Cold Summer

by Gwen Cole

  “Yeah, I’m still here.” The shower continues upstairs, and I trace my fingers along the hardwood floor.

  “Good,” she says, “because I can’t talk about this to anyone else.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Harper!” she yells into the phone. “Seriously, Kale, I’m dying here. How is she? Is she taller than me now? I’m going to kick her if she is.”

  “She’s … Harper,” I say. “And yeah, she looks different. The last time I saw her, she was twelve.”

  And her hair is a more golden than brown. Her eyes are bluer. And her smile is contagious, as always. I already want to see her again.

  Libby is quiet on the other end. “Oh my gosh … you like her.”

  I open my mouth to argue, like every other sane person would do. But I can’t. I don’t have the strength to.

  Then she says, reading my silence, “And you aren’t denying it.”

  “Because I can’t.”

  “Does she know?” she asks. Not about me liking her, but about me. I know by the tone of her voice.

  “Not … exactly.”

  Libby sighs on the other end. “Kale, you have to tell her.”

  “You sound like Miles.”

  “That’s because me and Miles are wise.” Then she says, more serious, “I wish I was there.”

  “I wish you were, too. I miss you.” I never thought I would say that to my younger sister. Siblings are supposed to hate each other, not miss each other. It feels odd saying it, and I realize I’m not sure if I’ve ever said it before.

  “I miss you, too.” I hear her smile fade. “How have you been, though? For real.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Kale.”

  Footsteps come down the stairs. I never heard the water shut off, and I lift my head to see him on his way down.

  “I should go,” I say.

  “Kale, wait—”

  I reach up to the table and hang up the phone. He stands on the bottom step, staring down. The floor is cold beneath me.

  “Still here then?” he asks, in a worse mood now than when I left.

  I don’t answer.

  “Who was on the phone?”

  “Libby.”

  Right on cue, it rings.

  And rings.

  And rings.

  His jaw flexes and he takes the remaining steps to pick it up. “Hello?”

  I can hear her voice on the other end.

  “Hey, Lib.” Pause. “No, he can’t right now.”

  I stand, but he holds up his hand so I wait. I just want to crawl into bed and take a nap. Even though I wouldn’t sleep, just lying there might be nice.

  “No, she’s right,” he says, not talking to me. “I talked with her earlier.” Another pause. “I think it’s for the best.” Pause. “Well, you don’t have much of a choice at this point, Libby.”

  I hear my name being said from the other end.

  “I’ll tell him for you.”

  He hangs up. I stare at the stairs.

  “I called over to Jasper’s house, but he said you never showed up.”

  “We decided to see Miles instead.”

  “So you lied. Kale, how do you expect me to trust you when you don’t even tell me the truth?”

  I almost lose it then, wanting to scream at him. I try to keep my voice in check and say, “Because lying is easier than telling you the truth.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  Then I shout before I can stop myself, “Because you don’t listen to me when I do tell the truth!”

  He takes a step back, deflating with every second. His eyes flick between me and somewhere over my shoulder, like he doesn’t want to look at me. “I want to believe you, Kale, but I’m not sure if I can.”

  All the courage I had just moments before is gone. Like it was never there at all.

  “You can,” I whisper.

  Dad just shakes his head, not ready to hear what I have to say. “Go wash the dishes. Since you don’t have a job, you can at least do that.”

  He leaves me standing in the hallway.

  After I load the dishwasher and scrub the pans in the sink, I stare out the window at the field behind our house. I miss playing baseball with Dad and Bryce, or catch with whoever was willing. I could go for hours. Not caring if the sun set or if the bugs were bad, or if my knees were scraped and bleeding from hitting the ground too much.

  It’s one of the few things I’m good at besides shooting.

  I brush hair from my eyes with my forearm, and when I bring it down, Dad is next to me. He leans against the counter, looking like he doesn’t want to be here.

  “Your mother and I decided it was best if Libby live with her. Permanently. There are good schools out there, and—well, we think it’s best.” They don’t want me being a bad influence on her—that’s what he doesn’t say.

  Just in case I’m contagious.

  My hands go still under the lukewarm water. The information sinking in with realization. After a shiver runs through me, I’m freezing.

  I can’t stay here any longer.

  I can’t do it.

  “Did you hear me?”

  I’m too numb to answer him. His words still echo in my ears, trying to make sense of them because they seem impossible. Because she’s coming back. Libby is coming back at the end of summer, before school starts. She has to.

  I’m glad he can’t see my hands shake.

  “Yeah.”

  I can’t leave in front of him, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold off. I feel like if I take a step in either direction, I’ll be gone. Everything in me screams to let go. If I close my eyes, I’ll see snow, so I keep them open. Try my hardest to delay it, because it’s all I can do.

  With a long sigh, he walks away. Giving up. Down the hallway and into the living room. The television turns on.

  I pull the stopper out to let the sink drain, drying my hands and slipping out the back door before he realizes I’m leaving.

  I stumble around, trying to force my numb legs into a run. I breathe easier once I’m well into the woods, slowing to stop. Where it’s safe. My heart aches and tugs … and all I have to do is let it take me.

