Cold Summer

by Gwen Cole

  My heart finally slows.

  Hiding in the bathtub and staring at the glass is something I do as a last resort. Only when nothing else can take my mind off leaving this place and going somewhere else. It’s a safe place. The tub hides me and keeps me from leaving. Something solid to trap me here.

  My eyes are closing when the stairs creak down the hall.

  I don’t even care enough to open them.

  “Kale?”

  I wake to find Harper standing over me and I flinch in surprise. I glance over the side of the tub to see the door open behind her. My heart won’t stop hammering, but I can talk. “How did you get in here?”

  She holds up a small screwdriver, offering a smile. “Did you forget Libby used to lock herself in here when she didn’t want anything to do with us?”

  “Right.” I push myself up a little straighter, very conscious that I don’t have a shirt on. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see you.” Harper sighs and puts the screwdriver on the sink. She kneels down next to the tub.

  There’s a thin strand of hair hanging down in her face. At any other time, I would want to fix it, but not now. Right now, I want to stare at her because I’m realizing we aren’t ten anymore.

  “So you broke into my house because you wanted to see me?” I ask, my voice sounding too loud in this empty room.

  “Yup, true story.” Then she finally asks, her eyebrows coming together, “What are you doing in the bathtub?”

  “Taking a nap,” I half lie.

  She rests her chin on the lip of the tub. I can’t remember if we’ve ever been this close.

  And I can’t pretend nothing is wrong. Even when I wish it.

  “You’re leaving again soon, aren’t you?” Her eyes search me.

  I nod.

  “And you’ll be back?” This time it’s her turn to attempt a smile. It’s like this house sucks the happiness from everything, even her. “I promised, didn’t I?”

  “And I promised I would never ask.” She looks away and brushes some hair away from her face. “Is it bad that I’m regretting it?”

  “Harper—”

  “It’s okay. A promise is a promise.”

  “I want to tell you, I do. I just—” I pause and start over, saying exactly what I mean. “It’s like you think you know someone, and the moment you find out the truth about them, everything is suddenly different. And no matter what you do, you can’t take it back.”

  “But I don’t know you,” she says. “Not anymore.”

  She’s right. She doesn’t.

  Harper’s eyes travel down, staring at my chest. Where my dog tags lay over my heart.

  I can do this.

  I can tell her.

  When she first moved back, I wasn’t so sure.

  I was with Miles at the baseball field, where we normally meet at least once a week.

  “You need to tell her,” Miles had said.

  I dug my toe into the dirt, pretending I didn’t hear him. Inside my glove, my hand was damp with sweat, and my arms and legs ached after throwing for so long. I looked up at Miles, crouched over home plate, his catcher’s glove ready.

  I lifted my leg, cocked my arm back, and followed through. The ball thunked when it hit Miles’s glove and he winced. It used to be his dad’s—it’s old and worn, not in prime condition to be catching pitches for an hour straight.

  He stood but hesitated tossing the ball back. “You’re going to throw your arm out if you keep going.”

  “Just give me the ball.”

  “Kale—”

  “Just a few more,” I promised.

  He threw and I gloved the ball to shake out my shoulder. Miles gave me a look. “What?” I asked.

  “You know what,” he said.

  “It’s just a couple more.”

  “I’m not talking about the pitches.”

  I knew he wasn’t. I threw again, but again, Miles kept the ball. “I’m serious. You need to tell her.”

  “Why do you even care so much?”

  His shoulders slumped and he gave a blank look. “That’s it, I’m done.” He took off his glove and walked toward the bleachers.

  “Miles,” I said. He didn’t respond. “Miles!”

  If I had the ball, I would’ve thrown it at him. He could be as stubborn as Libby sometimes. He climbed the bleachers and sat down at the top, taking a drink from his water bottle. Blatantly ignoring me.

  I probably deserved it.

  I slipped my glove off and started across the field. The late sun was bright and hot, not at all helping me cool down. I joined him on the bleachers and sat next to him, staring out across the empty field and then the school a little ways off, the football field in between.

  “How long have you known me?” Miles asks.

  “I don’t know, three years?”

  “Three years,” he agreed. “And how long have you known Harper?”

  “What does that have to do—”

  “Just answer the damn question,” he said.

  “Like … forever. Since we were eight.”

  When he finally looked at me, there wasn’t a trace of humor. “Then why haven’t you told her yet?”

  I finally admitted, “Because I’m afraid it’ll ruin things between us.”

  “But if you don’t tell her, it will,” he said. “It’s a risk you’re going to have to take.”

  I hated it, but he was right.

  But now that the moment is here, it’s so much harder than I thought it would be. I planned this conversation a dozen times, and yet I don’t know what to do or what to say.

  Why does talking to a girl seem harder than being shot at? And how is it fair that I know from experience?

  When she reaches her hand into the tub, I can’t move. My chest rises and falls, and when her fingers wrap around my dog tags, I only watch her eyes. The light reflecting in from the other side of the glass makes them even bluer.

