by Gwen Cole
“I’m sorry you weren’t able to see him for very long.” I dump the hair in the trash and push the chair back under the table.
“It’s all right. I see him almost every week as it is, and hopefully it’ll stay that way when school starts.” Kale laughs to himself. “I’m sounding more like you every day.”
“And what’s that mean?”
“More optimistic.”
“There’s nothing wrong with hoping for the best.” I don’t want to admit it, but it’s the only way I could get over what happened with Mom—hoping everything would turn out for the better. And so far, it has.
At least I think so.
Kale shrugs. “Sometimes there is when nothing turns out the way you want it to. There’s less disappointment.”
“Then what are you?” I ask, not wanting to argue with him.
“A realist,” he says. “Things are the way they are, and always will be. I think I know that to be true more than anyone.”
I can’t argue that point because it is true. Kale knows firsthand that the past is what it is. I just wish he would look to the future as something more hopeful. But for him, it’s something that’s not.
“Have you ever tried to control it?” I ask. “Leaving, I mean.”
Kale shifts his weight uncomfortably. “I’ve tried and I can’t. When the time comes, it’s too hard to stay.”
“But you did last night,” I counter.
“No, I delayed it. It’s not something I can control.”
“Maybe. But you stopped it this time, and maybe you can stop it again.”
“Harper, it’s impossible for me not to leave. It’s a part of who I am. It’s like telling Jayne from Firefly he can’t ever touch a gun again,” he says, smiling. It’s short lived, and he shakes his head. “Sometimes I wish it wasn’t, but it’s the way it is.”
I could never imagine him being someone other than he is now. His bittersweet faults are what make him Kale. But I wish they wouldn’t cause him so much trouble.
“When you were younger, you only left once or twice a month,” I point out. “If it was possible then, maybe it’s possible now. Think about it, Kale. If you didn’t leave so often, you could go to school, and maybe even get a job. You could—”
“—be normal?” His tone is hard. “I’ll never be what you call normal. I couldn’t even finish school, so how am I supposed to find a job? At this point, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to move out when I’m old enough.”
Kale takes a deep breath and stares out the far kitchen window. “Sometimes I think I don’t belong here.”
My heart flinches at hearing that. But the more I think about it, the more I know it isn’t true. The truth behind Kale leaving so often has been right in front of me this whole time, and I haven’t seen it before now, because I haven’t wanted to see it.
I stand up a little straighter and uncross my arms. “No, you’re just afraid to belong here.”
Kale’s eyes snap to mine. “What?”
“That’s why you’ve been leaving so often. It’s because you don’t want to be here. Things aren’t good between you and your dad and you feel like you don’t have a purpose here. I get it, okay? I get being alone and not having a good relationship with a parent. But whether you want to believe it or not, you do belong here.”
Kale throws up his arms half-heartedly. “Then tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this.” But he knows I don’t have answers. “I want to try telling my dad again, it’s just a lot harder when he doesn’t believe me.”
“So make him believe you.”
“It’s not so easy. I’ve always thought about traveling in front of him because it worked so well with Miles, but I want him to believe me. Not just believe what he sees. Is that so hard to ask?”
“I don’t know … but once it happens, I think you’ll find yourself staying here more often.”
He just nods, and I have that urge to close the distance between us, but his mind is on other things now.
Kale takes a step toward the door. “I should get home.” In other words, he wants to be alone.
Before he disappears out the door, I ask, “Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?” He hesitates. “If you’re still here …”
Kale nods. “Sure. I’ll see you later.”
After his footsteps disappear off the porch, I slide down to the floor and sit there, unable to think of anything except Kale and wondering when I’ll see him next.
27.
Kale
As I walk home, every step becomes harder than the last. Getting closer to having to face the truth. Maybe I’ve known all along and only now started to believe it, but Harper is right.
Me leaving so often is nobody’s fault but my own. I leave because I don’t want to be here.
Both Bryce and Dad are home since it’s Saturday. I rarely know what day of the week it is because they all feel the same to me. But I know yesterday was Friday because of the show. Something I still don’t want to think about.
I don’t like the dreams I have. Even when I’m awake.
Making me colder and trying to take me away.
I rub my eyes with my forefinger and thumb, feeling a growing headache coming from somewhere deep. The only thing I can hope is that it’s not too late to fix things. That I haven’t totally screwed everything up.
The house is dark and quiet when I get inside, so I head upstairs, hoping to find Dad. But as I pass Bryce’s room, my legs lock in place and I can only stare at him, and at what he’s doing.
A large suitcase is open on his bed, half full with folded clothes. A couple of boxes are stacked next to his desk in an empty space where everything once was. His room no longer looks like his.
“What are you doing?” I can’t stop staring because I don’t want to believe what I’m seeing. To believe what it means.
Bryce turns from his closet and gives me a weird look—one that he only gives when he thinks I already know something. “I told you back in March, Kale. I got accepted into KU. You didn’t think I was going to stick around here forever, did you?”
