Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  I am immediately home. His strong arms seem, to me, a barrier, and my fears dissipate with every rise and fall of his chest. I laugh through my tears when I feel Bentley worm between us, creating space for his body to join the embrace. I hate this. All of it.

  We pile into a heap on the benches, none of us wanting to miss a moment with each other.

  “What happened yesterday?” I ask.

  “I shouldn’t have told you to go,” Eric blurts out. “I was trying to be considerate of Nick, which I still think was the right thing to do. But I had no idea the Committee was aware of what we had in mind. I thought we would have more time to figure something out. That we could go to them with a plan.” He looks down. “I was completely naive.”

  “What is happening?” Bentley whimpers.

  I breathe. “I don’t really know,” I say. “Dad’s research has made it so we need to make some adjustments, but Dad and I don’t want to be apart. Somehow we haven’t been able to make the choice that is best for the most people.” I don’t really know how to explain this. “We are stuck. Berg is trying to help us. I know it’s really hard, guys.”

  “I don’t want to be split up!” Tal shouts. “This is crazy!”

  He obviously understands more than I thought.

  “I don’t want that either. But do you remember when we used that machine on the tour? How good it felt? They are going to use that to help us all get through it,” I assure him.

  “But why? I don’t understand why this is happening,” Tal says. I look at Eric. It won’t hurt to tell them the whole story. It will be gone from their brains after today, anyway.

  “My research...well, it created a new rubric for pairing. We needed to find people who matched with these particular markers and we weren’t having much success. Long story short...your mom was a match with Nick. There are so many complexities that we can’t get into right now, but I made the commitment to—” he chokes, unable to breathe. The boys stare at him, eyes wide. He composes himself and continues.

  “I made the commitment to step away so Mom could be placed into this new pairing, but I couldn’t do it guys. I came back for the ceremony—” The tears freely roll down his cheeks, and his lips are agonizingly curled, barely allowing him to speak. I jump in.

  “Dad came home because he was having a really hard time being away from us. He thought he would never get to be with us again. We talked, and he told me what was going on. It was so helpful for me to have more information.”

  We continue to discuss, answering their questions to the best of our ability, though neither of us knows exactly how this will all play out. When all the words we have have been spoken, we stare. Almost numb. Bentley breaks the silence.

  “So what do we do now?”

  “We just enjoy these last few moments together. Enjoy being who we are now. We had a pretty great run, didn’t we?” Eric says.

  My throat constricts. Eric looks at me and smiles. He rises and moves toward me, his motions so familiar. I laugh when he reaches down to pull up Bentley’s pants. After hugging the boys, Eric asks them if he can talk with me privately for a moment. They sit down obediently and pretend like they aren’t waiting to absorb every word.

  “Hi,” he murmurs, looping his arms around my waist. He pulls me close.

  “Hi,” I say. “Not quite the day I had planned for us.”

  “What did you have planned?” he asks.

  “Lots of entertainment for the boys,” I whisper conspiratorially.

  “Seems like that would leave us on our own,” he says, softly kissing my cheek.

  “Huh,” I say, heat rising to my face. “Pretty sure they are watching us in here.”

  “Does it look like I care?” Eric says, moving his hands under the back of my shirt. It’s so familiar. I am losing all of this. All of this knowing. A wave of emotion swells up from my gut and I suppress a sob. His fingertips press into my back as he crushes me to his chest. His breathing becomes shallow and I bury my face in his neck, tears streaming down my cheeks, soaking his shirt collar. We stay frozen like this for what seems like hours—yet not nearly long enough.

  “I love you, Kate,” he whispers. His voice is coarse and shaky. “I don’t care if that makes me weak or hinders me from doing my societal duty. I believe in my research. I know it will make the world a better place. And even then, I can’t force myself to leave you. I made myself physically ill trying.”

  I push back and look up at him, trying to gain some semblance of clarity.

