by Gwen Cole
I let my eyes drift to the television, not wanting to relive what I told Kale. “Yeah.”
Uncle Jasper stands up, not taking his eyes off me. “What’s wrong?” he says. “Tell me. Are you hurt? Did something happen to Kale? Harper—” He steps in front of me, forcing me to look at him and think of things I don’t want to. “What is it?”
“It’s Kale,” I say, barely audible.
Uncle Jasper’s eye flash. “Did something happen?”
I close my eyes, feeling light-headed. I back up and sit down on the bottom step of the stairs, not knowing how to tell him.
“I looked something up on the Internet earlier,” I say. Uncle Jasper pauses, trying to make sense of what I’m telling him. He sits down next to me. “Let me rephrase that. I looked up Kale.”
“Kale.” I look up at him in time to see realization settle in. “You mean, you looked up the Kale in the past.”
“Technically, Kale in the future.” I don’t smile and neither does he. What might have been funny this morning no longer is. “I needed to know if he was going to be all right. You know better than me how hard it is when he’s gone. I had to know. And now I’m wishing I didn’t.”
“What did you find?”
I don’t have to say it. I look at him and give a small shake of my head, and he knows. The tension between us is like a brick wall. The voices from the television are the only indication time is still moving. My throat tightens when I try to swallow.
Sometimes life really, really sucks, and I just want to play my video games to drown out the noise in my head. This time, I don’t think there’s any way to ignore this.
Uncle Jasper finally pulls his gaze away and focuses on the floor. “Can you tell me exactly what you read?”
“It was only a mention of him. How he—” I lick my lips and start again, finding this more difficult with every passed minute. “It said he was killed in action, on January eighth.”
“Not missing in action?”
“No. I reread it a dozen times to make sure.”
Uncle Jasper’s jaw clenches and unclenches. Missing in action would make sense. Kale would go missing because he would come home. Why does it have to say the former?
“What’s the date there—did you ask him?”
I regret leaving Kale when he asked me to. I could still be over there, feeling his heartbeat under my fingers and his breathing matching mine. It was safe with him. The possibilities of him leaving were far out of reach, along with every worry that clouded my thoughts.
“He said it’s about to be the new year,” I say, closing my eyes to fight back the rush of unwanted emotions. All I can think about is Kale. The way he looked down at the river, dripping wet and giving me a dimpled smile. The dashboard lights outlining his face as he drove me back from the diner. Every moment his eyes caught mine, my heart beat a little faster.
I want Uncle Jasper to say it’ll be all right or figure out a way to prevent it. To say anything that will make this all go away. The same way I wanted Kale to. I keep yearning for something that will never come.
A few minutes pass until Uncle Jasper releases the tension in his shoulders, exhaling a defeated and tired breath. He flicks off his hat and it drops between his feet.
“I wish there was something we could do,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He looks over. “Me, too, kid.”
I lean over to rest my head on his shoulder and his arm wraps around my back. He reminds me so much of Dad that it hurts. Even his smell and the sound of his voice. Nothing could erase that from my memory.
“The only thing we can do is hope history is wrong,” he says.
Whatever happens, I just want Kale to come home to us. I’ll give anything for him to walk through that door again; today, tomorrow, and even weeks from now.
We sit on the bottom step of the stairs, ignoring the constant hum of the baseball game and watching the night settle through the screen door.
There’s nothing we can do.
It’s impossible for me to sleep. The moon shines bright through the windows, and I toss and turn under the pale light, the sheets clinging to my legs. I give up and sit against the headboard, staring out at a night filled with crickets and grass and the faint sound of the river.
The house is empty and quiet. Uncle Jasper left an hour ago, saying nothing when he did. Aunt Holly told me he used to do it all the time. He just leaves and drives wherever the roads take him when he needed to think or let off some steam. It’s his way of dealing.
Now more than ever I wish she was here. Even at night, when I would wake up after having a nightmare, just knowing she was in the next room was enough for me to fall back asleep. Missing Aunt Holly makes me miss Mom even though it feels wrong to do so.
The stairs creak, followed by the hallway floor. I never heard Uncle Jasper come home, so it could only be one other person. My bedroom door cracks open and Kale slips inside, wearing his gray zip-up sweatshirt and a ripped piece of cloth tied around his right hand. I untangle myself from the bed and move into his waiting arms.
I press my face into his shoulder, inhaling his smell and trying to memorize it. “I was afraid you were already gone.”
The muscles along his back stiffen. “I didn’t come to talk about that.”
“Then what did you—”
Kale cuts me off with a kiss. It’s soft and cold at first, deepening into something more when he draws me closer. My fingers twine into his hair, feeling like this could never be enough. I finally realize the difference between needing and wanting.
The back of my legs hit the bed, and I slowly lower myself down, Kale following me without an inch of space between us, his knees coming up on either side of me. One of his hands wraps around my waist, his thumb tracing along my hip. A shiver runs up my back and I break away, still feeling his chest move every time he takes a breath.
