Cold Summer

by Gwen Cole

  I can’t even think about this house without thinking about her. She’s been creeping into my thoughts more and more. Ever since seeing her that first day, and even more after the river. I hope I didn’t screw it up between us.

  “Do you want to see this or not?” Uncle Jasper says behind me.

  I tear my eyes off the house and follow him over to the barn. The lawn mower sits on the side, overgrown grass climbing its wheels.

  I’ve spent countless nights in here helping Uncle Jasper fix whatever needs to be fixed. Jobs that needed extra hours of work or just small projects of his own.

  They’re memories of black stained fingers, empty Mountain Dew cans, and horrible radio stations.

  Uncle Jasper pushes the big door open, and at first I don’t know what I’m looking at. My mind is elsewhere. With the cold nights. My dad, whom I’ll have to face by the end of today. Harper. My car I’ll never see again.

  But now I realize my car is right here in front of me. In Uncle Jasper’s barn. With its dented bumper and nonexistent paint job.

  I can’t stop staring, afraid it’ll disappear like everything else good.

  It takes me a moment to put the pieces together.

  “You shouldn’t have done this.” I can’t see him, but I know he’s behind me. “You know I can’t pay for it.”

  He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. “I’m not asking you to, Kale. You do enough work for me as it is. I owe this to you.”

  I turn away from the barn, shaking my head. “You don’t owe me anything. You’ve already done enough as it is. I don’t know how many times I’ve told you this.”

  “And what did I tell you?” he asks.

  I shift my weight and look down at my shoes. “You told me you do it because you want to.”

  I can’t meet his eyes.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  I hesitate. “I hate owing you more than I can give.” I cut him off before he can say what I know he’s thinking. “And don’t say, ‘You don’t owe me anything,’ because you can’t possibly believe that’s true. You do more than anybody ever has.”

  “I think we’ve had this conversation before,” he says.

  We have.

  Probably more than once.

  Maybe five or six years ago, Uncle Jasper found me walking home one night, all the way from that old house in the field. I’d been walking that stretch of road since I was seven. But something about him made me tell him everything.

  And for once, someone actually believed me. Now, him, Libby, Bryce, and Miles are the only people who know the truth. Aunt Holly used to, but …

  “I can’t take this,” I say. “It’s too much.”

  He takes my hand and presses something into my palm. It’s my keys.

  “You’re going to.”

  I can’t argue with him.

  He doesn’t give me that look very often, but when he does, I know it’s best to keep my mouth shut.

  Something catches my eye over his shoulder. It’s Harper coming out of the house and down the steps. She’s wearing an old pair of ripped jeans and a T-shirt with some other gaming logo on it.

  Uncle Jasper is talking, but I don’t hear him. I think the Royals are mentioned again, so I’m sure it isn’t important.

  The breeze pushes her hair over her shoulder and she smiles at seeing me. I follow her legs all the way down to her unlaced Chuck Taylors.

  The cold has all but left me.

  I don’t know if it’s because I’m in a good mood right now, but it feels like I’m just now noticing her today. The last two times I talked to her, I wasn’t myself. Which happens a lot these days. Being around Harper has made that even more obvious.

  I probably acted like an ass, and I can’t do that again.

  I have to fix things between us before they get any worse.

  She’s almost here.

  “Kale.” Uncle Jasper’s voice seems far away.

  I finally look away. “What?” I ask him.

  Uncle Jasper stares a moment. “Never mind.” He sighs. “I don’t feel like repeating myself today.”

  I nod, too distracted. “Hey, Harper.”

  “Hey, Kale. It’s good to have you back.”

  Before I can respond, Uncle Jasper asks her, “Did you figure out what you want for dinner yet?”

  “I think I’ll look through Aunt Holly’s recipes to see if I can find something. I kind of feel like cooking.”

  “Sounds good,” he says, then turning to me, “Do you want to stay for dinner, Kale?”

  “No, I should be getting back.”

  Uncle Jasper’s smile falters but he nods to hide it. “Maybe some other time then.”

  “Would it be okay if I kept my car here for tonight?”

  Dad gets mad enough as it is on my first day back. I don’t need more attention than I’ll already have.

  “Of course,” he says. “I’ve got something coming in sometime tomorrow afternoon, so make sure you get it before then. Hey, maybe I’ll even get a chance to fix that bumper of yours.”

  “Don’t get carried away, old man.”

  He laughs and walks back to the house.

  It’s only me and Harper, standing in grass that needs to be cut. That was Aunt Holly’s favorite hobby—mowing the lawn. She would do it every Saturday. Listening to seventies bands while driving back and forth across the yard.

  A comforting sound that could be heard through my open window if the wind was coming from the west.

  Nowadays, the grass grows until it tugs at my ankles. Uncle Jasper always puts it off as long as he can. Like he’ll wake up one morning and Aunt Holly will be out there mowing the grass because he let it grow.

  But now I look at Harper and my thoughts of Aunt Holly and her grass drift away. I have to remember not to say anything stupid. But thankfully, she talks before I can.

