Cold Summer

by Gwen Cole

  “What soup are you looking for?” I step forward, grateful for a store full of distractions.

  “Cream of mushroom,” she says. “I swear, looking for the right kind of soup is almost as bad as looking for a certain spice.”

  I grab the can off the shelf and place it in her hand. “Come on, Sherlock.”

  We roam the rest of the aisles slowly. Harper doesn’t need many things; we’re mostly killing time before we have to go back. I want to reach for her hand, but I’m afraid to. I want to kiss her again, but I don’t know how.

  I follow Harper down the frozen food aisle. Most of the glass doors are fogged up from people opening them, and a few of the lights are burned out. We stop somewhere in the middle while Harper tries to decide which frozen vegetables to get.

  My mind keeps going back to what she said near the soup. About the possibilities of having a life I never thought I would. About becoming something more. If I can control my ability, I’ll actually have a chance at a life.

  It’s something to think about. I’ve tried to control it so many times before that I’ve grown used to the idea of never being able to.

  Harper opens the freezer door and a rush of cold air trails up my arms. Raising the hair along my neck and causing a shiver to trace my spine.

  I flinch from something unseen, my muscles already stiff.

  It’s happening. I can feel it.

  The white, shining floor turns to snow. A growing patch of red surrounds my feet, soaking me with Adams’s blood. Urging my heart to beat faster.

  It’s not real.

  It’s not.

  It’s not.

  When I close my eyes, all I can see are the woods. All I can hear are the gun shots and mortars. The screams.

  I don’t want to be there.

  Not now when everything is going so well.

  I force my eyes open, hanging on to the reality around me. I’m afraid to look down and see red, and my heart won’t stop pounding.

  There’s no blood on the floor.

  It’s not real.

  Harper turns around, her mouth moving with words I can’t understand. She hasn’t noticed anything wrong yet. I don’t want her to.

  But it’s so cold.

  So cold.

  Her eyes catch mine and her sentence is cut short. My chest heaves too fast. My eyes fill with of a fear only I can feel.

  “Kale.” Her hand is on my face, her skin warm against mine. “Stay with me.”

  I’m afraid if I relax my jaw, it’ll shake.

  So I only nod.

  Harper looks down the aisle. It’s empty. “Maybe you should sit in the car while I check out. You’ll warm up faster.”

  I nod again and force my legs to move.

  “Just don’t leave,” she says behind me. “Promise?”

  I turn back to her, pushing my mind to better places so my skin will unfreeze.

  “I’ll try,” I tell her.

  I don’t make promises I can’t keep.

  I sit in the passenger seat of Harper’s unnamed car, soaking in the heat coming through the windshield. I watch people load their groceries and fight their children into their car seats.

  My arm hangs outside, feeling the hot waves roll off the black pavement.

  I’m still cold.

  It’s set deep in my bones, slowly leaving with every passing minute.

  I don’t understand why I was so eager to leave all those times before this. When I couldn’t stand being in the house with Dad. Couldn’t stand being anywhere but here.

  Only a week ago, I couldn’t decide where I belonged.

  I have little doubt now—with me and Dad making it better between us, and Harper … I do belong here. But I know I have to keep going back in time. Because somehow—in ways I don’t understand and probably never will—I belong in those places, too.

  I try to think about the reasons I went to certain times before but none of them seem as significant as a war. Did I go back to those other years for a reason or is everything just random?

  Harper opens her door, dropping the grocery bags in the backseat. She doesn’t move to start the car. “Are you all right?”

  “Getting there. I’m sorry … about what happened in there.” I shake my head, daring the lump in my throat to grow. I haven’t shed a tear months, and I’m not going to start now even though this is frustrating as hell. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Nothing is wrong with you, Kale. A lot of people have gone through what you’re going through now. Not many from the same war as you anymore—” I smile a little at that “—but I’m sure it’s no different. It is what it is—nothing to be sorry for.”

  I lean back against the headrest and stare out the windshield. “It makes me feel like a different person, like I can do nothing at all to stop it from happening. The smallest of things can remind me of that place and it triggers something bigger.” Then I say, “I hate it. I didn’t think I did before, because when I’m there, I really do feel like I belong, but I hate knowing it’s inevitable. I am going to go back. It’s just a matter of when.”

  “You really don’t think you can control it?”

  I give her a look. “Trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve tried so many times, I lost count. Remember Libby’s tenth birthday party and how I wasn’t there? I knew she wanted me there—I knew it was important. But a couple hours before the party, I felt it coming. I took a hot shower, and I tried to keep myself busy to keep my mind off it, maybe hoping it was all in my head. Nothing worked.”

  “I had no idea,” she says. “But we can figure this out, I promise. You might’ve given up, but I’m just getting started.”

  I smile at that, seeing her stubborn side come out. “Maybe I’ll be able to once my time in the war is over. Right now, it feels hopeless.”

  “When do you think that’ll be?”

  I pause, coming up with no explanation. “Only the past can answer that. But I hope it’s soon. The war can’t last forever, right?”