  “You do look terrible,” I choke out, and he laughs heartily, coughing at the unexpectedness of it.

  “Thanks for validating my self-diagnosis,” he says when he can breathe again.

  “Sorry, for some reason I feel a bit hysterical!” I say, patting his face. The contact with his stubbled chin immediately sobers me. “I don’t want to do this, Eric. And I am so sorry that I moved forward with everything...with Nick. I was trying to do what I thought— ”

  Eric puts his fingers on my lips. “No, it’s ok. You are amazing. I was so grateful that you were willing to be strong. I am sorry I couldn’t be.”

  Our connection is broken when the door opens. It’s Shari.

  Blinking awake, I take in my surroundings. Nick hovers over me, and his hand is steadily grasping mine. My heart pounds so loudly that I can’t hear anything over the sound of rushing blood. For a moment, Nick seems as if he is about to cry. My eyebrows draw together and I squint, trying to clear my vision. When his face comes into view, his lips are drawn into a concerned smile, but his expression looks unimpeded by emotion.

  “I told you it would be quick,” he jokes, knowing that I have absolutely zero reference point for time. “How do you feel?”

  I try to speak, but the words won’t form. I stare intently into his eyes, searching for some indication that he knows the monumental shift that just occurred in my brain.

  “I’ll give you a moment,” he says, patting my hands. “The goal with the boosters is to solidify the first treatment—release any other potential echoes. Basically ensure that you won’t have any chronic issues. In a week or so, we’ll scan and compare your current image with the one we saved previously. We should be able to tell if everything took.”

  He begins sanitizing the equipment and I finally regain control of my breathing.

  “Nick, would getting more boosters be equivalent to what I just experienced?” I ask, my voice a hoarse whisper. He nods.

  “They are almost identical,” he says. “See how you feel in a few hours, then we could potentially do a few more if you think there’s a benefit,” he shrugs. “I figure it can’t hurt and I’d rather have more solidity before we do your final scan. I have to report that to the Committee in a few weeks. Selfishly, I want my work to look good,” he laughs. “But your brain always looks good, so no worries there.”

  I smile, trying to react normally. He has to report these scans to the Committee? That was a memory—it happened—I can feel it in my bones. This definitely cannot be the booster that Nick intended to give, and the fear of being discovered jumps in my chest. I can’t tell him because I selfishly yearn for more. Is it possible that somehow, other memories will be restored? The idea that I could receive actual answers to the questions that plague me daily sends me into a fit of near desperation. My fingers grip the sterile bench as I turn away from Nick’s view.

  If the memories do continue to be restored, what will my scans look like? Will the Committee be able to tell the difference? Of course they will. Wait. Nick took a scan of me after my first treatment and it would have to be in my file. What if—what if I could receive the boosters and somehow save that initial scan as my final scan instead? My heart is pounding when Nick comes into view, reaching out a hand to help me up. Is this possible?

  “Sleep,” Nick says, and my head snaps up, eyes flashing. He pulls me close, laughing under his breath. “Trust me,” he whispers, “you need sleep.”

  71 Eric

  “Be
tter,” I nod. “A lot better.”

  Dr. Houser smiles. “What do you think made the difference?”

  “I don’t actually know? I’ve thought about that this week, and it’s probably a couple of things. Meeting with you that first time was kind of an eye-opener. I thought I was doing just fine, but having to physically admit how few people I interacted with...that definitely brought things into perspective. And, I think, somewhere deep down I wouldn’t allow myself to let go of her.”

  “Of Kate?” she asks gently.

  “If I’m honest, I still don’t want to. I can convince myself that, if I think about her all the time—really fiercely hold her in my heart throughout the day—she will somehow exist again. I can keep her with me.”

  “Does it work?”

  “I mean, you already know the answer to that. It obviously was not working for me. And it didn’t keep her alive. It only tethered me to her—kept me dead, in a way. Don’t get me wrong, I will always love and treasure her memory, but, I don’t want it to anchor me anymore. I need to float. To move on in my own journey. I can come back and visit it whenever I want. If I need to.”

