Cold Summer

by Gwen Cole

  He rings me up and I hand him my cash, taking a penny out of the penny jar. Before I leave, I hesitate while he looks at me funny.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Then he understands and nods.

  The parking lot is still empty, and I sit in my car, the shadows hiding me like I’m doing something illegal. My fingers fumble with the packaging, but when I finally open it and stare down at the white sticks, I pause.

  This isn’t me.

  At least it shouldn’t be.

  I don’t smoke. I do smoke, just not here and not like this. Not in a convenient store parking lot.

  A car full of pounding bass pulls into the Phillips 66, and they take the spot right in front. Two doors open, letting the music into the night, and a pair of guys get out, leaving the rest of their friends inside. I know a few of them from school, and while I’m wondering if they’ll recognize me, the kid closest gives me the finger.

  I guess that answers my question.

  A few minutes later, they drive away again, their trunk hiding the beer until they get to whatever party is tonight.

  Tonight … as in the night I have “plans” with Harper.

  “Shit.” I climb out of the car and go to the payphone, dialing numbers and realizing the cigarettes are still in my hand.

  I talk the moment he picks up. “It’s me. What are you doing in an hour?”

  “Hello to you, too.” There’s music in the background, and Grace asking who he’s talking to. “The lady and I are on our way to the movies. You know, like all the cool kids do.”

  “Do you want to meet us at the diner instead?”

  “Us?”

  “Me and Harper.”

  The music turns off and he asks. “Hold on, you and Harper? Is this a thing now, are you guys a thing?”

  I sigh. “No, she just wants to hang out. It was either this or go to Conner’s stupid party.”

  “Ew,” he says, “Yeah, we can meet you there. Six?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool.”

  Once I put the phone back, I already feel better. It won’t be just the two of us, and Miles doesn’t believe in awkward situations. Oddly enough, I’m looking forward to it.

  I stash the unsmoked cigarettes in the glove compartment, replacing the money I used to pay for them. Instead of smoking, I’m gonna go see about a girl.

  14.

  Harper

  Kale takes us to this diner about fifteen minutes away on the corner of two roads that have barely any traffic. The sign saying they’re open 24/7 flickers, warning anyone who cares enough that it’s about to die. But inside, it’s clean and bright. The booths are blue with silver specks, and the wooden tabletops are worn down with use. There’s a couple eating at the bar, but there’s nobody else but the waitress in the back talking to the cook.

  “They’ll probably be here soon,” Kale says. “Come on.”

  He picks the booth in the corner and slides toward the back, his eyes glancing at the front door.

  “You could’ve said no, you know,” I say. He looks at me, questioning. “To hanging out with me. I just thought—”

  “I would never say no. Why do you say that?”

  I shrug and pull a menu from the middle of the table for something to do. “I don’t know … everything just seems weird right now.”

  So weird.

  Kale sits for a couple moments, and I wish I knew what he was thinking. Then he says, “It’s been six years, Harp. Of course it’s gonna feel weird, but it won’t forever. I promise.”

  I take my eyes off the menu to look at him. “You always keep your promises.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Has it really been six years?”

  He laughs and leans back, looking tired. “It really has. The last time I saw you, we were twelve, I think.”

  But then his smile goes away, thinking about that day and how we ended things with each other. Rather, how I ended things. The day before I left, we were sitting on Uncle Jasper’s porch, none of us in a really good mood because it was the end of summer. I told them I would come over in the morning to say goodbye. But I hated goodbyes and I didn’t want to think about not knowing when I would see them again—Mom barely let me go that year with Aunt Holly getting sicker.

  So I never said goodbye. The last time I saw Kale was when he and Libby walked toward the woods to head home. He turned and waved, like he knew he wouldn’t see me again—

  “Heeeeey!” I look up to see Miles coming toward us with his arms stretched wide, a grin on his face. “Fancy seeing you guys here.”

