Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  “Kate,” Shari says softly, reaching out to touch my forearm. “They’re here to stay.”

  I stare at her, unable to comprehend her words. My whole body trembles.

  “But Berg—they’re Tier 1. And they don’t know—” I stammer.

  “Berg has approved it,” she assures me. “I didn’t really give them a choice, to be honest. And I’ve talked with the girls. They know enough,” she says, opening my hand and setting my old sensor in my palm. “If you change your mind,” she whispers, then turns and opens the door.

  “I’ve got one for you, too, Eric,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. “I’m going to go get the girls’ things out of the back. Can you help me bring everything in?” she calls as she walks down the steps.

  Eric follows her, and I am left alone—numb—standing in the kitchen.

  Chapter 135

  As soon as the dust settles after Shari’s visit, I spend the afternoon playing with the children in the yard. So far, the clouds have been kept at bay, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

  The girls, understandably, are exhausted and worn out before any of the others. They probably needed a nap earlier in the afternoon, but I’m so beyond this stage of life that I didn’t even think about it. After putting them to sleep, directly following an early dinner, I finally have an opportunity to return to the journal. Though Eric isn’t immediately available, I can’t force myself to wait any longer.

  Plopping myself on the bed, I flip the journal over and begin to scan where I left off. My finger freezes when I see a sentence that stops my heart in my chest.

  I don’t think Kate’s mom is her birth mother.

  What!? That can’t possibly be true. Anger rises and chokes my throat. How could he even postulate something so ridiculous? He doesn’t have any evidence to come to that conclusion. Though frustrated and confused, I continue reading.

  In fact, I’m sure of it. Tracing her genetic markers, it’s basically the only plausible explanation. I have more markers in common with Kate than the woman who raised her. Running a trace on her code, was able to find a few options in Tier 1 who could potentially match. Many of them I was able to rule out based on age and location, leaving me with only a handful of potential candidates.

  My heart pounds, causing my vision to blur slightly, and making it difficult to read the words on the page clearly.

  I searched through records on these few remaining individuals and came up with something very interesting. One woman matching Kate’s code was taken in for rehabilitation in the same month of Kate’s birth. She was only nineteen at the time, has never paired again, has never had more children as far as I can tell. But she has remained in Tier 1, and has actually been a big part of Kate’s life.

  Before I finish the paragraph, tears fill my eyes. It’s not possible.

  I’m convinced that Shari is Kate’s birth mother, the timing is just too perfect. I wasn’t able to find exact records from her time in rehabilitation, but I’ve seen plenty of patients like her. My guess? She had hormonal imbalances after birth and they weren’t able to get them under control soon enough to place Kate with her again. By then, she had likely bonded with new parents and it wasn’t ideal to remove her. I haven’t been able to find out anything about Shari’s pair. I’ll have to keep searching. The worst part about having this knowledge is that I have no one to share it with. There’s no way I can bring this up with Kate, not with how tense their relationship is now. It would make no sense and it would absolutely crush her. And Shari? There’s no way I can ask about this. With how deeply I had to search to find her records, I can only assume that she wants the information buried. Though I can’t help but wonder—why didn’t she share this with Kate as an adult? Was she embarrassed? There’s absolutely no shame in what she went through, and I know Kate would have understood. But now? It seems too late.

  Completely in shock, I stare at the pages, reading the words over and over again. What was in the dream with my mom that spurred Nick’s investigation? Was she even my mom? I can’t remember it! Those images haunted me for years, and now that I could finally attempt to make sense of it, I can’t pull it back. I remember agreeing to be treated, but I had no idea...How could Nick have kept this from me? I watched my mother die!

  I breathe deeply, my system in complete shock. Think, Kate. Shari is only eleven years older than you. This is not even physically possible. And of course our markers match. That’s the point of being matched with a mentor, right?

  But...my thoughts begin to spin.

  What if that wasn’t her real age.

  This thought hits me like a brick. She looked so much older...the other night, she looked like she had aged ten years...What if she was placed as my mentor as a consolation? Because she wasn’t able to raise me? What if that’s why she chose to never have more children? Unable to process, I continue to the next entry, hoping to distract myself.

  Worried about Kate. The dreams are getting worse. Beth did the funniest thing today—

  I skip a few pages. Can’t handle that right now. What if the reason Shari was so insistent about me being willing to sacrifice was that she had already lived it? If, back then, she had admitted that what Berg was asking of us was unreasonable, she would have had to re-examine so much of her own life. Was it actually in my best interest to be removed from her permanently? Should she have fought against that decision? Could she have?

  Kate.

  Again, my heart stops. Is he writing to me?

