Cold Summer

by Gwen Cole

“Your mouth seems to be getting looser these days, Kale.” It seems an odd thing to talk about until I realize he’s only trying to get Kale’s mind off the pain. “After this is all over, I expect you to work on that.”

  I smile and look over at my uncle. “I think he picked up that habit from you.”

  Kale smiles but doesn’t laugh. He’s struggling to stay awake, I can tell.

  A few minutes later, I catch sight of flashing lights coming down the main road and hear the siren. Uncle Jasper takes my hand to replace his over the wound. “Press down hard,” he says and takes off toward the driveway, making sure they find us.

  “How did you do it?” I finally ask, wanting him to stay awake.

  “Do what?”

  “You left early.”

  His mouth turns up at the edges. “I just thought of you and wanted to be here. I wanted to come home.”

  His eyes start to close and he’s not moving much anymore.

  “Hey, guess what,” I say.

  Kale looks at me through glazed eyes, barely moving now. “What?”

  “I named my car.” I try to laugh, but it doesn’t come out right.

  He smiles. “What did you name him?”

  “Fiver.”

  “From that rabbit book you like?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  The ambulance comes to a stop, and Uncle Jasper points over to us. I don’t want to leave Kale’s side, but Uncle Jasper pulls me away, giving the EMTs the room they need.

  “Will he be all right?”

  Uncle Jasper pulls me close, and we follow them back to the ambulance, Kale on a stretcher between them. “He’ll be fine.”

  We stand and watch them load him into the back of the vehicle, my eyes glued to the rising and falling of his chest.

  It’s something I’ve always taken for granted.

  We follow the ambulance to the hospital, and when they pull Kale out of the back, his eyes are closed. I vaguely recall Uncle Jasper asking if something is wrong, but they won’t answer. We follow them closely through the doors of the ER, where a nurse tries to stop us from going any further.

  “I’m sorry, but family only,” she says.

  “We are his family,” Uncle Jasper says. “He only lives with his dad, and I can’t get a hold of him right now.”

  She’s shaking her head—about to protest us going back there—when a nurse behind the desk hangs up the phone and smiles at Uncle Jasper.

  “Jasper, how are you?” she says. “Is everything all right?”

  The nurse standing in our way answers for us. “They came in with the kid just now, but they aren’t his immediate family.”

  A look of worry crosses her face. “Who?”

  “It’s Kale,” Uncle Jasper answers.

  The nurse behind the desk waves her hand. “Let them through, Sylvia.”

  “But they aren’t—”

  “Yes, they are,” she says firmly. “Let them through.”

  Sylvia finally moves aside, and I see Uncle Jasper give the nurse behind the desk a smile of gratitude. We pass through the door, and I smell antiseptics and something metallic. They’ve taken Kale into a room to the right, and we can’t get any closer other than looking through the glass. There’s a half dozen people in there with him, all wearing masks and green scrubs with red-stained gloves. There’s so much blood.

  “I’m going to try to call Peter again.” Uncle Jasper squeezes my shoulder before going to find a quiet place to talk.

  When I can’t watch anymore, I sit down on a hard chair outside the swinging doors and wait, something I haven’t taken a liking to within the last few days. I keep telling myself he isn’t going to die. He’s here now—made it back and he’s going to be okay. I text Miles and let him know what happened. He responds immediately, saying he’s on his way.

  After a time, Uncle Jasper comes back and sits down next to me. He doesn’t look any better than I do. “One of the doctors asked me what happened,” he says.

  “What did you tell them?” I ask, turning to him.

  “That it was a hunting accident. At least, that’s what Kale said before they took him away, right?”

  “Right.”

  “A police officer might come and do a report, but I’ll do the talking. If anything, just nod along.”

  A few people come out of the room with blood stains all over their scrubs. Uncle Jasper leaves to talk with them more, and I stand to look through the window again. His heart monitor is going at a steady pace, and he’s already hooked up with multiple IVs. They’ve completely cut away his T-shirt, leaving him only with a pair of jeans and the upper right side of his chest wrapped in white bandages.

  His eyes are still closed.

  All but one of the nurses leave the room, taking with them a tray of red tools. Uncle Jasper shoots me a glance before following them down the hall without saying a word.

  I settle down in my chair again, watching the nurses and doctors tend to other patients, a few of them going in and out of Kale’s room. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting there, but the next thing I know, I’m being shaken awake. When I see the young nurse who has woken me, I almost panic, thinking something happened to Kale.

  “Everything’s all right,” she assures me, “they just moved him down the hall now that he’s stable.”

  “So he’s going to be okay?”

  “He’s going to be fine. It’s room 110.”

  She points down the hall and I shuffle away, my legs not working properly yet. I pass by rooms already filled with patients, some awake and talking to their families and some alone, sleeping the night away. I’m almost to his room when Uncle Jasper appears behind me, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Where did you go?” I ask. “You’ve been gone forever.”

  “I actually wasn’t gone that long.”

  “I fell asleep.”

  “That’s because you haven’t slept in two days.”