  He and Grace join us in the booth, and the waitress comes over, side-eying Miles. “You aren’t gonna order everything on the menu again, are you?” she asks him, pointing a pen at him. “We don’t have the staff tonight.”

  Miles gives her a smile. “I’ll spare you tonight.”

  “Good, what’ll it be?” She looks at me and I glance down at the menu, not sure.

  Grace leans over the table and says, “The waffles are really good.”

  I nod and tell the waitress. “I’ll take a waffle, maybe one with strawberries on it?”

  She nods, looking at Kale next, who says, “Oh, I’m good, thanks.”

  Miles tells her, “He’ll have what I’m having, and it’s on me.” Kale tries to argue with him but it’s no good.

  The waitress continues like it’s normal. “The usual?”

  “You know it.”

  “The same for you, Grace?” the waitress asks, already putting her pen away.

  “Yes, please.”

  After she leaves, Kale gives Miles a look—and Miles pretends not to notice. Instead he asks me, “So you didn’t want to go to Conner’s party tonight?”

  I make a face. “Not particularly. Parties aren’t really my thing.”

  Miles leans forward. “So what is your thing?’

  “Mostly staying indoors and avoiding parties.” That gets a laugh from Miles and Grace.

  “Yeah, us too. We hang out with those people enough at school as it is.” Miles takes hold of the conversation, telling me about the few things to do around here, and the waitress brings us all water, and then our food comes shortly after that. Grace and I have waffles while the boys have burgers and fries. I sneak peeks at Kale when he laughs at something Miles says or when he does an impression of one his old teachers. Grace starts telling me about the volleyball team at school, and she actually makes it sound like fun.

  I’ve never really been into sports, but it’s always worth a shot, right? I can’t let my limbs go to waste playing video games for the rest of my life.

  Soon our plates are empty and the diner is more filled with people looking for dinner.

  “So me and Kale went to Adventureland over spring break last year,” Miles says and Kale just starts laughing. He continues. “The lines were horrible, as always, and we weren’t about to pay extra money for those express passes. Because screw that.”

  Grace interrupts, “And because your family are the cheapest people I know.”

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being frugal.” Then he nods and says to me, “But they really are.”

  Kale says, “I don’t know if frugal is the right word. They save and reuse plastic wrap.”

  “You don’t see me complaining when we go on awesome vacations.” Kale shrugs at that and Miles goes on, “So anyway, there was this really popular ride we wanted to go on, but the line was a two-hour wait.”

  “One hour of that being in the sun,” Kale adds.

  “So we decided to check out the gift shop first since it had AC, which was inside the building where the ride was and where everyone came out after. Then Kale noticed something. When the line went into the building, people had a chance to put their bags in lockers, which was also connected to the gift shop so they could pick them up after the ride. There wasn’t good lighting in there and it was so crowded. Then Kale says, ‘Let’s do it.’”

  “I’m pretty sure it was y
our idea.”

  Miles holds up his hand. “No, no, it was yours. And it was brilliant. So, we put our stuff in the lockers and rejoined the line through the other side. We didn’t look at the people waiting behind us, we just kept walking down the hallway while the people asked, “Where did those guys come from?”

  Grace shakes her head. “So you guys cut your wait time in half?”

  “That’s why it’s called cutting in line.” Miles puts an arm around her shoulders and says, “You’ll learn one day.”

  I smile and say, “You guys sure live on the edge. Cutting in lines at theme parks? That’s extreme.”

  “But it goes to show,” Miles says, holding up a finger, “Kale can have fun.”

  That triggers groans from half the table and I can’t hide my laugh, especially when Kale’s face gets a little red.

  Grace laughs and Miles gives her a look. The waitress comes and clears our plates and we take our leave.

  We all file out, and Miles and Grace wave goodbye as we go back to Kale’s car. He starts it up and pulls onto the empty road. It’s dark now, the headlights lighting up the lines as they disappear beneath the car. Along with the smell of rain and wind, I catch a scent of winter somewhere close. Then it’s gone before I can make sure I’m imagining it.