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
He did tell me.
It’s one of those things you don’t think of because it’s so far away. But suddenly it’s there, smacking you in the face before you’ve had the chance to look at the calendar.
“But that’s not for another two months,” I say, my voice becoming weaker with every word. “Why are you already packing?”
“Did Libby not tell you? She said she would.” I shake my head and Bryce sighs, dropping his shirt on the bed. “I’m going early so I can find a job before classes start.”
“But—”
“I thought you knew,” Bryce says. He glances at me—saying he’s sorry without actually saying it—putting more of a gap between us. Something that’s been growing bigger and bigger over the years. He isn’t supposed to leave until I’ve fixed things with us. Because if I don’t, I’m afraid he’ll never come back.
“Kale?” Bryce takes a concerned step forward. “Are you all right? You look sick.”
I look up from the floor, ignoring my pounding heart and the cold chills running down my spine. “So, now you’re concerned for me?” I ask, my tone nothing under sarcastic. “Maybe it’s better that you leave. This way you won’t have to worry about anyone but yourself.”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what? Tell the truth?”
Bryce shoots me a warning look. “Blame everything on me when it’s your own fucking fault. Now tell me that isn’t true, Kale. It’s not my fault you leave. It’s not my fault Dad doesn’t believe you. So why do you have to make me feel guilty for finally getting out of here?”
I’m so cold I’m almost sure I’ll disappear right before his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, barely able to make the words come out. “You’re right. Have a good life, Bryce.”
I turn to go but he catches my arm. “Tell me what’s r
eally wrong. You used to tell me things—”
“That was before you stopped listening.” He looks uncomfortable at that, so I continue, knowing I won’t get another chance. “You were the first person to ever believe me and the first person to give up. You were supposed to be my brother, but you spent more time with your friends than with me. I’m not easy, I know. But don’t forget who your family is, because they’re the ones who will be there for you when nobody else is. I guess that’s all I’m asking—don’t forget about me once you’re gone, okay?”
I walk down the hall toward my room.
He calls after me. “Kale!”
I lock my door, breathing so heavily my vision blurs and spins. I press my back against the wood and slide to the floor, doing everything not to cry. Seventeen-year-old boys don’t cry. They don’t. Not when they have a brother who would make fun of him, and a father who would call him weak.
Bryce knocks on my door.
I hear Dad coming up the stairs—asking Bryce what’s going on.
“Kale, please,” Bryce says. “Let me in.”
“Kale?” It’s Dad this time.
His voice his hard and I close my eyes. I can’t will myself to stay because I don’t want to stay.
There’s more pounding on my door. I feel every one of them with my back pressed against it. Will they force their way in and find me gone? Or will they give up, not caring enough?
I don’t get the chance to find out.
It’s hard to believe the last time I was here, a bullet grazed my ribs. It feels like weeks have passed since then, and in reality it’s only been five days.
And only one day since I’ve been back.
Yesterday, after I washed the blood from my jacket, I was able to hide the fact I’d been shot. The less questions, the better. A few of the guys swore they saw me go down, but after I assured them it was a near miss, nobody thought twice about it. Or me.
So again, like so many times before this one, I’m stuck in a foxhole. Waiting for my watch to come around, so I don’t have to keep trying to fall asleep.
Boots crunch in the snow somewhere to my right, out of sight. They get louder until Perkins looks down at me, his satchel slung over his chest to keep his hands free. I can faintly make out the white and red band around his upper arm in the moonlight.
He jumps down into my hole and joins me. Pressing his back against the dirt with his shoulder against mine. It’s always warmer on the nights he’s here. Ever since Adams took a hit, the blond medic took it upon himself to fill his place.
I know Captain Price doesn’t want two medics sharing the same hole—for obvious reasons—but I have no idea why he chose mine.
“Isn’t it weird not carrying a gun?” I ask.
“Not really,” he says, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “I used to carry a 1911, but I decided it was extra weight I didn’t need.”
When he offers me one, I take it. Without hesitation. After he lights mine and stows his matches away, he takes his helmet off and puts it on his knee. His short blond hair glows dimly under the moon and the front sticks up from where his helmet pressed against it.
We smoke in silence for a few minutes.
“I heard you made PFC,” he finally says.
“I don’t know why,” I admit. “I don’t do much of anything.”
“That’s not true. You keep your head on straight more than anyone, and when all of us feel the same fear, you’re not one to show it.” He looks over. “You might not know it, but most guys here look at you and see more than Private Jackson. All they see is someone by the name of Ace. They see someone who’ll cover their asses when a sniper’s hiding somewhere they can’t see. Someone who’ll be there time and time again, never missing a shot.”
I stare. Waiting for him to crack a smile to show he’s kidding.
It never comes.
Perkins nods to himself, finally looking away and finishing his cigarette. “They see someone they can count on.”
“You’re full of shit,” I tell him, shaking my head.
