Cold Summer

by Gwen Cole

  I think of all the possibilities as I run through the woods, down the path made so many years ago by kids who never could’ve imagined things would turn out this way. Because this can’t be possible. It just can’t. There has to be some sort of mistake.

  I tear through the woods, my feet pounding in my ears louder than my heart. Once I’m out of the trees, I run straight toward his house, the long grass grabbing at my ankles. The driveway sits empty, neither Kale’s car nor his Dad’s truck are here. Then I remember Kale doesn’t have his car anymore. So he could be inside, not bothering to answer the phone because he never does.

  I can hardly breathe when I step on the small porch and knock on the door. I let a few seconds pass, and after not hearing anything, I knock harder. “Kale!”

  I can’t stand waiting out here. I grip the doorknob and twist. It’s unlocked—I don’t know why I thought it wouldn’t have been—it has always been unlocked. Like Kale’s parents were afraid if they ever locked the door, he wouldn’t be able to come back home. That’s what Libby always liked to think and what Kale liked to believe.

  It’s dark and quiet inside, reminding me of the day I came over to find Kale in the bathroom. Nothing would make me happier than finding him there now. I move toward the stairs, not trying to be quiet. At any other time, I would have been. It never feels right entering someone else’s house in the middle of the day when nobody is home.

  But Kale is home. I just have to find him.

  Natural light pours out the open bathroom door and I slowly walk toward it. “Kale?” I step in the doorway. The bathtub sits empty and cold, hiding no boy for me to find like last time. I glance toward his bedroom—the door is shut, giving me no indication whether he’s here or already gone.

  Within the brief moment that I close my eyes, I can see the article I read on the Internet. That horrible moment I wish would’ve never happened. I take those last few steps and knock on his door, hard and impatient. “Kale?” I don’t wait for a response and let myself in.

  “Harper?” Kale slowly sits up on his bed, one hand rubbing his head. “What the hell is going on?”

  One of the windows has its blinds drawn down, making it darker than it normally is. Then I understand; he was taking a nap. That’s why he didn’t answer the phone or hear me knocking on the front door.

  I lean against the doorframe, weak with relief that he’s still here.

  “You’re here,” I breathe out. “You’re still here.”

  But what difference does that make? It doesn’t change what I saw. That short moment of relief is taken away too soon.

  Kale swings his legs over the bed, looking at me through tired eyes. He’s still wearing his jeans and T-shirt. I don’t want to take my eyes off him, afraid he’ll disappear.

  “What’s going on?” Then his eyes really take me in and something must give me away. “Harper, what’s wrong? Is it Uncle Jasper?”

  “No,” I shake my head, pushing off from the doorframe. He moves a blanket aside, making room for me to sit next to him. It’s not uncommon for him to sleep on top of his comforter, just using an old blanket if he gets cold during the night. I’ve always loved the smell of his room—the smell of him. I don’t want it to ever leave.

  “Then tell me what’s so important to—Did you run over here?”

  I nod, still catching my breath. “I had to. I—” Why am I suddenly at loss for words? Kale’s eyes aren’t straying, wanting to know what I came here to say. He has no idea. “I was thinking about something you told me, about the past being your future. I just … I’m sorry.”

  I finally pull my gaze away and stare at the floor, afraid to admit what I found. Maybe if I don’t tell anyone, it won’t come true.

  “Harper … what did you do?” Kale asks, his voice careful.

  “I had to know what happens to you.” I try to keep my voice from wavering.

  He tilts his head down, forcing me to look at him. “Are you saying you looked me up … in the past?”

  The corners of my eyes burn. “Yes,” I whisper.

  Kale gets up and runs a hand through his tousled hair. I stare at his back, his hand resting on the back of his neck. He slowly turns around.

  “Don’t you think I’ve been tempted to do that?” he asks, burying his hands deep into his pockets. His jaw is tight. “That I didn’t know it was as simple as looking up myself on the Internet? I avoid computers at all costs because once I go down that rabbit hole, I’ll never come out. Years ago, I made Libby and Bryce promise to never look me up.”

  “So you don’t know?”

  He flinches like my words slapped him. “No, I don’t know! Harper, don’t you get it? I don’t want to know. Not now and not ever.” The floor creaks under his weight when he paces to the other side of his room, to the window, and back toward the door like the walls are a prison he can’t escape. He finally turns away from me, pressing his forehead against the wall. I want to do something for him, but I’m afraid to move. Like he’ll suddenly remember I’m here and tell me to leave. “I’ve never wanted to know anything, because then I would have to live with it,” he says.

  Kale turns around and leans against the wall, keeping an invisible barrier between us. “Sometimes it’s better not knowing.”

  “But if you knew, you could—”

  “—I could what?” he says, cutting me off. “Stop it from happening? Don’t you remember what I told you, about the past being the past? It can’t be undone, Harper.” His chest rises and falls a few times before he says, “Whatever it is, it’s going to happen.”

  I’m trying so hard to hold back everything inside that wants to spill out, but I can’t. A tear runs down my cheek, followed by another. “You don’t want to know, then?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry I looked, but I couldn’t not. Not while knowing where you’ve been and where you’ll be going back to.” I swipe at my cheek, willing them to stay dry. “I hate the thought of you in that place. I’m sorry,” I say again.

