by Gwen Cole
“You all right?”
I hesitate, almost wanting to tell him—anything, even if it’s not the whole truth. Just something to lighten the burden. But I’m already nodding my head, so good at lying that it’s become habit.
We walk back the way we came, a couple glass bottles clinking tonelessly in the box. “That guy you were helping,” I start, “will he make it?”
“Looks like it. Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks again. “You disappeared out of there pretty fast.”
I glance behind us at the crooked building and recall its basement full of wounded. A beacon of death to those who are too far gone to make it. “Yeah, I’m fine, the smell of blood just gets to me. You’re really good at that, you know.” I nod behind us. “We’re lucky to have a medic like you.”
He doesn’t reply right away. Just blinks a couple of times, processing. I’ve noticed that he does that a lot when he thinks before speaking. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save Adams. I did everything I could, but …”
I shake my head and position my rifle now that we’re in the woods again. “You shouldn’t be sorry for something you didn’t do. You weren’t the one who sent that late mortar.”
We’re silent for a time until Perkins asks something nobody else has. “What are you going to do once the war is over? I’ve heard everyone else talking about it, but never you.”
It’s a common question among foxholes and campfires. Everyone enjoys looking to the future like they can already see themselves there. Away from this place.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I guess I haven’t thought about it much. What about you? Are you going to keep doing the doctor thing?”
“No, probably not. I would be happy if I never saw another wounded person ever again. But that may be my only option.”
I smile and look back at him. “Oh, come on. With a face like yours, you could become a model for one those romance novels.”
“Why don’t you shut your smart mouth and keep walking,” he says, his mouth turning up. “But seriously, you’ve got to have some idea of what you’re gonna to do.”
I can only shake my head in response. It’s hard to look into the future that far, while knowing nothing good will come from it. Because what I confessed to Harper about having nothing going for me can’t be truer.
“I take one day at a time and see where it takes me,” I tell him. “It’s the only thing I can do right now.”
“That doesn’t seem like any way to live,” he says behind me.
I take a long breath and say, “It’s not.”
28.
Harper
After dinner—which Kale never showed up to—Uncle Jasper and I retreat into the living room to watch whatever happens to be on television. Aunt Holly used to join us for the first ten minutes until she got bored, leaving the two of us laughing while she cleaned the kitchen or curled up in her chair to read her latest book.
Now, with the dishes already put away and dishwasher purring from the other room, we watch the remake of True Grit with bowls of ice cream in our laps, each of us in our respective chairs. It’s been a quiet evening. We didn’t talk much over dinner—just listened to the crickets outside and the bullfrogs in the distance. Even though it was a perfect summer night, neither of us felt like venturing outside.
And oddly enough, it was the first time we sat down for dinner since I got here. Subconsciously, we may have been avoiding it until now. Aunt Holly was the one who called us in for dinner each night, never missing a moment when we could all sit down together. She said it was against the law; there was no reason why we couldn’t be together for one meal a day.
When Uncle Jasper came home and the smell of macaroni and cheese greeted him, he didn’t say anything. He just stood in the doorway for a little while and then smiled. He paid some bills at the table while it cooked, and I kept looking at the clock, wondering when Kale would come over.
My eyes constantly wandered over to the point in the kitchen where we had kissed earlier that morning. I couldn’t convince myself any longer that Kale was merely the boy the next door. I’m not sure if he ever was.
But when dinner was cooked and I set the plates on the table—forcing Uncle Jasper to move his papers aside—Kale had yet to appear.
“Are we expecting someone?” Uncle Jasper finally asked after I glanced at the clock again.
“Kale said if he was still here, he would come, but …” I glanced at the door once more before settling in my chair. “I guess he’s gone.” And I already missed him.
“He’ll be back.” Uncle Jasper dipped his head to catch my eye. “He always is. Remember that.”
I watched him eat for a little while before starting on my own. And even though Kale was gone—more gone than anyone could ever be—I realized Uncle Jasper would always be there. He was someone I could count on.
The movie ends and the local news comes up next. Neither of us make a move to get up or do anything besides sit here. I keep waiting for Kale to walk through the door and make my heart jump, something I know won’t happen for another few days. It’s weird knowing he’s in the past right now, nowhere to be found until he comes back.
“All right,” Uncle Jasper says, muting the news anchor. “What is it?”
I look over. “I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you’ve been thinking about something for the last ten minutes, and it’s obviously not something good. So, come out with it, kid. What are you thinking about?”
“Kale and his dad.”
Uncle Jasper leans away, nodding. “I see.”
He un-mutes the news and continues watching.
“That’s it?” I expected more.
“What else do you want me to say?”
I throw up my hands “I don’t know. Maybe figure out a way to help him?”
After a long moment he finally turns off the television—all the way this time. “I know how hard it is not being able to do anything, but this really is between Kale and his dad. Kale needs to figure out who he is before anything can change.”
“He admitted today it’s his own fault for leaving so much,” I tell him, thinking back to this morning in the kitchen. “I think he knew before now but never wanted to believe it.”
