The Remedy (26 page)

But Marie’s warning stays with me. I put on some lip gloss and a little more makeup, trying to disguise the paleness, my glow snuffed out. When Isaac arrives fifteen minutes later, I meet him on the porch and close the door behind me. I can’t have him over now, interact the way I planned. He still smiles brightly when he sees me, and I ask him if we can go to lunch instead because I’m hungry. There’s a small hint of disappointment in his expression, but he tries to hide it. Of course, he’s not a closer, so I can read him easily. I give him a quick kiss, making it better. Reassuring him on some level. He takes my hand and we walk to his truck, but before I get in, I scan the streets quickly, looking for a car—one that’s out of place. One that’s watching me. But if there are any, they’re well-hidden, because there’s nothing out of the ordinary on this street. Nothing but me.

JASON INVITED ISAAC AND ME
to the batting cages at the park on Sunday morning, and although I’m not supposed to be “running around with Isaac,” I thought it sounded fun. And I’m entitled to a bit of fun once in a while.

Isaac and I arrive at the cages and find Jason waiting for us near the little shop that houses concessions, a big wad of gum stuck in the side of his mouth like chew. He’s wearing a jersey that’s tight over his rounded stomach in an endearing sort of way. I like Jason. I can totally understand why Isaac is friends with him.

“There’s my favorite couple,” he calls out when he sees us approach. He twirls his bat around a gloved hand in pretend showing off, then drops it with a loud clank and we all start laughing. He nods at me. “Your boyfriend is going to show us all up, just a bit of warning.”

“I figured,” I say, looking over at Isaac.

“No, you don’t understand,” Jason says, smirking. “Most nice guys would downplay a little so that their friends don’t look stupid. Not this asshole. He’ll totally flaunt it.”

“Shut up, man,” Isaac says, laughing. “You’re just extraordinarily bad.”

“This is true,” Jason says, grabbing a cup of tokens he’d left on the ledge near the door. “So should we let the humiliation games begin?”

I can’t stop smiling, immersed in their constant fake bickering. I take a seat on the top of a picnic table, and Jason is first into the cages. He puts in a token and exaggerates his stance. I giggle, and he looks back at me and winks. The pitch comes out, fast enough to make me jump, and Jason smacks it, sending it to the netting on top of the cages.

Isaac lets out a low whistle and sits next to me to watch. “Whaaaat?” he calls to Jason. “Someone’s been practicing.”

“You think I would’ve met you here if I hadn’t?” Jason asks with a shit-eating grin. The next pitch comes before he’s ready, and Isaac lowers his head and laughs. Jason readjusts and takes the next eight pitches to the sky.

I’m surprised how fast the balls are shooting out of the machine, and also a little nervous. The extent of my batting training happened in my backyard the other night with my father, so I’m not feeling super confident. I watch Jason finish his pitches, and then he turns on his heels and points his bat in my direction.

“You’re up, Catawampus,” he announces. Isaac and I burst out laughing, but there’s a soft touch on my heart that he used a nickname in the first place. A sense that I belong. I hop down, turn back to Isaac, and bite my nail like I’m nervous.

“You’ve got it, babe,” he says, clapping his hands loudly to pump me up. I’m all smiles when I get into the cage and pick up the metal bat from the ground. I weigh it in my hands, and then scrunch my nose and look at Isaac. “I have to warn you,” I tell him. “I suck and I’m going to embarrass both of us.”

He gives me an encouraging thumbs-up. I grab a token from the cup and slip it into the slot. The sound of the motor starts, and I swallow hard, edging up to the batting square. The first pitch shoots out, and I yelp and jump back from the plate. Holy shit that was fast.

I toss a panicked look at Isaac, but he and Jason tell me to be brave—patronizing me, I suppose. Either way, I get back in my stance and the heavy bat bobs unsteadily in my grip. The pitch comes and I close my eyes and swing, spinning myself around. I got a piece of it, though. They clap wildly, again patronizing me, but at least I know I can hit it. By the fifteenth pitch I’m able to hit the ball toward the back of the cage, and the muscle in my shoulder is on fire. I finish, exhaling dramatically and letting my arms fall to my sides.

Isaac jumps up from the table and comes into the cage, putting his hands on my waist, telling me what a great job I did. He leans in to kiss my lips, and then takes his hat and puts it on my head backward.