  “Where did you get these?” I can see her eyes read my name and the numbers below it.

  “They’re mine,” I reply.

  I know her mind is racing to find an explanation. And I also know she’ll never come up with the right answer. Because according to everything she has ever known, it’s impossible.

  Telling Uncle Jasper and Libby—heck, or even Miles—was never this hard. Never this important.

  “But where did you get them made? They look so real.” The cold metal touches my skin again and she takes her hand away, keeping it on the lip of the tub.

  Then I say, “They are real.”

  “How can they be real?” she asks, hinting it’s a joke. “You obviously aren’t in the Army, and they don’t even make them like that anymore.”

  I look down and say, “Not since World War II.”

  A clock ticks somewhere in the house. Counting the seconds while she stares.

  It’s quiet enough for me to almost believe we’re the only two people for miles around. And even though Harper could be anywhere right now, she chose to come here.

  After everything we’ve been through, she deserves to know the truth. Miles was right—I need to tell her. Some things are worth the risk.

  “You know how some things seem impossible?” I ask, then swallow my nerves. “Like everything the world tells you is fake?” I draw my legs up and run a finger across the hole in my jeans, right over my knee. I say, “Some things aren’t. Some things are real.”

  When I find the courage, I lift my eyes. Harper stares. She can’t be more than a foot away. It would be easy for me to close the distance. To do something my heart is telling me to.

  But before I can say another word or take another breath, a door slams outside. The air breaks around us, shattering something that was barely there, bringing me back to reality. I quickly pull myself from the tub and go back to my room to grab a T-shirt from the laundry basket. I slip it on while trying to find my shoes. Harper sees them in the corner and tosses them at me.

  I mu
tter my thanks.

  As soon as I have them on, we go downstairs, where Dad is taking off his shoes. He doesn’t look too stressed today and that’s a good sign. He starts to say something to me but then catches sight of Harper.

  “Hey, Harper! Feels like I haven’t seen you in years.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a few.”

  He looks between us and his eyes settle on me, probably surprised I’m still around. “You guys going somewhere?”

  “I was just gonna drive Harper home, maybe see if Uncle Jasper has any work for me.”

  His cell phone rings then and he gives me an encouraging smile as he picks it up and walks into the kitchen. That’s the most positive reaction I’ve had from him in a long time.

  “Come on.” We go out to my car and get inside.

  “You don’t have to drive me home, you know.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  Then Harper grins like she’s remembering something. “Isn’t that demolition derby today? The one Miles is in?”

  “That’s today?” I’m so bad at keeping track of the days. “Why didn’t he say something last night?” I ask, but more to myself. Then I know. “It was friend test.”

  “A friend test?”

  “Yeah, to see if you’re actually listening or not. He’ll only tell me things once, so it really keeps me on my toes. Good thing you remembered.”

  Harper shrugs. “You wanna go?”

  I answer by starting the car.

  16.

  Harper

  When I walked into Kale’s house, it was like walking into a place I’d never been. For a house that used to hold a family of five, it was so, so quiet. And then there was Kale, lying in the bathtub behind a locked door and holding tight to his secrets.

  I still can’t stop thinking about what he told me. About some things not being as impossible as they seem.

  I take a quick glance at Kale sitting next to me on the mostly empty bleachers but thinking of something else—not entirely here. The group Miles is in comes on next so we have another ten minutes or so. It’s the most run down and pathetic place I’ve ever seen. The arena is all dirt and the bleachers will be dusty until it rains again. It’s the type of place only Miles could find.

  I can’t get the image of Kale in the bathtub out of my head. There’s nothing comforting about it.

  Not even the fact he didn’t have a shirt on—

  “Did you sleep well last night?” he asks. “I know that diner food can settle weird.”

  I flinch from being dragged from my thoughts. “What? Sleep?” I shake my head and stare at the cars in the arena trying to hit each other, trying to clear my thoughts. “Yeah, it was fine.”

  There’s a pause. “What were you just thinking about?”

  “I wasn’t thinking about anything.”

  Definitely not your naked torso.

  But it’s like he doesn’t have enough energy to argue the point. He answers, “Okay,” and that’s it.

  A pink bus smashes into a beat-up limo, and the guy behind the wheel lets out a war cry that makes the crowd cheer.

  But Kale doesn’t laugh or appear to have seen it at all. Something is bothering him again—the same thing that creeps up on him from time to time, taking him further away from me and further away from everything around him.

  Damn it, Kale, just tell me. But I won’t ask.

  “Kale?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay?”

  He gives me an uncertain smile, one that barely touches his lips. “I don’t know.”

  I swallow, finding my mouth dry. “What’s up with you and your dad? We ran out of there pretty fast. I know things are different now, with your mom gone and all, but—” I leave it hanging.

  Kale hesitates, trying to hide the surprise when I asked. “In what way?”

