not even Deacon’s. I was worried, and I was afraid to come near the house. Not to mention the tracking app has been disconnected on your phone. Coincidence?”

“No,” I say. “I didn’t want you spying on me.”

“It’s not spying. It’s looking out for you. What is going on over there?”

“I’m doing my job,” I tell him, my mouth tight with bitterness. “And if you interfere again, I’ll report
you
for trying to derail my assignment. My father will send you to therapy.”

Aaron is quiet for a long moment, and even through my anger I realize my threat was too severe. Too cruel. I almost apologize, but Aaron talks before I can.

“Fine,” he says. “Do what you want. And when they’re scraping your brains off the floor of the hospital, remember that I was trying to help you.”

He hangs up, and I toss my phone on the bed. Sickness tears at my stomach—I’m hurt that he told Marie that I was losing myself. Embarrassed that he was kind of right. And I’m ashamed of how I just talked to him. Aaron’s my friend, I know that. What I don’t know is why I want this thing with Isaac to continue, this risk I’m taking. It’s like . . . I can’t stop myself. I want it too much.