  “Don’t—” Kale shakes his head and closes his eyes, fighting back something more. “I’ve had to do everything to hold myself back from doing what you did.” He pushes away from the wall and sits next to me. I feel better when he’s here, within reach. Like it’s possible to keep him here forever. “It’s like knowing a storm is coming, but not knowing when or how bad it’ll be. But I know it’s coming one way or the other—I always have. I just don’t think about it, because I can’t bear it.”

  “How long have you known?” I ask.

  He gives me a pained look. “It’s war, Harp. I’ve been thinking about it a long time now, and there’s no way I’m coming out of it the same way I went in. I’m not that lucky.”

  I can’t say anything, because I can’t lie.

  Kale might not want to know the whole truth, but he already knows something is going to happen. I can’t imagine how hard it is—knowing something is coming without the power to prevent it.

  “But why don’t you want to know?” I whisper.

  Today, even when the sun lights up his room through his broken blinds, nothing can make his eyes bright. “It’s easier to pretend than be afraid of the truth.”

  Kale looks at me for the longest moment, enough for me to see everything; the pain he’s been though, the lingering fears, the self-doubt. Maybe it is easier to pretend, because I can’t bear the thought of him not coming back.

  I don’t know what compels me to do it, but I kiss him. His skin is cold and smells of snow, lips made of melting ice. This is the Kale I can’t let go of. Not now and not ever.

  I pull myself away from him and stand up.

  “Wait—” Kale slips his hand around mine, his thumbs gently touching my wrist. “Can you stay for a little while? I just … I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  Kale lets go of my hand and lays down on his back. With my heart kicking a little more than usual, I give him my answer by slipping off my shoes. I’ve never been in Kale’s bed befo
re, at least not like this. Not with him already in it.

  “Harper, you’re overthinking things,” he says, knowing me too well. “Just come here.”

  He takes my hand again and draws me in, leaving no space between us. I rest my head on the side of his chest, my hand over his heart. It pounds a steady rhythm under my fingers, and his arm wraps around me, keeping me close.

  Kale has never held me like this, and it’s something I wished we could have done sooner. Not now when our time suddenly has an end. Life is playing a cruel joke on us, one I wish never has to become reality.

  “Kale?” I’m not sure if he’s even awake; he’s been quiet for so long.

  “Hmm?”

  “What will the date be, when you go back?” I try to sound curious, not at all like I need to know. Kale is in a state right before falling asleep, and I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t remember me asking.

  “Um … I don’t know.” I don’t pry; just wait, hoping he’ll answer. “It’s about to be the new year.”

  “1945?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kale takes one last real breath before falling asleep. I don’t want to think about the past right now, or what will happen when this perfect moment is over. All I want to do is sleep next to the boy who has always kept his promise.

  But if the past is true, he dies on January 8.

  35.

  Kale

  I’m cold when I wake.

  Harper is no longer lying next to me, and the light coming through the window is dull. I sit up and blink my eyes awake, ridding myself of the dreams I had. Even with her sleeping next to me, they still came, but … they weren’t as bad.

  Harper sits on the edge of my bed, pulling on her shoes.

  “Trying to sneak out without waking me?” I ask, trying to make it sound like a joke.

  Harper doesn’t smile. “I should go home. Uncle Jasper will be wondering where I am and your dad will be home from work soon. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to be caught—”

  “Doing what? Taking a nap?” Still, she doesn’t smile. I lean in closer and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Harper, look at me.”

  She does. Barely. This is a side of Harper I’ve never seen—not even when she thinks about her mom or Aunt Holly. At least then she tries to smile and only focuses on the good. Being the optimist she is.

  Something is wrong.

  More wrong than I first thought.

  I almost ask her to tell me what she knows. The temptation is so strong.

  “This is where you tell me everything will be okay,” she says.

  “Will you believe me if I do?”

  “I don’t know if I can. But I want to.” Harper presses her lips together, willing herself to stay calm. She used to do it all the time when we were kids. She’s always been so easy for me to read. “I don’t know what I expected when I came over here,” she says. “Maybe I was thinking that once I told you, it wouldn’t be true. Like I could prevent it from happening. It’s stupid, I know.” She sniffs once and looks away. “Like you said, there’s nothing to be done.”

  I can’t take this another minute. It’s like watching a movie and knowing exactly where the end is heading, but then you have to stop watching and you never get the chance to see it for yourself.

  I know what’s coming, and I’ve been trying to ignore it.

  But I can’t anymore.

  “I die … don’t I.” I don’t bother phrasing it as a question. There’s no doubt with her acting this way. “Is that what you read?”

  Harper nods silently, still turned away.

  I can’t pretend anymore. This is why I didn’t want to know.

  There’s a hole burning through my heart. The things I’ve done to make things right—with Dad and Harper, talking about me having a future—all of it was for nothing. All of it. It was all shit to fill in the place of false hope.

  What was the point of anything if I am to die?