“Large words for a youngster like you.” He flicks the butt of his cigarette into the dirt near his boots. “How old are you anyway?”
“Twenty.”
“Like hell you are. How long ago did you sign up?”
“About four months now.” I take one last drag. “It feels like a year.”
“So how did you do it then?” he asks.
“Do what?”
“Enlist. Did you forge your father’s signature or something?”
I laugh once and say, “Luck. Dumb luck.”
He thinks I’m joking, but I’m serious.
Another pair of footsteps approaches our foxhole. Captain Price appears and smiles down at us. “Jackson, Perkins,” he says. “Staying warm on this fine night?”
I smirk. “I thought you didn’t make jokes, Captain.”
“And I thought you never smiled, Jackson. It’s good to see we’re both wrong.” He averts his attention from me. “Perkins, I heard you were low on supplies. Did you check around for everyone’s aid kits?”
“I did this afternoon, sir. There wasn’t much.”
“All right, well head back into town and see if they have anything to spare before we move out tomorrow. And make sure you get enough. It may be your last chance.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If everything goes smoothly enough, you should be back before dawn.” Captain Price turns to leave but pauses. “Actually. Jackson, why don’t you go with him. I’ll have Bentley take over your watch tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
Perkins puts on his helmet again and gives me a hand out of the hole. We silently make our way through the camp and past the line—if it can be called that. Out here in these woods, it’s hard to know where the front is and where the Germans are.
I have to be more alert here, but it’s good to be doing something different. It’s better than keeping watch with cold feet and trying to sleep when I know I won’t.
I have Perkins walk behind me since he’s without a weapon, keeping my rifle pressed into my shoulder and pointed down.
We’re both quiet until we reach the small town that has served as a drop point for the last week or so. A hospital was set up in the school where the wounded could be brought in from the front line and then evacuated. Perkins leads now, knowing the way better than I do.
A couple of soldiers walk by and call out to him. “Doc Dan, you back in town so soon?”
“Only to check up on that rash of yours,” he says.
The soldier hesitates. “Rash?”
Perkins nods down. “Is it gone already?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes go wide, confused.
“You know, in theory, I heard it goes away faster if you stay away from any girls. Potentially, anyway. I wouldn’t want to lie to you, though.”
The soldier’s friend laughs and he punches him in the arm. “Shut up, Kirk, it’s not true.”
Perkins laughs. “Take the joke as a man or don’t take it at all, Johnson.”
Kirk can’t stop laughing.
Johnson finally lets a smile out and shakes his head. “Damn Doc, remind me never to get on your bad side.” He finally notices me and nods, averting the unwanted attention off himself. “Who’s this?”
“Private First Class Jackson. You might better know him as Ace.”
To my surprise, recognition dawns over his face. “Yeah, I’ve heard of you. I also heard you’re one hell of a shot.”
I shrug. “I guess so.”
“Well, you’ve got to be with a name like that.” He tips his chin up at Perkins. “See ya around, Doc. Don’t be going around starting any rumors.”
Once they’re out of earshot, Perkins laughs to himself. “Sometimes I just can’t help myself. Come on, let’s get our stuff so we can get back.”
A large stone building sits at the end of the street where a few more soldiers talk and smoke outside
the door. They nod to us before we head down a wide pair of steps toward the basement. There are wounded men lying on every available bed and some sitting against the walls. All of them smelling of blood and sulfa powder.
I follow Perkins through the maze of beds and he’s already talking with one of the other medics, listing off what he needs. Mostly morphine, bandages, sulfa powder, and plasma. Things he’s constantly running out of.
There’s yelling behind me and two soldiers come down the steps, carrying a man on a stretcher between them. Perkins is already there with the medic he’d been talking to, not giving a second thought about helping.
He’s a different person here. When it comes down to someone’s life, he doesn’t take anything more seriously. His hands are already covered in blood with a pair of scissors between his fingers, cutting away the uniform. It’s fascinating and frightening all at once.
I can’t stay.
The scene unfolding before me reminds me too much of Adams.
I turn away and head back up the steps. The night is still cold and clear and thankfully quiet. In the far distance, mortars that can pass as thunder light the sky. I can still hear Perkins and the medic talking over the patient, trying to save him before it’s too late.
He belongs here more than I ever will. And the reason I keep coming back here, over and over again, is something I have yet to find out. Do I belong here like he does?
Sometimes I’m not sure.
I almost don’t want to go back home.
Bryce will be gone.
Dad will probably be even more closed off.
And I don’t know what to think about Harper. She’s constantly on my mind—her smile, the sound of her voice, the feel of her fingers on my back, and her lips—
I dig my last cigarette from my pocket and light up before I stop myself. As I exhale and draw it away, I stand there and stare at my shaking hands. I try to make them stop. It doesn’t work.
“You ready, Jackson?”
I flinch and see Perkins standing next to me, carrying a small wooden box filled with supplies. Waiting for my response. I drop the cigarette and try to hide my shaking hands. “Sorry, yeah.”