  To make this place disappear. Make my life disappear.

  My only regret is not telling Harper. But it isn’t enough to make me stay.

  Not with Dad.

  Not with Libby gone for good.

  Not with my life amounting to nothing.

  So I close my eyes and let go.

  My body is tugged by the strings of time.

  I feel snowflakes on my face before I reopen them.

  18.

  Harper

  About an hour after I wake up, Uncle Jasper asks me come with him to the barn. He likes to call it his garage, but there’s no mistaking it for what it is. It used to have cows in it, so it’s a barn.

  The morning dew sticks to the blades of grass, dampening my shoes as I walk behind him. A set of unfamiliar keys hang from his fingers, ones I’ve seen in the drawer with all his screwdrivers, old pens, lighters that might not work, and odd bolts that don’t have a home. Aunt Holly called it his “shit drawer,” always saying it with disdain.

  After Uncle Jasper pushes open the big sliding door, I hesitate. The house is always so clean and organized, but his barn is the polar opposite.

  “Come on, it’s back here.” He maneuvers around milk crates full of tools and odd engine parts. There’s a wide space open from where Kale’s car sat last week, so I tentatively start there and attempt to follow him over to the other side, trying to remember if my tetanus shot is still up to date.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if you open the other door?” I ask.

  “It’s locked from the inside,” his voice echoes from somewhere over to my right. “Give me a minute and I’ll open it to let in some light.”

  There’s a small desk piled with papers and more tools with an oil-stained chair placed behind it. The large sh
ape of a couch hides beneath a layer of drop sheets and old Mountain Dew cans. This place is long overdue for a cleanup.

  A sliver of light grows as Uncle Jasper pushes open the other big door, brightening my narrow path. I make my way over to the other side of the barn, still not sure what he’s supposed to be showing me.

  “Well, here it is,” he says, pulling a big box off something covered with an old sheet. When the box hits the ground, a large plume of dust rises up. I don’t really know what I’m looking at, so I tilt my head to study it from a different angle. “Is it a car?”

  “Of course it’s a car!” He laughs once and rips off the sheet. More dust pollutes the air and the sun shines on old paint.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. It looks more like a metal box on wheels. I walk over and peer into the windows. The inside is suspiciously clean.

  “Well, it’s fine if you don’t want it,” he says. “I thought you’d like to have a car of your own.”

  I stand and stare at him. “You said you had something to show me, not give me.”

  He shrugs.

  I look between him and the car. “Does it run?”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to?” He throws me the keys. “You need to have your own way around, and this one won’t let you down, even though it doesn’t look like much.”

  “How long have you had it?” I open the door and the smell of old car rushes out. Another scent lingers, one that I know too well, something not even time can take away. I look up at Uncle Jasper. “Was this Aunt Holly’s?”

  I suddenly remember the picture hanging in the hallway, between their wedding photo and one of them in New York City. It’s a picture of Aunt Holly and Uncle Jasper leaning against the hood of a maroon car, her blonde hair in braids and her smile wide. The ocean is behind them, the same color as the sky. The picture is old, taken back when they first started dating. Long before I was ever born.

  If I had one day I could choose to travel back in time to, that would be it. Just to see her once more, the way Uncle Jasper remembers her most.

  I look at him now, my smile long faded.

  His jaw tightens and he nods. “She wanted you to have it.”

  “Uncle Jasper …”

  He reaches out and traces the hood with his fingers, almost like he can see her in it. “And you should have it. I’m sorry it took me so long to give it to you. It’s … just—” He pulls away and takes a shaking breath, his eyes narrowing as he tries to keep himself from crying. “It’s hard,” he says.

  My limbs are frozen in place, my mouth lost for words. It’s how I imagine it would be to see my dad cry for the first time, and there’s nothing I can do but feel everything he does. Knowing someone to be reserved and like a rock my entire life, and then seeing them on the edge of tears, is something I can’t be prepared for.

  I never knew Uncle Jasper without Aunt Holly. If you mentioned one of them, you automatically mentioned the other, like a hyphenated word. If you don’t say the whole thing, the word loses meaning. The living room isn’t the same without Aunt Holly sitting in her chair. The kitchen is always cold and never smells like it used to. The towels in the bathroom closet aren’t folded the same way. And those are just the things I’ve noticed.

  For Uncle Jasper, it must be one hundred times worse.

  He’s only half of what he used to be, slowly learning how to become himself again.

  “For months after she was gone,” he says, “I never moved anything she left behind. Her toothbrush stayed on the sink. One of her shirts was left hanging over the chair in our bedroom.” He shakes his head to himself, the littlest of movements, his eyes reflecting like glass. “I couldn’t bring myself to move anything. Not even the glass of water on her nightstand. It was like I would erase a part of her if I did.”

  I think of her green chair in the living room, still untouched, probably the only thing left besides this car. I can’t imagine what he feels when he sees it, and I wonder if he remembers the ocean that day. Or what she smelled like, or what music played on the radio.

  It feels like I’m stealing something away from him.