  I don’t argue with that and ask again, “Where did you go?”

  He nods his head a little, motioning me to sit down next to him. He waits for a doctor to pass before taking something from his pocket. A misshapen bullet sits in the palm of his hand.

  “Is that …” It’s the bullet Kale was shot with.

  Uncle Jasper puts it away, glancing down the hallway again. “He’s lucky he wasn’t shot with something bigger. I’m guessing it’s from a sidearm. Maybe an officer’s gun, if I could guess.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Because he would be dead otherwise.”

  A couple of nurses walk by, and Uncle Jasper’s eyes follow them like he’s going to be caught doing something.

  I narrow my eyes. “How did you get that?”

  “We can’t let them examine it,” he says. “How could I explain a bullet from World War II being lodged in his shoulder?”

  I nod slowly. “That would be a tough one.”

  He settles deeper into his chair and looks over. “Did he say anything about what happened?”

  I tell him everything I can remember. About Kale being shot and his squad thinking he was already dead before he left. As far as they knew, he died in those woods on January 8.

  “So they marked him as killed in action because, to them, that’s exactly what happened. But instead, he came back home.” Uncle Jasper takes off his hat and lays it on his knee, sighing.

  “I’m glad you turned out to be right,” I tell him.

  “About what?”

  “About history being wrong.” I lean my head on his shoulder, finally able to rid the worry built up within me. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look him up on the Internet again.”

  “Hopefully you won’t have to. Before he started going back to World War II, he was rarely in any kind of danger. To tell you the truth, it doesn’t make sense if the past pulled him back only to be shot. Did he say anything about what happened before?”

  “No, nothing.” I lift my head to look
at him. “But I do remember something about the article online, because it wasn’t about him at all. Kale was only mentioned in it.”

  “What was it about, do you remember?”

  “It was about this guy who was a medic in World War II.” I shake my head, unable to recall what it said. “I should read it again and ask Kale about it. It’ll probably clear up everything.”

  “I would be curious to know,” he says. “Whatever it was, I hope it was worth him going through all that.”

  A little while later, Miles shows up, followed by Kale’s dad, his hair in disarray and his shoes tied in hasty knots. I watch silently from my chair—too tired to listen or even move—as the nurses try to tell him Kale is going to be okay, but Uncle Jasper is the only one who’s able to calm him down.

  Miles sits next to me, for once not smiling or trying to make a joke.

  Peter says a few words to Uncle Jasper before following the nurse into the room. I would give a lot to see him right now, but I would give even more to have him healed and back home where he belongs.

  After a little while, the nurse tells us we have to leave—family members only, even when there’s only one right now, and I can’t fight to stay, even when I want to. Miles says he’s going to stay a while longer and the staff don’t fight him about it. I follow Uncle Jasper through the maze of halls and then outside to the truck.

  At some point on the way home, without even knowing it, I fall asleep. Not even waking when Uncle Jasper carries me up to my room.

  The blood stains on my hands when I wake in the morning are the only proof I need to know that what happened with Kale wasn’t a dream.

  45.

  Kale

  After three days of being in the hospital, I’m on my way home.

  My shoulder is sore but healed, something the doctors were more than curious to know about. They had a hard time letting me go home, but after having no excuses for me to stay under observation, they didn’t have much choice.

  I blamed my fast healing on one of the nurse’s “loving touch,” and while they were laughing at that, Dad and I made our escape.

  Those three days went by excruciatingly slow. I still had a hard time sleeping—whether it was sleeping in a hospital bed, or something else, I don’t know. The first thing I did when I woke up after they took the bullet from my shoulder was make Dad promise he wouldn’t call Mom.

  The fewer people who know about this, the better.

  I don’t want her to think I’m not fit to live with Dad—not like she took any notice before—but it’s something I don’t want to risk. Libby would never be able to come back home if Mom found out. That’s why I made him promise not to ever tell her about anything.

  Some things are better left unknown.

  Even something as big as this.

  As for Uncle Jasper and Harper, I haven’t seen them since the ambulance drove me away from the house. It’s my fault, really, because I told them not to visit.

  They already saw me at my worst, and I didn’t want them to see me until I was myself again. And I know it’s hard for Uncle Jasper to be in the hospital—especially the same one Aunt Holly died in. I wanted that whole hospital thing to be over as soon as possible.

  And now it finally is.

  “How are you feeling?” Dad asks. “Are you all right? We can go back if you need to.”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  He keeps glancing over. “Are you sure?”

  “Dad, really. I told you I heal a little faster than normal, so why don’t you believe me? Plus, even if you don’t believe me, you can at least believe the doctors.”

  Dad nods and turns his attention back to the road.

  “I just …” He hasn’t said much over the last few days. Maybe now he’s finally able to say what’s been on his mind. He probably thinks I haven’t noticed, but I have. “I was really worried about you, Kale.” He looks over. “I’ve always had this fear of you never coming back. And when I got the call about you being shot, I thought that was it. That I would be never get the chance to be the dad you deserved to have.”