“He’s right,” Isaac tells me, motioning to Jason. “I’m going to show up both of you.”

I push him, laughing, and then go to join Jason on the picnic table. Jason looks sideways at me. “That kid’s a superstar,” he says admiringly. “Charmed life, that one.” I turn back to Isaac, sadness creeping in to remind me that Isaac’s life isn’t as great as Jason thinks. But I quickly bury that thought, not wanting to ruin the day.

“Come on, Isaac,” I yell to drown out my guilt. “Impress me.”

He looks over his shoulder at me, licks his bottom lip, and says, “I will.”

I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, and put my folded hand to my mouth because my cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so much. Isaac turns back to wait for his pitch and all I can think about is how incredibly sexy he is.

He smacks the hell out of the ball. Next pitch, same thing. I straighten, watching with a bit of awe as he handles every pitch as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Next to me, Jason knocks his knee into mine.

“Haven’t you seen him play before?” he asks, noticing my reaction.

I probably should have known how great he is, so I smile and say, “Yeah, but he still amazes me every time.”

Jason tilts his head, studying my face for a moment. He looks thoughtful, and turns back to Isaac. “I’m glad he loves you,” he says quietly. “You’re good for him.”

My breath is tight in my chest, and I’m so grateful for this day. I’m so glad I ignored Marie’s advice, because now this is mine. This memory. Maybe even this life.
He loves you.
I turn to watch Isaac once again, trying to memorize his every movement.

“Not to mention,” Jason continues, “that I’m way better than you at baseball. So you’re good for me, too.” We both snort a laugh.

Isaac finishes, clearly proud of his ass-kickery, and comes back over to the table. He reaches out to take the hat from my head and puts it back on his. “Well, I’m starving,” he says, looking between me and Jason.

“I’ll get us some hot dogs,” Jason says, climbing down from the table.

“I’ll come with,” Isaac adds. He puts his hand on the table and leans in to kiss my cheek. “You want one?” he asks. I nod, enjoying the closeness. He puts his other hand on the other side of me, boxing me in. He leans in and kisses my lips. And then again. “Be right back,” he whispers, and then jogs to catch up with Jason, who is already on his way to a little store on the other side of the cages.

I watch them, feeling content in a way I haven’t in a while. I lean back on my arms, my legs stretched in front of me. My phone buzzes in my pocket and my posture stiffens.
I don’t want to talk to you, Aaron,
I think, ignoring the call.
Just leave us alone.

“Quinn?” There’s a sharp pain in my heart, and I spin around and find Deacon just inside the fence, not far from where we’ve been sitting. He lowers the phone from his ear, devastation painting his features. He looks toward Isaac and Jason, who are thankfully out of earshot, and then back at me. I know he’s seen everything.

“Deacon,” I say, climbing down from the picnic table. He can’t be here; he can’t let Isaac see him. How would I explain? I’d have to break character in front of Jason. That would ruin everything. “I can’t talk right now,” I say, shooting a look over in time to see Isaac and Jason disappear inside the store.

I cross the pavement to where Deacon stands and put my hands on his chest, walking him back a few steps and out of direct view. He doesn’t fight me; he only stares in disbelief. His fingers close around my wrists, holding me to him.

“What are you doing?” he asks pleadingly. “What have you done?”

His pain rolls over me, and I want to apologize—but doing that would be admitting I did something wrong. And frankly, this isn’t any of his business.

“I’m on assignment,” I say, pulling my arms from his grip. “I’m working, Deacon. You can’t be here.”

“You’re living. You’re not working.”

“I’m helping him,” I say.

“You’re helping yourself.”

My soft spot hardens and I cross my arms over my chest. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Me?” he says. “You’ve dodged Aaron for three days. Marie’s grown concerned. Hell, we’re all concerned, Quinn. She sent me to check on you so it’d be off the books—that should tell you something.”

The mention of Marie irks me, and I sneer. “What should it tell me?” I ask him. “That they want more control over how I provide closure? That they think you can manipulate me better than Aaron? I’m doing my job, Deacon. Tell them that.”

Deacon’s face contorts, tightens as if he’s in pain. “I saw you,” he says miserably. “I saw you kiss him.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I do my best to keep up my facade. “I’ve already told you that I’m helping him,” I whisper harshly. “There are only a few days left. I think the department can live without me until then.” I take a breath, trying to calm my appearance, and start back toward the table.

