Again I’m reminded of how quickly everything has gotten out of hand. I’m pretending to be their son, and they expect me to go home with them.
How would it hurt them if I ran off again? To them, they finally have their son. Easton has his brother back.
I shouldn’t care. These are strangers, and I’m pretending to be their kid because it was the only way I could think of to avoid being sent back to my own asshole parents, who were ready to ship me off to some camp to be tortured into a kid they still wouldn’t love.
But stoking those bitter, ever-burning thoughts of my own family betraying me isn’t enough, because Valencia’s arms go around me again and it feels wonderful. It’s enough to block any negative feelings I have about my real parents, and about these lies I’m telling this family, because this family is here, and they’re willing to fight for me.
For a brief moment, my logic reminds me they’re here to fight forNate, not me, but I bat the thought away and just enjoy Valencia’s embrace.
Six
Dr. Zapata spends the afternoon talking with me and Nate’s parents—Easton is sent down to the cafeteria despite his objections. Detective Hall interjects with a few of her own questions when the conversation allows. She asks me about my kidnapping and where I’ve been, but I don’t offer any real answers. I keep everything vague and dodge as many questions as I can without looking suspicious.
If anyoneissuspicious, they have great poker faces. Even Marcus seems to be believing it all a little easier now. Agent Grant, on the other hand, remains stoic and unreadable.
Still, it doesn’t hurt my case that Dr. Zapata says post-traumatic amnesia is common in kidnappings. At one point before asking some darker questions, she asks if Nate’s parents would like to leave the room. Marcus looks as though he wants to, but Valencia says no and reaches for my hand.
Of course Dr. Zapata asks about sexual abuse, because why wouldn’t you ask that of a kidnapping victim, but I make sure she knows there wasn’t any. I’m okay with lying about who I am to get out of jail, but sexual abuse victims are rarely believed to begin with, and there’s no way I’m contributing to that by lying about it myself.
Weird how my morals are so clear-cut on some things, but not others. Manipulating grieving families? Okay! Lying about sexual assault? Definitely not okay!
“I’m sorry, but how much longer do we need to talk about this?” I finally ask. It’s all starting to hit me—exactly what I’m doing here—and I hate it. I hate how kind these two parents are; lying to them makes me feel awful. Maybe there was another way I could have avoided going to juvie, but I still can’t figure it out. Not that it matters, because I’m already in too deep.
Dr. Zapata nods. “You’re right, we should probably pause for the day.”
Pause? How much more could there be? “No. I’d rather try and get it all done now so we can move on.”
Dr. Zapata’s eyes flick over to Nate’s parents, then back to me. “Nate, your road to recovery is going to be a long one. You’ve been through immense trauma—not least of which is that you’ve lived on the streets for the past eight months.”
I did tell them that part. But it was under the guise of me running away. I couldn’t remember who or where I was running from, but I ran. It’s close enough to the real story that it was easy to sell.
Valencia turns to me. “Dr. Zapata has her own practice when she’s not doing consults for the hospital. We’ve asked that she be your psychologist.”
“I’d like you to come see me at least once a week,” she says. She must see that I’m about to argue, so she puts up her hands. “To start. We can add more days if you need. Or if you’re adjusting to your home life okay, we can pare back.”
At least the Beaumonts will have her to speak to when I disappear again. Maybe she can tell them it’s part of my trauma and I’ll be back one day.
“Okay,” I say. I have zero intention of staying long enough to have even one session with Dr. Z.
Dr. Zapata thanks me, then tells my parents she’ll call them tomorrow to set up my first appointment. She also mentions that it might be best if they go home for the night. “I understand you probably don’t want to let him out of your sight again, but he should rest.”
There’s a fair amount of subtext in her words—maybe she discussed this when they first met, because Valencia doesn’t argue with her.
“There’s going to be an officer posted outside his room all night,” Detective Hall says. “He’ll be safe here.”
“I don’t need a police escort,” I say, trying not to sound too anxious about the idea.
Agent Grant speaks from the corner; it’s the first time he’s said anything. “Until we know more about your kidnapping, we’ll be keeping a close eye on you. Abductions like this are usually a single person. But with your amnesia”—he says it like he doesn’t buy the excuse—“we don’t know if it’s one person or a bigger trafficking ring that might be looking for you. It’s for your protection.”
“You’ll be okay, sweetie,” Valencia says. Then she leans over me. I flinch slightly and she backs away, looking either sad or embarrassed. My cheeks burn. I didn’t realize she was trying to kiss my forehead. No one’s ever tried to do that before.
“Okay,” I say, trying to move past the awkwardness. I’m not escaping from the hospital tonight. But I’m curious to know whether it’s formy own protection or to make sure I’m not going to run off before they find out who I really am.
Nate’s parents say goodbye to Dr. Zapata, and Detective Hall and Agent Grant go outside to talk with her some more. Valencia reaches into the bag she set on the ground and takes out a phone. She hands it over to me. “We activated a new line on one of Easton’s old phones for you on the way here. Our numbers are all saved in there. If you need us, you can call or text at any time, okay?” She looks embarrassed for a second, then laughs. “And... I might text you good night. Or when we get home. Or from the car.”
I can’t help but laugh and it manages to dial down the remaining awkwardness to zero. I take the phone from her and the screen lights up. The wallpaper is a family photo of Marcus, Valencia, and Easton. They’re standing on a dock, dressed in summer clothing, with the ocean behind them, all smiling as if they didn’t survive a trauma together. My heart flutters, but I’m not sure if it’s guilt again or the idea of being a part of a happy family.
“Thank you,” I say.