  “You don’t have to do this—”

  “—No, I do,” he says, finally looking at me. “Remember what I told you about your dad all those years ago?”

  I nod. “That there’s always a piece of him in me, even though he’s gone.”

  “It’s the same way with Holly. Moving her things, or in this case giving them away, isn’t going to take her away. I’ve had to realize that.” Then he says, “But I won’t say it’s easy. Nothing about her being gone is. But it’ll make me happy to see you enjoy something of hers.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  When Uncle Jasper pulls his gaze from the car, he clears his throat and digs his wallet out from his back pocket. “Here, you can fill up the tank in town and stop by the store to pick up some food. I know my fridge doesn’t have anything but condiments and cheese, so get what you want.”

  Uncle Jasper hands me the money. But before he turns to go, he puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’m glad she decided to give it to you. I don’t think there’s anyone else who deserves it.”

  I feel a wet streak on my cheek when a breeze blows through the door. The last person I hugged was Aunt Holly, the summer I spent here before she was diagnosed. And I want Uncle Jasper to be the first since then, maybe hoping I’ll give him a small piece of her that isn’t lost.

  I close the small space between us and wrap my arms around him, pressing my face against his chest. His shirt smells like oil and toast.

  And when he hugs back, I begin to understand what it feels like to have a home.

  19.

  Kale

  Harper was covered in mud the first time I saw her.

  Libby and I heard that Uncle Jasper and Aunt Holly’s niece was coming to visit in a few months, and we were wary of the thought of another kid around to spoil our fun. So, when the day came and Aunt Holly called us to come over and meet Harper, we dragged our feet on the narrow path through the woods.

  I don’t remember what we talked about on the way there.

  Kid stuff probably. Like how our big brother Bryce was “too old” to hang out with us, and most likely ways of escaping if this girl turned out to be someone horrible.

  When we walked through the back door, Aunt Holly was at the sink. We stayed near the door, knowing not to track mud into the house.

  “So,” Libby said, crossing her arms, “Where is she?”

  Aunt Holly smiled. “Hating her already, Lib? Well, let me ask you this … do you hate me?”

  Libby got this confused look on her face and she shook her head. “Of course I don’t hate you.”

  “Then you won’t hate Harper either. I’m sorry, kid, but that’s the way it works. You’ll find out soon enough.” She turned back to the sink, washing the leftovers from lunch off the dishes, saying, “She’s with Uncle Jasper down near the river.”

  Libby rolled her eyes and left. I was about to follow her when Aunt Holly stopped me.

  “Kale, just a minute.” I paused a step away from the door. Waiting for her to finish drying her hands on the towel.

  “Are you going to tell me I won’t hate her either?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t think you’ll have a problem with that,” she said.

  I remember being confused. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Aunt Holly shook her head, not answering, and led me out the door with one hand on my shoulder. We stopped on the back porch. I could hear Uncle Jasper’s truck revving down the hill, out of sight. After a big rain, he would sometimes take it down to the low part of the field, right next to the river where it would come over the banks during the night.

  I wanted nothing more than to run down there. I hated missing the fun I could’ve been having.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” I wanted her to start talking so I could go.

  I could feel her smiling above me a
nd she said, “Harper.”

  I sighed. “I already know I’m supposed to be nice to her.”

  “I know, but I also wanted to say that you two might have more in common than you think.”

  I made a weird face. “You aren’t making any sense.”

  “I know. Maybe you’ll find out in one year or ten, but I wanted to tell before …well,” she paused and glanced down the field, where the sounds of his truck became louder. “I wanted to tell you, in case I forget or something.”

  “Okay.” I always remembered Aunt Holly not making a whole lot of sense when I was younger. It was something I was used to.

  And I didn’t think about it anymore, because Uncle Jasper’s truck came into view and pulled around to the backyard where he always washed off the mud with the hose. Libby was riding shotgun, but my eyes went to the third person in the bed of the truck.

  It was a girl with her hair pulled back in a long braid, wearing overalls over a T-shirt. When the truck came to stop, she jumped down from the bed and smiled at Aunt Holly.

  “I think I fell,” she said, laughing.

  Mud was splattered on one half of her body, including her face and hair. And she was smiling. That’s what got me. Libby wouldn’t stand less than five feet from her, and I knew right then she wasn’t just any girl.

  She walked up to the bottom step and held out her mud-covered hand. “I’m Harper.”

  I thought it was weird, because what eight-year-old kids shook hands when they met? I took it regardless. “Kale.”

  “It looks like we have something in common.”

  “What?” I went to glance back at Aunt Holly, but she shrugged.

  “We both have weird names,” Harper said, giving me another smile.

  I didn’t really think her name was too weird at all. But I couldn’t tell her otherwise.

  “Yeah, I guess we do have something in common,” I said, smiling back.

  To this day, I still wonder if Aunt Holly somehow knew things would turn out the way they did.

  I like to think so.

  I walk through the quiet town with my helmet in my hand and my rifle strap digging into my shoulder. This gun is a bit heavier than my last one, but I already like the feel of it.