  It makes me think of Kale. And then I’m thinking about how I owe him an overdue apology.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. My words slice through the silence but don’t carry any farther than if I’d whispered. “I didn’t say goodbye, and I’m sorry.”

  Kale glances at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “The last summer I was here. I promised I would come say goodbye, but I didn’t.”

  “Wait, what?” he asks. “You didn’t come say goodbye?”

  Now I’m totally confused. “No, I thought that’s why you hadn’t spoken to me since then.”

  Then something dawns on his face and he says, “Oh, so you never knew.” He leans closer to me like he’s about to tell me a secret, keeping one hand on the wheel. “Harper, I wasn’t even there. I thought you were mad at me.”

  “So we both thought the other person was mad over nothing?” Then I start laughing and ask, “Why didn’t Libby ever say anything? I called her the day after, and she let me go on thinking you were as mad as she was.”

  “Because it’s Libby and she likes to keep a certain dramatic flair. It’s my fault, though. I should’ve called you.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” I say. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Kale smiles at that. “And I’m glad you are. Things have been less than exciting around here, as Miles already hinted at. Can I ask you about something, though?”

  “Of course.” But then I regret it when his smile falls away, warning me of what he’s about to ask.

  “What happened between you and your mom?” Kale must see me slip, and he hurries to say, “Look, we don’t have to talk about—”

  “—No, it’s fine, really.” Even though it’s not, but it should be. “We’re friends and I should tell my friends what’s going on. My mom and I—we’ve just been drifting apart these last few years. She became so absorbed in her job that we barely ever saw each other. Then a month ago, the company she works for offered her a job in Germany. We got in a big fight about it because she didn’t even tell me until she already accepted it. When she told me, ‘I’m going with or without you,’ that’s when I knew I had to get away. It’s not supposed to be like that, you know?”

  My eyes are moist, holding in the tears I won’t let out. I will not be crying in front of Kale tonight. The summer we were ten, I fell out of a tree and broke my arm. It was Kale and me that day, and he rushed down because he saw the look on my face. He asked if I was hurt and I told him, “I don’t know.”

  I wanted to cry so bad. And I did, but not until later that night after Aunt Holly took me to the ER and she helped me in bed. She said I didn’t have to act so tough anymore, and then I cried on her shoulder until I was tired enough to sleep.

  I try to think about anything to take my mind off Mom, but she’s lurking there, making me doubt everything. Kale is still quiet, so I turn and ask, “Do you think I made the right choice coming here?”

  “Like Uncle Jasper says, ‘You don’t make mistakes, you make decisions.’”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Yeah. I do.” He flashes me real a smile, his face lit up by the dashboard.

  Kale has changed in so many ways that I barely think I know him. He isn’t a boy anymore. There are things that made him grow up—things I don’t know and don’t understand. Things I wish I knew.

  He reaches up and fingers something hanging around his neck, and when the light from the dashboard shines on it, I recognize the dog tags I saw him wearing down at the river. He must keep them hidden under his T-shirt, because I haven’t seen them again until now.

  “I’ve missed that,” I tell him.

  “Missed what?”

  “Your smile.”

  He keeps looking between me and the road. I laugh once and say, “Just watch the road, Jackson.”

  15.

  Kale

  Jackson.

  That’s what she used to call me when we were kids. I’m still thinking about it as I drive home to an empty house and climb into bed a lot earlier than I usually do. The ceiling stares down at me. My body is tired, but my mind won’t shut off, thoughts flickering between Harper and a white forest at night. I settle on Harper and feel sleep coming.

  It was nice hanging out with her tonight. When I could, I watched her at the diner while Miles and Grace peppered her with questions. I could’ve stayed there for hours. Being with friends and not worrying about tomorrow.

  But now I’m back in the forest again, my feet frozen and stuck to the ground. The moon makes the shadows of the trees inch closer. I try to move but can’t.

  Then the shadows turn into soldiers. They shout when they see me.