  I feel like I’ve said something wrong, and my heart kicks the inside of my chest with the mistake, unable to take it back. “It’s nothing.” I shake my head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Kale really looks at me now, taking his eyes off the derby. “Harper, I’m serious.” A quick sigh escapes and he looks down briefly, as if to gather his words. “I don’t want it to be like this between us. I don’t want to be like this. I want to know what you’re thinking and what’s going through your mind, especially if it has something to do with me.” There’s a loud crash and more cheering. He continues, “I don’t want to keep secrets from you. Anybody but you.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “I want to.” Kale’s eyes are glossy before he looks down, so I won’t see what he’s so desperately trying to hide. “But I don’t know how.”

  “Start with your dad. What’s going on between you guys? And what has Bryce been up to? I’ve barely seen him.”

  I get a smile for that. “Bryce is still around, but he spends more time with his friends than at home. And Dad—” he shrugs “—we’re just not close anymore. He works all the time, and when he does come home, he’s only reminded how much of a screw-up I am. It’s been hard between us.”

  “I’m sure that’s not what he thinks.” But it reminds me of Mom, and I know how much that hurts. To not be seen, or be seen and not be wanted.

  “No, it is,” Kale replies, nodding. “I see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. That defeat—like he’s given up trying to fix me.”

  “You don’t need fixing.”

  “But I do. I would give anything to be different. To be normal.”

  I try to smile, wanting to make him feel better, even when I really don’t know what to say. “Sometimes parents only see the faults in their kids, because they blame themselves for the way they turn out. They don’t give themselves a chance to see the good. At least, that’s what I like to believe.”

  “I don’t think I have anything good in me, even if he does try to see it.”

  “And that’s the mistake he makes—not seeing you.” Mom keeps flashes into my thoughts, haunting me even when I’m trying to forget her. “I wish Libby was here.”

  Kale nods. “Me too.”

  “Her and her short, simple answers are kind of annoying but refreshing.”

  A brief smile appears. “Libby and her everlasting wisdom.”

  The round is over now, with the pink bus being the winner. It takes them a while to clear the arena, and Grace joins us before it’s about to start.

  “You guys made it!” she says, sitting next to me. “I love your shirt.”

  I look down, not remembering what I put on today. It’s my Battlefield shirt. “Oh, thanks. Do you play?”

  She nods. “I love that game. It’s so hard to find other people who play it.”

  “It totally is!” I can’t help but grin. “You should come over and play sometime.”

  Kale says, “You don’t want to play with Harper; she wins at everything.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m okay with coming in last.”

  At last, the cars come into the arena and do a show of circling around it. Grace points out Miles to us. His car is an old Nissan Maxima painted four different colors from old body parts he’s had to replace. There’s a spray painted #9 on the doors and a pirate flag flying out the missing rear window. All the cars take their places around the arena, facing the middle.

  Miles spots us and lifts a fist out the window. Kale stands and returns it.

  It starts with a plume of dust as all the cars speed off. Within minutes, cars are already limping out of the stadium but Miles is still going. He has a weird strategy of driving backward, but it seems to be working. Another car tries to take him head on, but ends up on its side, and before we know it, Miles is the only one left driving, doing donuts for the cheering crowd.

  I can’t help but laugh when he stops, climbs on top of his car, and waves his pirate flag covered in dust. Kale laughs, too, and it makes me forget just for a minute that anything is wrong.

  17.

  Kale

  I drive home s
lowly after dropping off Harper.

  A funeral procession for the living.

  It’s not often that Dad gets off work early, but the days he does are the ones I dread most. When I’m home doing nothing, he tells me to do something, reminding me over and over how I don’t have a job.

  Who knows when Bryce will be home. I feel better when he’s here, even though it makes no difference. Bryce is no replacement for Libby, but he’s better than no one. If Libby were here, it would be different. It would be better. Libby makes Dad happy in ways I never could—she makes us both happier.

  I pull up to the house and park under the tree, my thoughts not letting go of Harper and the way her hand brushed mine as we sat on the bleachers.

  I need to tell her.

  I should’ve done it today, but then my chance was gone.

  Small bumps along my arms brush against the inside of my sweatshirt, triggering another shiver before I get out of the car.

  It has to be nearly eighty-five degrees, and yet I’m freezing.

  I open the screen door.

  Squeaking. Slamming shut.

  The shower is on upstairs. From where I stand, hesitating to walk deeper into the house, I can see the stack of dishes in the sink. An old cup of coffee on the table and yesterday’s newspaper on the couch.

  The phone rings on the hallway table. Again. And again.

  I step away from the door and silence it.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, you.” It’s Libby. For a moment, hearing her voice while standing in this house, I forget she isn’t here. It makes me wish she was even more. I feel less cold, making me forget about everything wrong with me.

  “Hey.” I press my back against the wall and slowly slide down to the floor, staying there with my knees drawn up to my chest. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”

  She laughs. “That’s what you say every time. I did try to call yesterday, though, but Dad said you weren’t there. I thought maybe … well, you know. I wanted to try again just in case.”