Something isn’t right and I want to ignore it. Still—“Kale …”
“What?” His eyes search mine.
Screw it.
I tug at the zipper on his sweatshirt and pull it free from his arms. It falls to the floor somewhere behind him, and I can swear my heart is pounding loud enough for him to hear. My fingers trace the hem of his jeans before slipping under his T-shirt, slowly drawing it up, over his stomach and the curves of his chest. He leans away and lifts his arms, allowing me to pull the shirt over his head.
The smell of winter is everywhere.
I thread my fingers through his hair, remembering how it felt when I cut it and my stomach fluttered the same way. Wrapping my hand around the back of his neck, I draw him closer. His lips brush my chin and then my jaw, finding my mouth in the stream of moonlight.
Nobody is here to stop us this time. Uncle Jasper won’t be walking in on us, and there’s nothing but the night outside, keeping our secret away from the sun and everything that reminds us of reality. Because being with Kale is like a dream—too good for me to have and disappearing when things become too real.
Being with him lets me forget about everything wrong. I’ve already forgotten why he’s here and why I couldn’t sleep.
But when his dog tags brush against my neck, I remember.
Kale doesn’t have much time left. I feel it with every movement in his lips—like he knows his days are numbered.
I break away and put a hand on his chest. “Kale, stop.”
“What’s wrong?”
He looks down at me with a face I can’t say no to. We both need each other, but not like this.
“This doesn’t feel right,” I say, “and I think you know why. You can’t make it go away by trying to forget.”
“Why is it so horrible for wanting to forget that I know I’m going to die? All I want right now is you.”
I almost give in. My hand is still on his chest, feeling his cold skin against my palm. He’s using this to forget about his problems, and I could be the solution. But it wouldn’t change anything.
“And
I don’t want this to happen under that reasoning,” I say. “I don’t want it to be like this. And I know you don’t want it to either.”
“How do you know that?” he asks, suggesting otherwise.
“Because it’s not you. Or else you wouldn’t have waited so long to kiss me, and you wouldn’t be so nervous every time we’re close. This isn’t you, Kale. You’re only doing it because you think you’re going to die.”
Kale’s eyes harden. “I am going to die, don’t you get that? And not being with you would be my greatest mistake.”
“You are with me. You always have been.” Because it’s true, even if I never knew it. Then I say, “Tell me the truth, Kale. Do you want to do this tonight? Right now?”
His jaw clenches and he looks down. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
Before I can stop him, he moves away and gets off the bed, searching the floor for his T-shirt. After he pulls it back on, I catch his wrist. He stops and looks down at me, his chest moving steadily.
“You don’t have to be,” I tell him.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Yes, I do.” Kale sits down next to me, weaving his fingers through mine. “I shouldn’t be using you to ignore my own problems. It’s wrong, I know. I just … I wanted to forget. I’m sorry.” He gives me a smile; one of his rare, dimple-showing amenities. “No matter how much I liked it.”
He leans in to give me a soft kiss. The short-lived smile is gone when he pulls away, replaced with an expression I’ve grown used to. A little of the person he was when I got here is showing again, and it pains me to know there’s nothing I can do.
He pulls me into him, and there’s so much of a difference between Kale holding me and anyone else. So much.
“It won’t be the last time,” I murmur into his shoulder.
Kale shivers against me and I lean away to look at him.
“Why are you always so cold?” I ask. “Does it have to do with something with you leaving soon?”
He nods. “The sooner I am to leaving, the colder I get. It’s like a warning. And the more I think about it, the worse it gets.”
“Then don’t think about it.”
“It’s hard not to when I can’t sleep.”
“So sleep here tonight.” Kale looks over, unsure. “Because you aren’t the only one having trouble.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s just sleeping, Kale.” He laughs a little, probably remembering his own similar words earlier. I realize he doesn’t laugh enough. “I don’t want you to leave yet.”
His eyes are a little sad. “Afraid I’ll disappear?”
“Should I be?”
Kale shakes his head and smiles again. “Not tonight.”
But maybe tomorrow or the day after. That’s what he doesn’t say and what I don’t want to think about.
37.
Kale
During the night, I can almost believe there is no such thing as day.
Night is for the sleepless.
For the ones who don’t want dawn to edge over the horizon.
Because each new day brings the reality that time is still in motion. It doesn’t stop for anyone. Or change, for that matter.
Not even for someone like me.
I sit on the edge of Harper’s bed and watch for the first signs of daybreak. The fields stretching away from the house are unmoving. Waiting, just as I am, for something I don’t want to come. Because once it does, it means everything must move forward.
Time must move on.
Me along with it.
I glance at Harper behind me. She hasn’t moved since she fell asleep hours ago. Her light brown—almost blonde—hair is webbed over her pillow, proof of her deep sleep. I envy her for that. I was able to sleep only a few hours before the dreams came and woke me.
I was wrong for coming here last night.
My mind wasn’t in the right place.
I wanted nothing more than to forget about what I had ahead of me—even if it was for only a moment. And I knew Harper was the only one who could do that. It’s one of those mistakes I wish I could take back.