  There’s a rifle in my hands but it’s heavy. Too heavy. I bring it up to my shoulder as someone walks past, toward the waiting enemy with no weapon of his own. I shout a warning but no words come out. I yell as loud as I can, but he doesn’t hear.

  Why doesn’t he have a gun?

  I look down the rifle’s sights, aiming at the closest soldier. They have their guns up now, all ready to shoot at the same time. But the trigger won’t pull. It’s as stuck as the ground is to my feet. I’m shouting again, trying to get my gun to shoot.

  Nothing works.

  I can’t stop them.

  Someone shouts an order in German and the night is filled with gunshots.

  I bolt upright in bed, my breathing trying to catch up with my lungs. My sheets are wet with blood. No, not blood. Just sweat.

  It was just a dream. I repeat it over and over in my head, but it doesn’t make it any better.

  There’s a knock on my door and then it cracks open.

  “Kale?” It’s Bryce. He steps in the room, wearing only shorts. “Are you okay?”

  My hands are shaking and I rub them down my face, expecting to find blood, but there’s nothing. “Just a dream,” I tell him.

  He steps closer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  With a shake of my head I say, “No, I’m fine now.”

  Bryce turns away too soon and shuts the door behind him, the floorboards creaking as he walks back to his room. I wish he didn’t give in so easily. I think about the cigarettes hidden in the glove compartment of my car. How much better I would feel if I smoked just one. It would be easy to get out of bed, go downstairs, and smoke on the other side of my car in case someone looks out the window.

  No matter how strong the urge is, I don’t move.

  I am not that person—sneaking around in the night, smoking cigarettes.

  I’m shaking less now, so I lay down and pull the blankets over me to ward out the cold. I manage to sleep for about two hours before I can’t bear to lie there any longer.
r />   Around seven o’clock, I hear Dad leave for work. Slamming the door behind him. His truck rumbling down the driveway.

  I sit on the edge of my bed, only wearing yesterday’s jeans. There’s a faded mark over my ribs now. It’ll be gone by tomorrow. But today it’s still a reminder of what happened to Adams and the dreams I have at night.

  My stomach turns wrong and I sprint down the hall to the bathroom, locking the door before kneeling down in front of the toilet to let it out. My head spins and my mouth tastes of vomit. Food from the diner doesn’t taste nearly as good coming up as it does going down. I spit whatever is left in my mouth and flush. But I don’t have the strength to get up. I don’t think I have the strength to do anything.

  I lie down and press my face against the cold tile, my bare chest already becoming numb. Not bothering to move from my place on the floor, I reach into the bottom drawer of the vanity to find Libby’s dwindling supply of breath mints.

  As the mint slowly disappears on my tongue, I trace the gray grout with my finger.

  Bryce’s footsteps echo up the stairs.

  I don’t move. Stare at the door. Glad it’s locked. Don’t want to see anyone. I could almost fall asleep here. Where I know I’m safe and anchored to the floor with exhaustion.

  He knocks.

  “Kale?” I don’t answer. “Harper is here to see you. She’s outside.”

  My eyes were half closed a second earlier. Now I lift my head from the tile. “What?”

  “Harper,” he says again. “Look, I’m already late meeting up with the guys. Do you want me to tell her to wait?”

  Last night feels like a lifetime ago.

  “No.” I clear my throat to make sure he hears me. “Just tell her I’m asleep.”

  She can’t see me like this. Broken and lying on the floor, torn between the two worlds I live in. And I don’t have the energy to make myself presentable or pretend nothing is wrong.

  “Are you sure?” His voice is closer to the door now. I can imagine him out there—keys in hand but one foot pointed toward the stairs because he’s already made up his mind to leave.

  “Just tell her to go,” I say.

  Bryce sighs before going back downstairs. After he shuts the front door and I’m sure he left, I lift myself off the floor and crawl into the bathtub. The entire bathroom wall parallel to it is made from glass blocks, lighting the bathroom in a way so the light never has to be turned on in the daytime. It makes everything quiet and still.