  Harper leans back in her seat, a small sigh escaping her lips. “I hope it ends soon, too. This last time you left … I couldn’t stand it. Every day I wanted you to come through that door.”

  “And every day I wanted to,” I confess. I wanted nothing more than that while sitting in my frozen fox hole, counting the minutes until sunrise so time would go by faster. Nights are the worst. “I don’t want to go back. More now than ever.”

  Harper doesn’t say anything, which I’m glad for. There is nothing to say. It feels fake when people try to make something seem better than it is.

  “What’s it like? The war?” she asks quietly. I turn my head, but she’s staring at her steering wheel. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t even ask. You’re probably—”

  “Harper. It’s all right.” She’s still avoiding my eyes. “It’s … the scariest and worst thing I’ve ever been through.” And when I say those words, it really hits me how true they are. Every moment I’m there, I note an underlying fear is always present. Every time I fire my gun, a drop of remorse fills my heart. I dread every moment we enter a battle. I stare at my hands, remembering them covered with blood. “There’s no worse feeling than watching your friends die … knowing you can’t do anything to save them. I’ve killed people, and all I can ever think is that someone on the other side is going through the same thing I am. But I can’t hesitate to pull the trigger, because if I do, I’m dead.”

  I try not to think of Adams more than I already am.

  I finally say, looking over at her, “I just want it to be over.”

  When Harper finally lifts her eyes, they’re glazed. “I know it doesn’t mean much that I hate the thought of you there more than anything else, but I need you to know I’ll always be here when you come back. I wish I could do something more.”

  “It’s more than you think,” I say. “Really. Before I heard you were coming back here, there were times I didn’t want to come back at all. Not while knowing what waited for me.”


  “And now?”

  “And now, I don’t even want to leave.”

  Harper wipes the corners of her eyes and wipes her fingers on her jeans, leaving wet streaks across them. “I wish you didn’t have to. At least not back to where you’ve been.”

  “I’m hoping it won’t be much longer now.”

  Harper starts up the car and heads back, glancing at me like I’m going to disappear at any minute. I might have felt the pull back in the store, but it’s gone now, replaced with the warm summer air.

  A reminder of where I am and where I belong.

  She slows down at the bottom of my driveway, engine idling.

  I open my door, not yet stepping out. “See you tomorrow?”

  “You promise?” she asks.

  I can’t promise, even though I want to. It could change in an instant. Without warning. “You know I can’t. But I’m really going to try this time. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

  Harper nods. Something more is clearly on her mind.

  “Hey.” I lean toward her and she looks up. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “I know,” she says, nodding like she’s trying to convince herself. “But I don’t care what you say. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gives me a heart-pounding smile. “And you know what else you’re going to do tomorrow?”

  I remember to breathe. “What?”

  “You’re going to kiss me.”

  “Really.”

  “Really,” she says.

  I finally step out and shut the door. I lean down, looking at her though the window. “Tomorrow then.”

  Harper nods. “Tomorrow.”

  32.

  Harper

  I don’t remember driving home. I don’t remember bringing the groceries into the house. All I can think about is something Kale said to me in the car, and I’m trying to figure out why it’s bothering me so much.

  I snap awake when Uncle Jasper comes through the back door, shedding his shoes on the mat. I have a can of soup in one hand and a bottle of orange juice in the other, not at all remembering how they got there.

  “Are you okay?” Uncle Jasper eyes me, grabbing a pencil from the mug on the counter.

  “Um … yeah.” I nod and put the orange juice away. “Just thinking about something.”

  “Would this something be Kale?”

  I put down the can of soup and turn around. “Is this the part where we have that weird and awkward talk about the two of us …”

  “Dating?” he finishes for me.

  He can’t hold back his all-knowing grin. I fight not to roll my eyes, because Grace says I do it too much. She’s probably right.

  “I don’t know what we are,” I admit. “And I have no idea why I’m having this conversation with you.”

  I turn back and finish putting the groceries away. For some reason, I put the orange juice in the cupboard, and I quickly take it out before Uncle Jasper notices. Seriously, what is wrong with me?

  “Look, Harper. It’s been no secret to me that you both have had—” he debates “—something between you for a while now—”

  I turn around. “What? How long have you known? I didn’t even know.”

  “I wasn’t me, it was Holly,” he says. “She saw something since you guys were eleven. Or so she claimed.”

  “She really said that?”

  He nods. “She did. And I never believed it until this summer. I’ve got to say, it’s been amusing watching you two pretend like nothing is going on whenever I’m around.”

  I think of Kale kissing me right here in the kitchen before Uncle Jasper almost walked in on us, and my cheeks warm. He saw right through us. Of course he did. He always does.

  Uncle Jasper clears his throat and returns his attention to the paper. “I’m sorry, I won’t say anything else. That’s something between the two of you and it should stay that way.”

  “I think you’re the only parent to ever say that.” I realize what I just said, and Mom pops into mind because Uncle Jasper isn’t my real parent. But he pretends not to notice for my sake and I love him for it.