  It’s not something I expected him to admit.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, wanting to say something more, because he has every right to feel that way. I’m the one who leaves people to worry about me while I’m gone.

  “You don’t have to be sorry for anything,” he says. “It’s not like you had a choice.”

  “Maybe if I tried harder … if I was stronger.” I don’t know.

  The truck slows down, and he pulls over to the side of the road. He slowly takes his hands from the wheel and looks over.

  “Kale, whatever made you believe you aren’t strong—or if someone said something to make you think differently—it’s not true. Don’t think that. We all go through trials in life, but yours are just harder than everyone else’s, and quite a lot different. I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who could have been through what you have and came out stronger in the end. Do you hear me?”

  I nod, not trusting my voice enough to say anything. I feel anything but strong. But I survived, so that’s better than nothing.

  “You’re strong because you kept coming back,” he says. “It’s more than I deserved.”

  I think back on all the times I came home after days of being gone, not wanting to go home because I didn’t want to face the mess I had made there. It never felt like enough—like I was a burden more than anything.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again.

  “For what?”

  “For not being the son you wanted.” I taste salted tears on my lips. “For not being normal.” I wish I could take back everything I’ve put him through. That I was strong enough to change the past instead of having this curse I can do nothing with. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again, because it doesn’t seem like enough to say it once.

  Dad leans over the seat, wrapping his arms around me to bring me into his chest.

  “You’re more than I ever could have hoped for,” he says, holding me tight. “I’m proud of you, Kale.”

  And before I know it, I’m hugging him back.

  After we get home and Dad leaves for work, I go upstairs to take a shower. I stand under the hot water, relishing it because I feel anything but cold.

  I’m home now, and I’m not leaving anytime soon.

  It’s time I exercise the control Harper swears I have.

  When the hot water runs out, I get changed into a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I walk out the door, leaving my sweatshirt behind. I glance under the tree where my car is usually parked, forcing my legs to keep walking toward the woods.

  That car always felt like it was a part of me. I know it’s just a piece of metal with a name, but it was the first thing I ever called my own. I worked on it for hours. Cut my hand open on the broken exhaust. Lost sleep over trying to figure out what was wrong with the starter.

  I stop thinking about it.

  I should know better than anyone—the past can’t change.

  Even before I reach the back door, it opens and Harper comes out. Her Chuck Taylors once again untied and her eyes brighter than I’ve seen them in a long time. She stops on the bottom step, looking down at me.

  “Hey,” she says. “You’re back.”

  “Why do you keep saying that like I won’t be?” I step up to join her, struggling not to touch her.

  Then I think: Why?

  All my life I’ve held myself back.

  I don’t need to now.

  I trail my fingers up her arm to her shoulder, all the way to her jaw, slipping my hand through her hair. I kiss her, not sure how I’ll ever be able to stop. Harper slides her fingers through the belt loops of my jeans, pulling me closer.

  It’s enough to make my heart go crazy.

  The screen door opens, and for the first time, we don’t break apart right away. I smile against her mouth and open my eyes, turning to see Uncle Jasper standing there.

  “Uncle Jasper,” I say.


  “Kale.”

  He looks between me and Harper. “Come inside, I have something to show you.”

  “Is it a gun?” I ask. “Am I going to get shot again?”

  “Not today, smartass.”

  “There’s that language again,” I say, smiling.

  Uncle Jasper looks like he wants to say something else, but he stops, looking down at Harper’s thumb still hooked in my jeans. He suddenly shakes his head and goes back inside.

  “Too soon for the gun jokes?” I ask her.

  “Maybe a little. Give it another month or two.”

  Harper sneaks me another kiss and I follow her into the kitchen. We sit down in our respective chairs, Uncle Jasper looking at me differently than he usually does.

  “I’m glad you were able to recover so quickly,” he says. “How does it feel?”

  “A little stiff, but nothing too horrible.” He keeps fingering a piece of paper on the table, and I can’t stand waiting for him to tell me whatever he’s holding back. “What?”

  “We weren’t sure if you wanted to see this,” he says, “but I wanted to at least give you the option.”

  I glance at the paper between his hands. “What is it?”

  Harper answers for him. “It’s the article I found online. The one that told us you were going to die.”

  “I don’t know if I—”

  Uncle Jasper leans forward, cutting me off. “That’s not what we wanted to show you. This man wrote a short piece about his time in the war, and he mentions you. We thought you might want to see it.”

  “Who wrote it?”

  “A medic,” he says, and I instantly know who he’s talking about. I can see him like I’ll suddenly go back there—blue eyes, blond hair. The only friend I was able to save. “Do you want to see it?”

  I don’t know if I want to see it. Uncle Jasper slides it over, face down. I finger the corner and catch his eye. “Why did you look it up again?” I ask him.

  “Because I needed to know if it was all worth it.”

  I glance down at the paper, already knowing the answer to that. “It was,” I say. “I don’t need to read it to know that.”

  I slide it back to him.

  “So it’s true then?” he asks.