  “You should go,” I hear myself say.

  “What?”

  I don’t look up.

  I need Harper to leave, and I can’t do that if I look at her again. “Please just go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Kale—”

  “Please. I need to be alone.”

  I close my eyes, hearing and feeling nothing but the growing rage within me. I’m drowning without water, under the pressure of something larger. It hangs over my head, waiting for me to break.

  When I have enough strength to open my eyes again, she’s gone.

  My door is open, and a cool breeze comes from somewhere down the hall. I follow it with my feet on the cold floor and my hands in fists so they won’t shake. I think of nothing, because if I do, I’m sure I’ll explode.

  I’m teetering on the edge of sanity.

  The house is darker now, the day coming to an end. A day that started so well.

  I go down the stairs, one at a time, counting each step to keep myself in control.

  I can’t do it anymore.

  I can’t act like nothing is wrong. Because everything is wrong. Just this morning, with Harper in the car next to me and wind breezing through my fingers, things were finally starting to look up. I was happy.

  Now death presses in around me. Shattering the smallest hope of the future I might have had. Gone. Not even there to begin with.

  I hear something crash to the floor and I look down. A broken lamp lays at my feet. I don’t know if it was an accident or if I did it on purpose. But it feels good breaking something. I’ve always been this controlled and relatively calm person, never losing my temper or acting out, even when I was young. I always keep it together.

  I’ve been a shaken bottle, and now I’m ready to burst.

  The sounds of crashing and breaking echo off the walls, shared with a raging yell that I don’t realize is coming from me until my throat is sore. Ripping at things the moment I see them. I can’t see straight, my vision dotted with red and black spots.

  I’m in the kitchen now, and I don’t know how I got here. The table is tipped over, the chairs thrown across the room. I whip my arms across the counters, everything tumbling to the floor. I grab dishes and throw them into the wall. Hearing every break and wanting more.

  It’s not enough.

  When everything around me is broken and silent, I finally stop. My chest is heaving and I’ve ruined the entire house.

  But I’m still shaking. My hand stings. I look down to see I’ve cut it on one of the plates. There’s a long gash across my palm.

  I sink down to the floor. The cabinets press into my back. The refrigerator chooses this moment to kick on, as though telling me it had witnessed nothing previously. My hands hang over my knees, and I watch the blood drip from my fingertips.

  I’m going to die.

  And there’s nothing I can do to prevent it. The only thing I can hope is that recorded history is wrong. It’s been wrong plenty of times before, so it could be wrong about me, too.

  It’s the only thing that will save me.

  When I was in the bathtub earlier, I was so close to leaving. I could have if I wanted to. I could have let go without trying. But I didn’t because I promised Harper I wouldn’t. For once in my life, I had an ounce of control—just enough to delay my leaving.

  Now, I’ll do anything to stay longer, even just one more day. One more hour. I don’t want to go back where it’s winter. Where there’s blood on the snow and screams in the night. My nightmares have been full of empty foxholes and shadows that come through the trees when I’m not ready. Death from the ground and death from the sky. It will kill me all the same.

  I’m still shaking. From what, I don’t know.

  The front door opens and shuts, followed by Dad’s voice. “Kale? Kale!”

  There’s movement in the doorway, and I look up to see Dad taking in the scene around me. His eyes move from me, to the mess around me, and back.

  I can’t stop trembling. At some point, I started to cry.r />
  My hands and shoulders shake as if they aren’t connected to me at all. I am someone I don’t know. I don’t want to think about tomorrow or the day after that. I don’t want to think about leaving again. And I don’t want to think about what will happen to me when I do.

  Dad doesn’t say a word. I don’t have to say anything for him to know something is wrong. Something very wrong.

  He steps over a broken chair and some shattered dishes and sits down next to me without hesitation.

  And then he’s holding me—his arms wrapped around me with my head pressed against his chest.

  I’ll never be too old to be held by him.

  His shirt becomes wet with tears I’ve held in for months. His warm hands are on my back and behind my head, making the world safe again. Even just for a little while. I don’t ever want him to let go. And I’m scared he will.

  “It’s all right, Kale,” he murmurs. “It’s all right.”

  And for that small moment, it really is.

  36.

  Harper

  I walk home after Kale told me to leave. I hesitated at first. He wasn’t acting himself, and something in his voice sounded off. Still, I couldn’t stay, either—I felt like he needed to be alone. I’m on autopilot, feeling numb and thinking of things too fast to make sense of them. I want to wake up and have all this be a dream—a horrible, horrible dream.

  The house comes into view, and I go in through the back door, slipping off my shoes on the mat. The kitchen is dim in the fading light with the lingering smell of frozen pizza. I follow the low sounds of the television down the hall and into the living room where Uncle Jasper sits in his usual seat, staring but not really watching.

  He looks up when I enter. “Hey, Harp, I was wondering where you’ve been. Were you over at Kale’s?”

  I nod numbly.

  “I know I said I don’t mind you being out of the house,” he says, “but could you leave a note next time so I know where you are? I don’t like worrying.” I nod again and Uncle Jasper’s carefree smile drops away. “Did something happen?”