  “But it’s true, isn’t it?” He smiles just as the phone rings.

  I flinch, unable to stop myself from thinking it might be Mom. Speak of the devil and she shall come. She’s the last person I want to think about right now. Uncle Jasper stands and starts for the hallway.

  “It’s just the phone,” he says, looking at me with his eyebrows raised. He’s still looking as he picks it up. “Hello?” I wait, hoping it isn’t her. “Oh, how’s it going, Jacob?” There’s a short pause and he laughs. “I hear ya. I had an old Camaro in my garage last week. How’s that Mustang working out for you?”

  Now that I know it isn’t Mom, I stop listening altogether. Uncle Jasper can talk to his old friends about cars all day.

  I slip past him in the hallway and head up to my room. Once the door is shut, all I can hear is the shifting grass outside, growing tall in the field next to the house. I can just make out the small creek at the bottom of the hill, where in a few weeks I won’t be able to see it until fall.

  Then it hits me again—what I was thinking of before Uncle Jasper came inside. The very thought drops into my stomach, hard and unwelcome because I’m scared to find something I’m not even sure exists.

  But I have to know.

  When Kale and I were sitting in my car in the parking lot, he said something that got me thinking: “Only the past can answer that.” That meaning Kale’s future. I knew the truth before now, but am only now grasping what it truly means.

  The past is Kale’s future. There’s no way to tell the future, but the past is something I can find out.

  I pull out my laptop from under my bed. It starts up slow since I haven’t turned it on in a while. My phone buzzes with a text, and I glance at the screen. It’s from Libby.

  So have you guys kissed yet?

  It’s like she knows even when she’s hundreds of miles away. I send back a winking face just to screw with her. I turn back to the computer and try to ignore the growing fear in my stomach. I don’t know what I’ll find, and I don’t know what to expect, but I need to know. I can’t go another minute being in the dark.

  I open Google and search Kale’s name tagged with World War II, something that looks out of place in the same sentence. There’s one match at the very top of the screen. It’s too easy. Why does the Internet have to be this easy? I click the link, hoping it’s not him and the heading is wrong.

  It’s a long article about The Battle of Hürtgen Forest, and there’s a small section where Kale’s name pops up. My eyes are the only things moving, scanning the words faster and faster until I’ve read it all. I read them again, just to make sure I’m reading it right. Because this is the very thing I’ve been dreading. I’d hoped it wasn’t going to be this way.

  Because it’s Kale.

  And if history proves to be true, he’s going to die.

  33.

  Kale

  I head upstairs, trying to ignore the growing ache in my stomach. Trying to steer my thoughts away from leaving.

  I need to stay.

  I want to stay.

  I pause at the bathroom door. The light filtering in from the glass tiles invites me in. The bathtub sits quiet, a constant reminder of the comfort it gave me during the past year. The only thing that makes me feel safe.

  I move into the bathroom and run my fingertips across the cold porcelain.

  Without thinking—like a hard-to-break habit—I step inside and slowly lower myself down. The cold seeps through my jeans and T-shirt, freezing the back of my neck. This is a different type of cold. Not the cold I feel deep in my bones that calls me away from here. It’s a cold I can touch. Something my body warms. Something to hold onto when there is nothing else. Anchoring me.

  I sink deeper, pretending there’s water to slip into, remembering the baths I once took when I was young. Memories I can barely hold onto. It’s been too long since I’ve seen Mom�
��s smile, or heard Libby’s voice when she’s happy.

  I stare at my shoes pressed against the other end of the tub.

  The faded blood stains are still visible, now looking more like dirt than blood.

  Sometimes I can’t help thinking, what the hell am I doing here? In the middle of nowhere, Iowa. Living in a mostly empty house. Hiding in a bathtub from something I can’t escape. Haunting me with a past I have to return to.

  I feel lost.

  While everyone has their whole lives planned out in front of them—even if they’re vague and not set in stone—I have nothing except trying to focus on not leaving this place. I don’t understand why some people have it so easy when, for others … nothing seems to go right.

  It’s like trying to figure out my map when I don’t understand the directions.

  I instinctively put my hand over my heart when a different kind of cold sets in. It pounds harder. Knowing what’s to come.

  The phone rings downstairs.

  I sink deeper into the tub and close my eyes.

  I’m not sure if I have the strength to fight it this time.

  On days like this, it’s easier to just let go.

  34.

  Harper

  Kale’s phone is ringing and nobody is answering. It rings and rings, and my heart pounds too quickly between each one. I hang up. I’m lightheaded because I’m breathing too fast. I close my eyes and focus only on calming myself down. It won’t do Kale any good if I pass out before I can tell him.

  And I need to tell him because there’s no way I can’t, right? I make myself believe it.

  Uncle Jasper’s truck isn’t in the driveway, and I don’t remember hearing him leave. It doesn’t matter now. Instead of trying to find my car keys, I head out the back door and run the moment my feet touch the yard. Kale didn’t answer the phone, but it doesn’t mean he’s not there. He could be in the shower. Or outside.