  “I promise I didn’t make any more dents in it driving it here,” she nods toward my car.

  A partial laugh escapes my lips. “Not like it would make a difference.”

  “That’s what I told Uncle Jasper,” she says.

  I feel myself smiling.

  Truly smiling for the first time in what seems like forever.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird lately,” I say. “Or said something I shouldn’t have.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Harper says, smiling again.

  “You have?”

  “Of course I have. I may not have seen you in a long time, but I haven’t forgotten anything.” Then she says, more careful, “You haven’t been yourself, Kale.”

  I remember the reasons I’ve become this way. Everything all at once—and none of it I want to think about.

  A muttered “yeah” comes from my mouth. I look toward the woods and back to my car, making sure it’s still there. “I should go.” I turn away, but she grabs my wrist. Stopping me. It’s the last thing I expect and my heart jumps from her touch.

  It reminds me of the river.

  “Kale, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” she says, letting my hand drop. A flash of embarrassment crosses her face, like she didn’t mean to touch me. “Sometimes my mouth says things I don’t want it to.”

  I answer, “But it’s the truth.” I back away toward the woods, reluctant to leave her, but already knowing I’m in trouble as it is. “I’ll see you later, Harper.”

  Every happy moment is taken away as quick as it comes.

  It’s like I’m not meant for this time I live in. Like my body keeps pulling me back to where I actually belong.

  But I want to belong here.

  I just don’t know how.

  12.

  Harper

  I walk down the road with the wind to my back. It pushes me along, farther away from the house and farther away from thoughts I would rather not have right now. Uncle Jasper isn’t home today, and it’s always too quiet being in the house without him. I always try to get some walking in before playing Xbox—it’s m
y reward for exercising, so when I turn back to go home, I walk faster knowing what waits for me there.

  But something else waits for me besides video games—better than video games. Uncle Jasper’s truck is still gone, but Kale’s car is parked in its place. He sits on the hood, one leg propped up on the bumper, staring off into the woods behind the house. He’s wearing a long-sleeved thermal shirt, a little frayed along the neckline.

  Hearing me, he turns, “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I stop next to his car, trying not to get too close in case I smell. “What are you doing here?”

  “Honestly … I wanted to see if you had any plans tonight.”

  I shrug apologetically, “I already have plans.”

  He wasn’t expecting that. “You do?”

  “Yeah, with you.”

  I give him a moment to be confused and then give him a smile.

  He visibly relaxes and lets out a breath. “Don’t do that. I thought I was experiencing memory loss or something.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. But come on, let’s do something. It’s been too long.”

  Kale’s hesitant but I know he wants to say yes. I would pick him over a party any day.

  “I could call Miles to see what they’re up to tonight?” he suggests.

  “That sounds great. Pick me up at six? Uncle Jasper said your cell phone doesn’t work anymore, so …”

  He’s two seconds too late with a response, hiding something again. “Yeah, just the house phone for me these days. But six sounds good. I’ll give Miles a call when I get home.”

  I nod and he starts to get into his car, but then he stops, looking back at me. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  It’s like he knew exactly what to say and what my heart needed to hear. “Me too.”

  And I really mean it.

  13.

  Kale

  When I first traveled back to 1944, I was surrounded by guys in uniforms with packs on their backs, looking like they were headed nowhere good. Then there was me, still wearing my T-shirt and jeans with a surprised expression on my face. I didn’t know where the hell I was.

  Then an officer spotted me and asked why I didn’t have my gear.

  “They were stolen,” were the first words out of my mouth.

  He just shook his head and muttered, “Damn replacements.”

  A couple guys nearby laughed, making jokes under their breath. I was just looking for a way out of there. But the officer wasn’t about to let me out of his sight and reminded me along the way of how stupid I was for letting my stuff be stolen.

  After that, telling lies became easier and easier. They didn’t have me in the books, but all they did was blame it on some guy who was in charge of the replacements. I was obviously an American and supposed to be there, so they had me fill out the missing paperwork, not thinking twice. Just in need of more soldiers.

  So I rolled with it, knowing I would be gone in a few days anyway.

  But then I kept coming back, and my dog tags stayed with me through each travel, almost telling me I’d be there for a while.

  Two weeks later, after missing most of the training I was supposed to have, I was shipped off to join the 104th infantry division. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I caught on fast and was already good with a gun. I listened hard and watched others around me. Lucky for me, the officers like to repeat themselves a lot.

  And even though I came here as a replacement, the guys soon forgot I was one.

  I think about the beginning a lot. Wondering if I started doing something different to make me go back to the same year, if somehow I was controlling it.

  Or maybe it’s just fate screwing with me.

  I drive home from Uncle Jasper’s wondering what we’ll talk about when I pick up Harper, and if it’ll be awkward between us.

  Again, for the hundredth time, I wish Libby was here. She would know what to say and make the night seem easy. Too soon the road ends, and the moment I pull into our driveway, I realize this will be the first time Dad will see I have my car back.