  Dr. Houser smiles knowingly, raising her glasses to sit atop her head. “It sounds like you are well on your way. How is Val?”

  My cheeks flush. “It has been extremely beneficial getting to know her. She’s a really good person.”

  “I’m glad. Eric, while I would be happy to continue meeting with you, I don’t know that you need it. Now that you have opened yourself up to new and healthy relationships, I suspect that will be all the support you need.”

  I nod, sitting straight in my chair. “Thank you—” I start, my voice choking up.

  She moves from behind her desk and I stand to embrace her.

  “You’re a good man, Eric. It’s been my pleasure.”

  The walk home feels lonelier somehow. Is it appropriate to grieve a relationship that was never intended to mean this much to me? The depth of my sadness at parting with Dr. Houser serves to highlight the obvious lack of intimacy in my life. I know she’s right. I can move forward now on my own. But it still isn’t easy.

  “Thanks for helping me with this,” I say appreciatively, handing Val another seed box. “Normally this takes me all day, but I think we may be done in another hour.”

  “Happy to help,” she smiles, scanning the box and categorizing it in the appropriate transport cart.

  “I could be keeping up with this all year, but somehow it seems more efficient to just get it all out of the way one time instead of having to sort and rotate every week. Is that poor logic on my part?”

  “We may need to have a clinical trial to properly assess that opinion,” she says with a laugh. As she reaches over to retrieve another box, my eyes are drawn to the smooth, lean muscles on her arms. How did I not notice her strength before? I look away, not wanting her to notice my lingering eyes. Is it possible, without explanation, to show my attraction while expressing a true depth of emotion? I want Val to know that I am attracted to her, but not only physically. To her positivity, selflessness, attention to detail, strength, all of it. Somehow, getting caught staring at her arms doesn’t seem like the right way to send that message.

  “Are you ok?” she asks. “You seem distracted.”

  I clear my throat. “Tell me more about your assignment. You know the ins and outs of mine,” I tease, pulling another crate down.

  She smiles. “It’s really not that exciting. You know most of it,”

  “I know the basics, but what does an actual day look like?”

  “When I am out visiting sites or at headquarters?”

  “Headquarters, unless site visits are different than this?”

  She pauses in her task, breathing deeply. “Well, I typically only visit any given site once in a calendar year, so it’s quick and dirty. Get in, interview coordinators, and take notes on any obvious issues. Everything else can be submitted over the network.”

  “Wait, only once a calendar year? You’ve been here at least three times this year, and this visit has lasted, by my count, much longer than a day,” I accuse in good humor, leaning against the shelf.

  Val blushes, looking down, a box still in her hands.

  “Are we doing something wrong here?” I ask, suddenly concerned. “Val, if I’m not fulfilling my assignment, I hope you would be honest with me—”

  “Eric, are you really that oblivious?” she blurts, throwing the box into the nearest cart. “This center is run immaculately! Everything is organized, the production is better than almost any other site I visit, the soil is in better condition—”

  “Wait, those are all good things, right? Are you mad at me?” I ask, backing up at her sudden intensity.

  “I’m not mad, I’m—I’m frustrated!” she stammers, exasperation in her tone. “How do you not see this? I come here more frequently because of you. I enjoy being around you—I am ridiculously attracted to you, Eric, and I respect your work ethic, your dedication to your son, all of it. Do I really have to spell it out?”

  I stare at her, my body still. That’s how you do it, I guess. Everything I wanted to express, she just said out loud. And it wasn’t awkward, at least not for me. She looks a little worked up. Before I grin, or laugh, and get myself in trouble, I close the gap between us and pull her to me. With her face cupped in my hands, I kiss her. Her arms slowly weave around my back, making every nerve ending come alive. How have I been living without this in my life? I kiss her slowly, softly, desperately hoping that this moment will last forever.