Uncle Jasper nods while standing, going over to the window as though to watch Kale come up the driveway. “He leaves because of his father, but in doing so, he makes it worse on himself. It’s been hard for him to realize that, after all this time. It’s like admitting you’re wrong after it’s too late.”
“When did it become this bad?”
“After Courtney left, I think that’s when Kale started leaving more. He didn’t want to be home because all it did was remind him his mom wasn’t there, and he kept thinking it was his fault, like all kids usually do. Then he only had his dad to come home to, who was sick of putting up with something he didn’t understand. Once Kale got expelled from school, that’s when he really started to leave more often.”
He gives me a weak smile before heading out the door and walking toward the barn, his shoulders tighter than usual. I finally take my leave and go upstairs to play Xbox until my eyes hurt, not wanting to think about anything else.
A couple days pass in a blur of helping Uncle Jasper, grocery shopping, and hanging out with Grace. Even now she sits on my bed playing Battlefield while I fold my laundry. She doesn’t have the headset on, but she yells at the screen nonetheless like the other people will hear her. This one tank has killed her three times in a row, and she looks a bit crazed with her curly hair coming out of her ponytail.
After she dies for the fourth time, I suggest, “You should put C4 on the jeep and then drive it into the tank.”
She turns and then says, “I should do that.”
Once she beats her nemesis and turns off the game, she asks, “So what’s going on between you and Kale?”
I pause the folding. “Do people really talk about this stuff?”
She shrugs. “I
do.”
“I don’t know if there’s anything to tell.”
“Come ooooon,” she drawls, “don’t leave me hanging.”
The phone rings downstairs and I smile, backing out of the room. “I should get that.”
“We aren’t done here.”
I start downstairs even though I’m afraid it’s Mom again—she hasn’t called since last week, but it’s something I’m having a hard time forgetting. But it also might be Kale. It’s about that time now, so I decide to take the risk and go downstairs to answer it.
“Hello?”
“What’s wrong with your voice?” Kale asks. “You sound like a mass murderer is trying to call you.”
I smile, more than relieved it’s not Mom. “You’re back.”
“I am.” He sounds tired and my stomach feels weird when I hear his voice again. “Is Uncle Jasper home?”
I glance out the door, making sure the driveway is still empty. “No, he’s been gone all day.”
“Well,” Kale says in a sad voice, “I guess that means you’ll have to come and get me.”
“That’s a shame,” I say, matching his tone.
“Tell me about it.”
“Where do I pick you up?” I ask, trying to force my heart to stay calm. After Kale gives me directions, I leave Grace at her car with a list of questions and I’m driving away before I can tie my shoelaces.
My heart hammers as I drive with the windows down. I thought the wind would help calm my nerves, but I was wrong. I can’t even focus on the music coming through the speakers. I had no idea one person could make me feel this way. So discombobulated and weird.
After twenty minutes of driving down roads lined with fields and hidden driveways, I catch sight of the Phillips 66 sign. I pull in and see Kale sitting on the curb near a pay phone covered in graffiti. He’s wearing the same T-shirt from when I cut his hair, and it makes me wonder how long he lasted after I saw him. Hours or only minutes?
I pull up to the curb and Kale gets in. He looks more exhausted than he ever has. Along with his smell of rain and wind, the subtle hint of snow fills the car, something that should never happen in the middle of summer.
He glances at me and says, “Thanks for picking me up.”
I nod and pull out of the small parking lot. My stomach won’t settle now that he’s finally sitting next to me. I don’t understand how I was ever able to ride next to him and not be aware of his every move. I unsuccessfully try to focus on the road.
“So … how was it?” I ask, my voice unsure.
He leans back against the headrest and gives a tired shrug. “Fine. Good. I guess.”
It’s like I picked him up from work, and he doesn’t want to explain his boring day. It’s so Kale. I don’t see what is good about anything where he came from. But I give him a questioning look anyway.
“It’s just different,” he says, his eyes glued to a point between us. “When I’m there … I feel needed. Wanted. I feel like I’m there for a purpose, even though I don’t know what it is yet.”
“And what about here?”
He raises his gaze and says, “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
We ride a few miles in silence, listening to the wind and passing cars. Just when Kale seems like he’s about to fall asleep, he lifts his head and looks over. “Have you named him yet?”
“Named who?”
He nods to the dashboard. “Your car. Every good car needs a name.”
“I don’t think that’s a thing,” I say, shaking my head and trying not to laugh.
“It is if I’m going to ride in an unnamed car.”
“And you said ‘him.’ How do you know it’s a boy car?”
Kale thinks about it for two whole seconds before breaking into a smile. “I don’t.”
I eye him doubtfully. “Besides, I’m horrible with naming things, so I probably shouldn’t. I named our cat Blackie … because he was black.” Kale laughs and I say, “It’s not funny. That poor cat had to live with that horrible name for the rest of his life.”
“Baby steps then,” he says. “Pull over.”
“Why?”
Kale grabs the handle of the door, threatening to jump out. “I swear, Croft. If you don’t pull over right now, I’m going to jump out and very possibly die.” Then he adds at the end, “And it’ll be your fault.”