  I got it out of Uncle Jasper’s barn early this morning and drove until I realized I couldn’t pay for the gas it would take me to drive out of the state and back. So I sat in the parking lot of a restaurant that went out of business a few years ago. Just sitting. Not being at home. Trying to think of a different way to learn control that I haven’t tried already.

  Now I have a sick feeling in my stomach—worried he’ll take it away again.

  As I park in my place under the tree, a coldness sets in. I press my head against the steering wheel and try to be thankful he isn’t home yet. I don’t feel like dealing with him today.

  Go upstairs.

  Put cleaner clothes on.

  Hope he doesn’t come home between now and when I have to pick up Harper.

  When did my life come to this? Trying to steer clear of Dad because every time he looks at me, I see how disappointed he is.

  “Shit,” I mutter. I get out and slam the door shut.

  Bryce comes out of the house, his eyes darting between my car and the road.

  “Kale, what are you doing?” he asks. “How did you get it back? If Dad sees it, he’s going to freak.”

  I breeze past him. “Just leave me alone, Bryce. I get enough shit from him, and I don’t need it from you, too.”

  “You know I’m just trying to help,” he says, turning to follow me. “Do you think I like the way things are around here? Kale!”

  I ignore him and walk into the house, heading straight for the kitchen. I can’t remember if I ate lunch but I’m starving. Bryce follows inside, still talking like he gives a crap.

  “You can’t keep doing this.” He stands in the doorway and watches me stare into the almost empty fridge. “You’re only making it worse on yourself. You need to stop.”

  I slam the refrigerator shut and turn around. “Me?” I ask him. “I’m making it worse on myself? You know I’ve tried to tell him before—he never believed me. And it doesn’t help that you’ve stopped, too.”

  He visibly deflates. “You know that’s not true. But this is only something you can stop. I can’t help you if you don’t try.”

  “I’m not asking for your help,” I tell him.

  I want to scream and yell. Break something until there’s nothing left to be broken.

  Including myself.

  Is it possible to put myself back together again? To make me normal?

  I don’t know if there’s anything I want more.

  We stare at each other and hear Dad’s truck pull up to the house. Neither of us move. I know it’s too late to run and hide. He’s already seen my car.

  The truck door slams, followed by the screen door.

  Nothing is between us now.

  I stare at my brother, daring him to speak up. But he won’t. He’s worried Dad will think he’s lying, too. Bryce moves aside to let Dad into the kitchen, keeping his eyes on the floor.

  “Why is that car parked out there?” Dad asks. He glances from me to Bryce. My brother shrugs, still staring at his shoes. “Kale? Maybe you’d like to inform me why a car I sold two days ago is sitting in my driveway again.”

  “It’s …” My mouth is dry. I can’t think straight when he stares at me like that. “I got it back.”

  “With what money?”

  “I worked for it.”

  He looks between us again. Probably debating on punishing me for something.

  But not today.

  Today, I haven’t done anything wrong.

  With a look over his shoulder, Dad silently tells Bryce to leave.

  And he does. His retreating footsteps don’t even hesitate on the stairs.

  Dad steps closer and I so badly want this wall between us to go away. He looks over my shoulder and over to the stove. “Kale … I don’t want it to be like this between us”—me neither—“you know that. But the only way we can is if you tell me what’s going on. Please. You don’t talk to me anymore.”<
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  I almost tell him when I look up, but I don’t because I know it’ll just make things worse. He’ll think I’m lying again. He will think even less of me than he already does.

  So I don’t say anything.

  Dad sighs in defeat. “Just go upstairs.”

  He leaves the kitchen. The television sends muffled echoes from the living room.

  I sneak out the back door and I’m in my car before I realize where I’m going. The long roads give me too much time to think, so I don’t. Stretches of road go by I don’t remember driving, and my fingers tap on the gear shift, wanting to go faster but not wanting to get pulled over.

  The Phillips 66 sign comes up and I pull into the empty lot, parking in the farthest spot away from the door. Then I sit there. Fighting with myself to do this and not do this.

  I open the glove compartment and dig out a few dollar bills hidden inside.

  Then I gain enough courage to open my door. Once I do, I don’t stop, knowing I’ll lose my nerve and turn around. The sun is low in the sky now, and the evening already has a chill to it—though I’m not sure if it’s just me.

  Setting my shoulders, I open the door and the store clerk turns from where a television is mounted behind him. It’s the same person I’ve seen dozens of times but have never spoken to.

  Now I walk up to the counter and say with a less than shaky voice, “Can I get a pack of Newports?”

  “Do you have I.D.?”

  I nod and hand my wallet over, showing him my driver’s license. He looks at it—my birthday, which is a few months premature—and then looks at me. I wait for him to deny me them, because he has every right to. But this is why I chose to come here—he recognizes me and knows something isn’t right. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll let it go this once, because he sees I need them more than anything right now.

  “Blue or gold?” he asks, turning his body so I can see them.

  I don’t know the difference or the brand. It’s just the first thing I saw.

  So I say, “Blue.”