“It usually is if McKee or Marie was involved,” Deacon says. He puts his arm around Nicole and pulls her into him, kissing the top of her head and closing his eyes. Whatever his relationship was to Dr. McKee, I can see that he’s grieving too.
I’m a third wheel, uncomfortable with their closeness. Nicole straightens, brushing her blond hair back from her face.
“Tatum, is it?” she asks me.
“Yeah.”
“You’re a patient of my father’s... I’m assuming,” she asks.
“I’m not sure how much of his patient I really was,” I say. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“That sounds like McKee,” Deacon says, and the intimidation I felt when he first walked into the Adjustment office is completely gone. Around Nicole, he’s gentle. He holds her hand while she continues to talk to me.
“Tatum, I don’t mean to pry,” Nicole says. “But what exactly have my father and Marie been doing here? I don’t expect Marie will tell me the truth.”
“She won’t,” I say. Nicole smiles as we bond over the fact that we’re both dealing with someone who is a compulsive liar. I don’t know Nicole’s or Deacon’s history, but they’ve clearly been involved with Dr. McKee and Marie their whole lives. What could it have been like having Tom McKee as a father? And how, after whatever happened, could she still love him this much?
It makes me wonder if we forgive our parents (or grandparents) for their sins too easily. Or if it’s because when you love someone, you’d rather forgive it as a mistake, a bad choice with good intentions, than accept that they’ve nearly destroyed you.
At least, I wonder if that’s why I’ve waited so long to confront my grandparents. Yes, I’m scared they’ll deny it. But I’m also scared they’ll admit everything. Because then... what? What comes after that?
“What have they done to you?” Deacon asks. Concern creases the skin between his brows.
I’m embarrassed, even though it’s not my fault, when I say, “Have you heard of the Adjustment?”
Nicole and Deacon exchange a look, but it doesn’t seem like either of them connect with the word.
“Would you mind explaining?” Deacon asks, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.
I tell Nicole and Deacon all about the Adjustment procedure, the implantation of memories. I include the fact that they’re trying to get a patent, and I was their proof of concept, something they neglected to tell me until yesterday. Nicole smiles ruefully.
“He never stopped experimenting on people,” she says. “I guess all the blame heaped on Arthur Pritchard wasn’t fully deserved. And Marie was part of this?”
“She was most of it, it feels like,” I admit. Even though Dr. McKee did a lot of the talking, it always felt like Marie was the driving force.
“Yeah,” Deacon says. “Marie has always pulled the strings.” He looks at Nicole. “On all of us.”
I glance over to the closed door that leads to the offices. Marie’s only been gone a few minutes, but it feels too long for a simple conversation. What could be so important that she wouldn’t put it aside to talk to Dr. McKee’s daughter the day after he died?
“I just want answers,” I say, mostly to myself. “I want to move on, but I don’t know how. I don’t know what’s true.”
Nicole sighs, and there’s a sense of camaraderie between us, as if she’s been through something similar. She gazes at me, and I wonder if I somehow remind her of herself.
Abruptly she turns to Deacon. “I have an idea,” she says. “There’s not much time. She’s probably already thinking of excuses and cover-ups.”
Deacon stares at his wife for a moment, and then his lips flinch with a smile. “You have a plan,” he says.
“Yep,” she says. “And—”
“Oh, I’m already in, Nic. Let’s go.”
She smiles and then turns back to me. “I’m sorry to drag you into this deeper, but I need your help.”
“I just want my life back,” I say.
Nicole presses her lips together sadly. “I can understand that. Now,” she says, motioning toward the back offices. “Do you have any idea where she keeps the syringes?”
•••