  Kate. I don’t know how all of this is going to go down and I can’t say anything to you right now, so I’m putting it here in case I don’t get to say it later. You know that funny thing you do with your nose when you laugh? I love that. Or the way your eyes light up when you watch the kids? It’s the absolute best. I’m walking out this door tonight knowing that I might not see that again and it’s kind of killing me. But you know what? I am also so sure that what I’m doing is right. We—society, not us—are heading in the wrong direction. I can feel it, and now I have evidence that my gut feeling is correct. I know I haven’t made all of the right decisions. In fact, I’ve made some fairly terrible ones. I keep telling myself that I can’t judge my past actions with today’s information...I don’t know if that’s actually true, but it makes me feel better. Acting now is the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done.

  I grin, wishing that he could have participated in my discussion with Eric on the same topic.

  I cringe at the thought of you seeing these notes someday. When I wrote all of this down, I thought I was helping...but looking back over this, I’m not sure that’s true either. I should have told you about Shari. Over the last few weeks I have judged her harshly. How could she put her own daughter through all of this after what she’s experienced? I think at least I have a small understanding now. I was so entrenched, so convinced that what I was fighting for was right and true. I supported Berg 100% and acted in blind faith. I can see Shari doing the same. Especially since she lived it. She lives every day with that sacrifice, so how could she admit—to herself—or anyone else that it was a waste? Or that the leadership that made that decision for her could have been wrong? Anyway, I hope you’ll understand. I mean, really I still hope you’ll never have a reason to see this...but I digress. Wish me luck? I love you.

  I stare at the pages in complete shock. He did get to tell me at least in part how he felt, and that moment on the transport will forever be seared in my memory. Could all of this be true? Even as I sit here, pieces begin clicking into place, and it’s becoming harder to explain away. Shari’s willingness to watch the kids at all hours of the day and night, her commitment to being there for me—well, until I began to push her away. I always thought she was just conscientious. Her inability to pair, her agitation whenever I brought up her inability to have children...

  But if this is true...frustration builds and my shoulders tense. She knew what it was like to lose someone she loved. A literal piece of her. To be treated without consent
and held against her will. I echo Nick in asking how she could put me through that? Why wouldn’t she have supported me in standing up for an alternative? Maybe it wasn’t as painful for her? Was it simply easier for her to give me up? To see me with new parents, to miss being that person in my life?

  No, it couldn’t have been. Nick is right. Shari has always been completely dedicated to Berg’s objectives. I just never knew she was that committed. Here I assumed that, as a Committee member, she was along for the ride for all the perks she received...selfish and unfeeling. But now I think she just might have earned them.

  I set the other notebook aside for later and return to the kitchen, still unable to form fully coherent thoughts. Grabbing the soap roughly from the edge of the sink, I begin to wash the few dishes left from dinner. I didn’t get to hear this when I could have done anything about it. Not in Tier 1, not when Shari was here. How could she not mention this to me even now! I didn’t have the opportunity to talk to Nick about this, or about his integration trials, or about his vision for the future. I won’t ever get to talk to him about any of it. Ever. Shari apparently lived her whole life lying about who she truly was. Lying to me. Both of them were denied a chance of finding a true pair and they didn’t get a chance to experience this—all of this—for real. Nick missed out on Beth and Leah, too, I think, and Shari...Shari missed out on me.

  How did I not know this only mere hours ago? I could have brought it up—gotten some answers. Or even just looked at her differently in that moment, instead of envisioning her again as someone so far removed from—I jump back as the dish I was holding shatters against the sink. Folding to the floor amidst the pieces, I wrap my arms tightly around my shoulders, close my eyes, and rock.

  Chapter 136

  Though it’s only been a few days, the girls have completely settled into their new life. They run from sun up until sun down, only sometimes commenting on our lack of their favorite foods. Every morning and evening I sit, simply watching them play. I don’t think I’ll ever take for granted a single moment. Even as I think it, I laugh internally, and leave the window. If only that could remain true.

  Picking up a stack of clean, folded clothes, I move to our bedroom to place them on the shelves. As I turn to leave, something catches my eye. Sighing, I walk over and tuck the edge of Nick’s notebook back in with the others. I know Eric’s been reading them, which I really don’t mind, but it’s funny that he tries to hide it. Especially since he never puts them back in exactly the right position. We still haven’t talked about any of it. I don’t think I’m ready to yet, and Eric respects that enough to leave it alone.

  Turning to exit the room, I think better of it, and sit down instead. Disturbing the now tidy stack, I pull out the last notebook. Not for the first time, I wonder why he chose to write these on paper instead of logging them on his sensor? They could have so easily been damaged or lost and all of this would have been lost on me.