I throw a glare and pull over on the dirt shoulder. Kale opens his door and gets out. “Come on.”
I stare at him through the dirty windshield, unable to deny that smile. I cut the engine and get out, joining him in front of the car. He grabs my hand and pulls me a foot to the left. His skin is cold against mine, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“All right,” he starts. “First thing you have to do is find out if it’s a boy or girl.”
“And how do I do this exactly?”
“Well, when you look at your car, what do you see?”
“Red.”
“Come on, I’m serious.” Kale moves behind me and whispers in my ear. “What’s the first thing you think of?”
Butterflies tease the insides of my stomach, making it hard to concentrate on anything but Kale. “Well … it’s a Rabbit, and when I think of rabbits, I always think of boy rabbits. Like the ones in Watership Down.”
“So …?”
“So, I guess he’s a boy car.” I turn around and back away a step. “Which means he needs a boy name, which I cannot do him justice with.” I sit down on the hood with a small sigh. “Why don’t you just give him a name since you claim it’s so easy?”
“No, no, no.” He shakes his head. “Only the owner of the car can name it. But it’s not something you have to do right away. Give it some time, it’ll come.”
Kale sits down next to me, putting his feet up on the bumper with his arms resting on his knees. The wind teases his hair and his eyes are more gray again today.
“What’s the name of yours?” I ask, drawing up my knees. “If you’re such an expert at this.”
“His name is Dixon,” he answers, matter-of-factly. “I know he doesn’t look like much now, but he’ll be great once I take him to the body shop.”
“Uncle Jasper said you put a lot of work into him, and if your dad knew that before he sold it, he would’ve gotten a lot more money.”
There’s a period of silence and I look over. Kale’s eyes are downcast. “If only he knew me better,” he says, but not like it’s a good thing.
The field of grass next to the road moves with the wind, every blade rustling against its neighbor and creating the sound that puts me to sleep at night. “I really missed you these past couple of days.”
“Really?” Kale’s shoulders stay hunched, but he turns his head, studying me to make sure I’m not joking.
“Really. And I don’t like the thought of you leaving again so soon.”
He looks away. “Maybe I’ll try to stay longer. Because you’re right about what you said. I’ve thought about it a lot, since I can’t sleep much at night. If I lasted as long as I did all those years ago, then maybe it is possible now.” Kale pauses, his breathing seeming forced. “Because I can’t keep doing this for much longer.”
Every time Kale comes back, and with every new day I see him, there can’t be anything more obvious. It’s too much on him. He’s being broken down, piece by piece. It hits me the hardest when I realize Kale could die at any time. War is unpredictable and deadly—one day, he could just not come back at all.
It needs to stop.
“Kale?”
“Yeah?”
I hesitate, knowing where it led last time. “You need to try telling your dad again.”
He continues to stare out and over the field, his shoulders tight. “I know,” he says. “I’ve been wanting him to see me for me. I just—I’m afraid he won’t like who he sees.”
“But he can’t see you until you let him.”
“I know.” Kale finally looks over, even more tired than before. “That’s what I’m
afraid of.”
I move over, closing the small space between us, and lean my head on his shoulder. He tenses at first, then everything within him seems to melt. We sit there on the hood of my car and watch the field sway under a fading sun that reminds me too much of past summers, dancing with every touch of breeze. I close my eyes and breathe in the smell of summer and Kale—with his hint of winter—memorizing it.
Almost like I’ll never get to do it again.
29.
Kale
“Just drop me off here,” I say as Harper pulls up to my driveway.
“Are you sure?” She slows down and keeps the engine idling. It’s almost dark now. The lights from the house are hazy from across the field. My heart speeds up with one look at it, knowing what I’m about to do. “Kale?”
I look over. “Yeah?”
Harper has her worried face on—one I’ve seen countless times over the years. Before jumping from the high dive at the public pool. When I told her I might’ve broken my arm when I jumped off the roof because that’s just what boys do. Or when we got stuck out in the rain and it thundered.
I wonder if she’s still scared of storms.
She asks, “Are you going to be all right?”
I nod, trying to find the courage to talk. “I’m going to tell him tonight. About everything. Because you’re right—I think it’s my only chance to stop this, even if it doesn’t work out in the end. He’ll either kick me out for good, or … I don’t know.” I look down at her Chuck Taylors—almost becoming untied again—ignoring the tight coils in my stomach, which are a constant reminder of what I’m about it do. I stare at the house again. “But I have to try. I don’t want to be afraid to be me.”
I hear Harper shift in her seat. When I turn, she’s leaning across the center console, looking at me with soft eyes. She smells like fresh laundry. It gives me the urge to touch her. To feel how soft her skin is, only to make sure it wasn’t a dream last time.
She reaches out and grabs my shirt, pulling me toward her.
I don’t even have time to breathe before she kisses me. Something I can’t even think about once I feel her lips. I grip the edges of my seat, shutting down a moment of instinct. It takes everything for me not to do something more.