  72 Kate

  Day after day I ask for boosters. Day after day, my memories are returned. I’ve lived them over again—each instance feeling as real today as the moment in time when they originally occurred. The soul-crushing loss of my parents, the ache of losing that pregnancy, the exhilaration of watching the boys take their first steps, the giddiness of feeling Eric close to me for the first time. Every fiber of my being thirsts for them, and it is all I can do to walk through my routine each day as if nothing has changed. When Nick and Bentley are absent, I hold the girls and silently weep. Though I blame physical fatigue, it’s mostly due to emotional closure that Nick no longer comes home early. There are some things I just can’t fake.

  Today is my last session and it can’t come fast enough. I frantically prepare bottles for the girls. My hands shake, and milk spills on the counter—drops of liquid gold going to waste. I mutter under my breath, hastily wiping it up and securing the nipples to the bottle lids. My milk hasn’t ever come back and, with the extra procedures I am doing, I don’t anticipate that it will. The girls still tug at my shirt when I hold them, adding to the guilt I already feel daily at being distracted and emotionally absent. As I lay them down to nap, I embrace them fiercely, their soft hands tangling in my hair and exploring my ears. I laugh, despite my inability to find humor in anything these days. As tears spring to my eyes and roll down my cheeks, the girls graze them gently with their fingertips, seeming to connect in a way that no adult could with the emotions warring inside of me.

  Walking into the lab is routine at this point. I navigate the empty halls, never seeing a soul, passing the familiar doors until I find the one I know. Opening the door today, I stop in my tracks. Tamara is sitting behind the display, her hair pulled up in a tight bun, working furiously.

  “Kate?” she acknowledges, looking up.

  “Hey, I wondered if Nick was here?” I say hesitantly.

  “No, he was called into an unexpected meeting. I had to stay late to finish the trials.” She stands upright and her hand settles on her hip. “Not exactly what I had planned for today,” she laughs.

  “No kidding,” I say.

  “Can I help you with something?” she asks.

  “No, that’s alright,” I respond, turning back toward the door. Turning my head as an afterthought, I ask, “How have patients been doing with their boosters?”

  Her face pinches together. “Boosters?” she asks quizzica
lly.

  “I guess that’s what I call them, maybe that’s not their actual name,” I laugh. “I meant their additional sessions to solidify the original treatment.”

  Tamara doesn’t respond immediately. “I think you might be confused. We don’t ever do additional treatments, that would be redundant,” she says slowly, eyebrows drawn together.

  “I must have misunderstood something Nick said,” I say hastily. “Please don’t say anything to him. That would be embarrassing,” I joke.

  “Hey, there is so much going on here, it’s easy to mix things up,” she says knowingly. “Have a great evening, Kate.”

  I nod and step through the door frame back into the hall. Pausing, I close my eyes and breathe deeply, pressing my back against the door. The wood feels smooth against my fingertips and its solidity grounds me. I tap my sensor, wondering if I somehow missed a message from Nick in my rush to leave the house. Nothing. Utterly confused, I begin the long walk to the exit, only to stop halfway.

  This might be my only chance. I need to access those images and see what I am working with. While I don’t have a recent scan to compare, I could at least gather the information they already have on me. I turn and walk back toward the lab.

  Opening the door, Tamara again looks up from her desk.

  “Hey, I am so sorry to bother you, but when I messaged Nick, he asked me to transfer a spreadsheet for him. Something the Director is asking for that he doesn’t have saved on his shareable file. He said you might have a data traveler here for me to use?”

  Tamara rummages through a small drawer in the corner of the table and retrieves a sleek metal oval, about the size of my thumb.

  “How large is the file?” she asks, and I shrug my shoulders.

  “If it’s a spreadsheet, this should do it,” she says, passing it to me.

  “Can I find it on your dock?” I ask.

  “No, private patient and trial information is only stored on Nick’s personal dock for security purposes. Did he give you his login information?”