I slowly stand, careful not to wake her. The sun peeks through the windows and I can’t sit here any longer. I walk around the bed and pick up my shoes and sweatshirt.
After the door clicks shut behind me, I make my way down the dark hallway. And the moment I smell toast coming from downstairs, my shoulders relax and I give a small sigh. I didn’t hear Uncle Jasper at all during the night, and I wonder if he ever went to bed.
He’s sitting in his usual place at the kitchen table, staring down at the wood with an expressionless face. He doesn’t even look up when I take my seat.
I’m having a moment of déjà vu.
It was four years ago, exactly two months after Aunt Holly died, and I had come over to visit. I did almost every day. But for those first two months, he tried to act like he was doing okay. He tried smiling and keeping a conversation. But there was a chunk of him missing that was too obvious to mistake.
Then one day I found him sitting at the table like this, finally realizing the reality of what had happened. That was when he started doing crossword puzzles, slowly trying to build his life back up, day by day.
There’s no paper in front of him today.
No smile and no hello.
Suddenly I’m afraid of what will happen to him when I don’t come back. And what about Dad? And Libby and Bryce. Miles and Grace. Harper. On the outside, I might be calm and controlled, but on the inside, I’m panicking like last night in the kitchen except not nearly as bad. Enough to stay in control, but barely.
I don’t want to die.
I want to come over here every day and walk into the kitchen, which constantly smells like toast.
I want to work on cars with Uncle Jasper.
I want to kiss Harper every minute and every hour.
I want to go to school and become a history teacher because I would be better at that than anyone.
I don’t want my dad to see his youngest son die and think it was his fault.
I want a future.
All the while I’m thinking this, I’m becoming colder and colder, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
I close my eyes and think of Harper upstairs—the curving shape of her lips, her long lashes touching her cheeks while she sleeps, and the memory of her fingers on my skin. Pulling me closer. Wanting me as much as I wanted her.
It’s enough of a distraction for now to keep me rooted here. I just can’t let my thoughts stray like that again.
Not when I’m this close to leaving.
I still haven’t asked her about the date she saw, and I wonder how many more travels I have left until it comes.
Neither Uncle Jasper nor I talk. There’s nothing to say. I’m sure Harper told him everything last night, so there’s no point confirming it or trying to come up with a way to stop it from happening.
Because it is going to happen. It’s the fact that haunts me.
Uncle Jasper becomes unfrozen and glances at me, his eyes not at all bright like they usually are. “Are you hungry?” he asks.
I shake my head—my stomach is too tight to be hungry.
“Well, I’m going to make you something, and you’re going to eat it.” He gets up from the table and moves in front of the stove, turning on the front burner. While the pan is heating up, he glances at me from over his shoulder. “How did you sleep?”
His mouth curves upward.
My mouth becomes dry, suddenly remembering where I spent the night. “It was—” But no words want to come out.
Uncle Jasper throws me the smallest smile, letting me know he’s messing with me. “You’re lucky I trust you enough.”
I wish he didn’t say that.
Last night, I couldn’t even trust myself.
“I think you should trust Harper more than me,” I admit.
He looks at me before cracking an eg
g into the pan. “You underestimate yourself.”
“How can I trust myself, when it feels like I don’t know myself?”
I look away and listen as he fries an egg and butters a piece of toast. He sets the plate of food before me and sits down, catching my eye. “I know it feels like that sometimes. But it’s within those times when you find out who you really are. We all go through them.”
I stare down at the food on my plate, thinking about the mistake I made last night. Harper deserves better than me. “And what if I’m not someone good?”
“Kale, I’ve known you since you were four years old, ever since you wandered over here claiming you weren’t lost but exploring—”
“—I wasn’t lost—”
He chooses to ignore this. “—and during your whole life, I’ve never once seen you be anything but good. You make mistakes just like the rest of us, but you learn from them.” Then he asks, “When you do something you shouldn’t, do you regret it?”
I finally look up and say, “Yes.”
“Then why do you keep trying to believe otherwise?”
I don’t have an answer to that. Because it makes me feel less guilty? Less of a screw-up?
I pick up my fork and poke at the eggs. There’s no point trying to argue my way out of eating—I’ve tried it too many times to bother.
This feels like too normal of a morning—other than Uncle Jasper’s lack of smiles and sad attempts at joking—and it shouldn’t. There’s something major on both on our minds, and yet we try to have a regular breakfast like any other day.
I’m almost glad for it.
Having something normal makes it as though nothing not-normal is going to happen.
I’m halfway through my eggs when Harper walks into the kitchen. I try not to make it obvious that I’m watching her. My eyes follow her every move, forgetting about the food on my plate.
She pours herself a bowl of cereal and tries to find a spoon in the drawer—Uncle Jasper is horrible about putting them back in the right place. When she finally sits down across from me, I try to keep eating.
“Don’t forget to eat your toast,” Uncle Jasper comments.
I take a bite and shoot him a fake smile. Harper tries not to laugh from across the table.