“And what about me?” Deacon calls. “What if I can’t live without you?”

It’s a punch to my gut. I turn back fiercely. “Don’t,” I say, pointing at him. “Don’t you dare.” Deacon is not allowed to use this against me, to manipulate me with his feelings of hurt and jealousy. He’s already broken my heart twice. I won’t give him the chance to do it again.

Deacon stares, surprised by the ferocity of my response but also devastated by my rejection. He glances at the store and then takes a step toward me. “You’re killing me,” he murmurs.

“Go home, Deacon,” I say, and turn my back on him. I feel sick, but I keep my posture strong as I stride away and return to the table. My hands are shaking, but my face is emotionless. I force myself numb. I won’t let him in. I can’t.

It’s quiet behind me, and when the screen door of the concessions shop opens and Isaac and Jason walk out with trays of food, laughing about something, I finally glance over my shoulder. Deacon is gone.

There’s a quiet loss, and I turn away. I wonder briefly if he’ll report what he saw—me kissing the boyfriend of an assignment. A client, even. But I know he won’t. Deacon would never betray me to the department, even if it’s for my own good.

ISAAC HAS A GAME ON
Tuesday night, and although I’ve never been to a high school baseball game, I decide to attend. I’m nervous that someone will call me out for being there, but I’ve been living so effortlessly the past few days that the threat seems far away now. I’ll be careful. I’ll wear my hood up, keep my eyes downcast. I’ll sit in the back.

Those people can’t stop me from living. Isaac wants me there, and I want to be with him. It’s simple now—easier than any assignment I’ve ever had. Even at dinner tonight, my parents were all smiles. There was no pain. I’ve taken it all away.

My hood is up as I sit in the top row of the bleachers. Even so, a few people turn occasionally to stare at me, and I shift uncomfortably under their gazes. I pay rapt attention to the score, clapping when Isaac comes up to bat but not whistling or calling out like I want to. I can’t draw that sort of attention to myself. I don’t want to embarrass Isaac.

“It’s pretty weird,” a voice says. I turn to my left as a guy slides onto the empty bleacher to sit next to me. “What you do,” he clarifies. “It’s weird, if you ask me.”

I tighten my jaw and turn to face the field. This is exactly the sort of confrontation I was hoping to avoid. “I didn’t ask you,” I say calmly. I unfold my palms over my knees, wishing the guy would leave.

There’s a cheer from the crowd to my right as the catcher tags someone out at home plate. I’ve lost interest in the game, though, and glance up at the scoreboard to check the inning. Top of the seventh; it’s almost over.

“Name’s Nando,” the guy says when the noise dies down. “Fernando, but everyone calls me Nando.” He pauses. “You used to know that.”

I still don’t turn, afraid I’ll find hatred in his expression. I read about Nando in the diary pages. He was good friends with Isaac and with Kyle. And with me, I guess.

“Anyway,” he continues, sounding self-conscious. “I just . . . I wanted to get a closer look, you know? See if you could actually pass for her.”

I debate for a moment and then turn to him, wondering if his interest comes from curiosity or bitterness. But his expression is open and kind. The tension in my shoulders releases slightly as I examine his dark brown eyes, his round cheeks. From what I can tell, he’s not a threat.

I flip back my hood, and the cool airs rustles my hair. I tame down the wild strands, tucking them behind my ear, and smile—the perfect practiced smile that I know almost as well as my own. Nando takes in a sharp breath; his eyes widen. I watch as he studies my flawless makeup—meant to accentuate my features in the right ways. He looks over my short hair, my clothes. I am Catalina Barnes.

Nando scrunches up his face. My appearance is unsettling if you know who I’m supposed to be, and I regret showing him. I quickly flip up my hood, embarrassed that I thought I could be so casual with a stranger.

“Wow,” Nando says, swallowing hard. “You look just fucking like her.” It’s not a compliment, but it’s not a slam, either.

There’s another loud cheer, and this time when I look up, the dugout players are flooding the field. Isaac’s team lost. Around me the bleachers are starting to empty, and I turn back to find Nando watching me. He smiles sadly.

“What’s he going to do when you leave?” he asks. He doesn’t have to mention him by name, and the thought of leaving Isaac tugs on my heart. I look at the field and find him talking with some of the other players, laughing despite the team’s loss.