Page 9 of Made for You

“I think what the sheriff means,” says Adams, “is that unfortunately, ma’am, during these kinds of cases in which spouses are involved, we—”

“Start the car, Adams,” interrupts Mitchell.

Adams flushes. For a second, he looks like he’s going to say something, then he nods at his superior, mutters “ma’am,” and walks out.

The sheriff stands slowly, all height and hubris, stretching out his back, just like last time he was here. Taking his time, like some twisted show of power. Each second alone with him feels like torture. He rolls his right shoulder, then his left.

“So the search party is today?” I say, finally caving to the pressure of his silence.

“That’s right. Neighbors are meeting at the crash site this afternoon. Will we see you there?”

I look at Annaleigh, then back at him. Belmont Ridge is two hours away. “I...don’t know if I can. The baby...”

He gives me a knowing smile, like I’ve just checked a box. “No one expected you to.”

“I want my husband back,” I say. The words come out too passionate, like it’s an act, even though I’m feeling it so strongly.

With a ghost of a smile on his lips, Mitchell turns and walks out of the kitchen.

“Is that it?” I challenge, walking after him, leaving Annaleigh in her high chair.

“For now.” At the front door, he faces me. His voice is matter-of-fact. “You want to know what I think?”

I’m too choked with rage to grace him with an answer.

He doffs his hat. “I think you killed him.”

There’s a shriek from the kitchen. “Ba-ba! Ma-ma-ma!”

He grins. “Cute baby.”

THEN

The girls leave the limo one by one. It’s impossible to see what’s going on out there from this side of the glass. It’s gotten quiet in here. One girl appears to be meditating; another quietly hyperventilates. I do my best to ignore Texas, whose eyes are trained on me like guns.

Can she tell I’m a Synth just by looking? Will Josh be able to tell? Is there some imperfection that makes me seem...not human? That will make me harder to love?

Impossible to love?

I dig my thumbnail into the skin on my inner wrist and watch the half-moon shape appear, then fade. I dig it in again, let it fade. I think it looks like normal skin. I think I feel normal amounts of pain. But how could I possibly be sure?

Stay focused, I tell myself. You were designed to complete Josh. That’s all that matters.

Texas, as luck would have it, is the next-to-last girl to leave the limo. I brace for a final, cutting remark from her, but the second the car door opens, her energy changes and she’s a happy beam pointing toward Josh, like I no longer exist. The door slams behind her, and I’m alone.

In the silence, my breathing sounds shaky. What am I going to say to Josh? Hi, I’m Julia, a Synth! No. Hi, Josh! I’m a Synth named Julia—worse and worse. I don’t have to lead with that, right? Better if it’s spontaneous. Natural.

If I can call anything about myself natural.

I shift in my seat, noticing that my ankles are already blistering from the straps of my heels. Without thinking, I pick the tiny buckles open and slip the shoes off.

And then, the door is opening, the driver offering me his hand so that I can emerge gracefully. Which I botch immediately by stumbling out instead.

I straighten, trying to recover my dignity, hook the ankle straps of my shoes on my index finger, and...there is Josh.

I’m aware of multiple cameras positioned discreetly around us, but they’re not important.

“Hi,” I say, as everything fades around me except him.

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