  Brushing my hand along the smooth surface of the book, I wonder—would it have been better that way? Am I glad to know any of this? Would it have been easier to keep my current view of Shari and my family? Would I take it back if I could?

  So many questions, I think, tapping the book on my leg. I haven’t had the courage to open these last pages. Mostly because I don’t know if I can handle it’s contents, but also—if I’m honest—because I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to know that I’ve seen all there is left of Nick. That there’s nothing more just waiting to be discovered. As long as this book remains closed, I can convince myself that he’s just gone for a time, waiting until I’m ready to come visit again.

  I stare at the cover for a long time. And then, timidly, open to the first page.

  Slowly, I walk back into the kitchen, my eyes filled with tears, and the notebook hanging from my hand. I jump when I see Eric seated at the table, clipping his nails.

  “Gross,” I comment, wiping my nose. “We have a porch for that.”

  Eric lifts an eyebrow and glances at the notebook in my hand. “I wondered when you were going to get to that one,” he says smiling, continuing on to the next finger.

  “You’ve read it?” I ask softly.

  He nods.

  “Eric—”

  “I’ll call Shari. We can start preparations in the morning,” he says, scooping his cut nails into his palm and moving toward the compost bin.

  I stare after him. “That’s all you need? Me, standing here—a complete mess—and suddenly you’re ready to leave our home, move our kids into the complete unknown. Into a system that is likely in turmoil, where we won’t know what to expect for years?”

  Eric smiles broadly, his eyes twinkling with excitement. Moving close, he tenderly kisses my cheek, then places his hands on my shoulders.

  “That’s all I’ll ever need, Kate.” Giving a gentle squeeze, he turns and walks toward the door, happy, playful voices wafting in as he pushes it open and steps into the yard.

  Epilogue

  Our life isn’t perfect. In fact, it’s far from it. There is still so much progress to be made, and sometimes it’s all quite overwhelming. Especially when I feel like there’s so little that I can actually do to catalyze change. Our society is so big and convoluted at this point, that even the smallest shifts take an incredible amount of work and patience. Knowing enough about myself now, deep down I recognize that I wouldn’t be satisfied with my own apathy. But, in my darkest moments—when I want to give up and run back to that shelter in the woods—I reflect on Nick’s words and remind myself that I make a difference. One person makes a difference.

  I’ve come to believe that every community needs caretakers. People who have a larger perspective, who see something that others are oblivious to. Maybe it’s life experience, perhaps it’s a struggle that is unique to them, but however that wisdom comes, it’s their responsibility to lead those who haven’t had the opportunity to find it. Without guides like these, it’s just expected that we will eventually fall back into what’s easy and comfortable. And ‘easy and comfortable’ don’t ever lead to progress or growth. I don’t know that I necessarily qualify as wise, but I am more confident now that my struggles have built something I can offer. And if I’m not offering, then what’s the point, really?

  I have to take care of this imperfect, precarious system that we’ve built. Limits need to be set, and I need to be there to guide that discussion. Our trajectory desperately needs to be corrected, and I need to be there to point it in the right direction.

  Despite our shortcomings in recent years, we have overcome impossible odds and built a society that has experienced peace. If we who truly see can’t bring ourselves to fight to protect that, then who will?

  Free Sample

  Every night of her life is erased. But this time, her amnesia could have fatal consequences.

  ‘I Can’t Remember’ is a heart-wrenching standalone mystery novel. If you like complex characters, strong family bonds, and gripping suspense, then you’ll love Cindy Gunderson’s thrilling page-turner.

  Afterword

  I know, I know, you understand the drill by now. But leaving a review on Amazon or Goodreads is super important for new books…and they also give me the warm fuzzies! I read every single one that comes through!

  Are you missing the Tier world already? It was difficult for me to say goodbye, as well. But I’m super excited for you to discover my new stories and the lives of fresh characters that I am creating.

  I’d love to keep in touch with you. I invite you to connect with me on Instagram, Facebook, or my Amazon Author Page. To be the first to receive new content and special offers, subscribe to my Reader’s Club!

  About the Author

  Cindy is first and foremost mother to her four beautiful children and wife to her charming and handsome husband, Scott. She is a musician, a homeschooler, a gardener, an athlete, a lover of Canadian chocolate, and most recently, a writer.

  Cindy grew up in Airdrie, AB, Canada, but has lived most of he
r adult life between California and Colorado. She currently resides in the Denver metro area. Cindy graduated from Brigham Young University with a B.S. in Psychology, minoring in Business. She serves actively within her church and community and is always up for a new adventure.

  Also by Cindy Gunderson