“He looks really healthy,” I say.
“Then it seems the procedure was successful,” she offers. “That’s good news.”
“It is.” I wait a moment, my eyes still closed, and try to decide how much more I should tell her about my fucked-up day. I have to wonder if she’ll have insight. A way for me to reconcile how I feel about my grandparents. Isn’t that her job?
“Dr. Warren?” I start, my voice low. “You aren’t allowed to tell my grandparents anything I say, right?”
“Not without your permission,” she says cautiously. “After all, you’re my patient—not them. However, if you’re a danger to yourself—”
“It’s not that,” I say. “It’s something I was told today. A secret.” I open my eyes then, check that I’m alone in the room. It all feels a bit surreal, waiting to confess that my grandparents aren’t who I thought they were.
“I’m listening, Tatum,” she says.
“Did you...?” I falter with my words, but then sit up straighter and force them out. “Did you know I was in The Program?” I whisper.
“No,” Dr. Warren says with finality. “No, you were not in The Program. Weston was.”
“And so was I,” I say. “I heard it today, and then... I remembered.” My eyes tear up as I go through the moment the handlers took me in painstaking detail, reliving it. For her part, Dr. Warren stays very quiet. I wonder if she’s writing any of this down.
Dr. Warren clears her throat. “I’m not disputing your memory,” Dr. Warren says. “But... that’s just not how The Program worked. And your grandparents certainly never mentioned it to me. I doubt they could keep a secret that big from you.”
“There’s a box,” I say. “One in their closet. It has some of my baby stuff in it, but I don’t remember it. Is it possible there’s more they’re not telling me? I don’t know what to do.”
“I think you should come in tomorrow,” Dr. Warren says, a rustling of papers in the background. “I’ll clear my schedule, and we can talk this through. I’m worried, Tatum. You don’t sound like yourself. Did something else happen with Wes?”
I have a flash of annoyance. “No,” I say. “Not everything has to do with Wes. This is about my grandparents.” I look at the door again. “This is about The Program,” I add in a quieter voice.
“I understand,” Dr. Warren says. “Well, then I’ll help you. We can research together, formulate questions for your grandparents so you can confront them. This is a big deal, Tatum. And you don’t have to go through it alone.”
I consider telling her about seeing Marie today, about Michael Realm watching me, but I decide it might be better to talk in person. I feel too vulnerable here. Too exposed.
“Tatum?” Dr. Warren asks, waiting for an answer.
“I’ll come by tomorrow after school,” I say.
“Great,” Dr. Warren responds quickly. “I look forward to seeing you.”
“Same here,” I say. But before we hang up, I furrow my brow. “You’re not going to tell them, right?” I ask. “My grandparents?”
“I won’t,” Dr. Warren assures me. “I promise.”
Once the call is over, I set the phone down on the bed, feeling worse than I did before I talked to my therapist. I’ve stirred up emotions. Reignited them. Right now, Dr. Warren is my best option for help. She’ll know what to do about my grandparents. Help me sort the lies from the truth.
“Tatum,” my grandfather calls from downstairs, and I gasp at the sound of his voice. Even though he can’t see me, I quickly brush back my hair, straighten my expression.
“Yes?” I yell back.
“Can you come down, please?” There’s a hint of hostility to the question, and panic begins to build. Does he know what I just told Dr. Warren?
When I don’t answer right away, Pop calls my name again.
“Coming,” I say, my voice lower than before. I stand up, leaving my phone on the bed, and walk out of the room.
My heart pounds in my ears as I descend the stairs, scared of the impending confrontation. This might be about my phone. He’s probably going to ask why it was in his room. Ask about seeing handlers.
Pop appears in the entryway, his forehead creased with concern, and before I can ask if he’s okay, he swallows hard.
“There’s someone here to see you,” he says, and motions toward the couch.
