Cold Summer by Gwen Cole
For Corri, because without you, there would be no words.
0.
Kale
For me, seasons don’t exist.
Only I know what it feels like when summer turns to winter in an instant. When one minute I’m in my bed and the next I’m staring up at snow-covered trees, wondering what year I’m in.
Even now I feel it coming.
I sit on the back steps, gripping the wood with one hand like it’s possible to anchor myself here in the present. No matter how hard I try, it never works. The only thing I can do is delay it, sometimes not even that.
Trying to take my thoughts from it, I stare across the field behind the house where we once played baseball in the summers. Swatting at bugs and shielding our eyes with our gloves from the sun’s glare. The grass was kept short then, always ready for us to spend the last hours of the day throwing ball and hoping the sun wouldn’t leave. Mom would watch us from the back porch, a few feet from where I’m sitting now. Cheering us on and never taking sides.
Now the field is overgrown.
Just a memory of the family who used to live here.
I hear Bryce inside, coming down the stairs fast and hard. The jingle of car keys and his audible sigh—the only evidence he’s seen me. And because of that, I’m surprised when he walks across the kitchen and opens the screen door behind me.
“What are you doing out here?” he asks, lingering on the top step. The screen door bangs shut behind him.
I manage to give him a one shoulder shrug. It’s all I can do—I feel like if I move again, I’ll disappear.
That one sentence is probably the most he’s said to me in a week. Without Libby here—with her constant sisterly comments and snide remarks—the house is submersed in silence. We dance around conversations and slip past whichever rooms the other is in.
Not brothers. Strangers.
That’s what we’ve become, and it’s my fault.
I can feel him staring. It has to be close to ninety degrees out here and yet I’m wearing a sweatshirt. I shiver like it’s twenty. My body knows what’s coming before it happens. I tighten my grip on the wooden stair even more.
Bryce shifts his weight, making his keys bump against his hip. I don’t like him standing there, saying nothing, like I’m the one who came to find him.
“Did you want something?” I finally ask, gripping the stair tighter. My forearms flex, not strong enough to keep me here.
“I’m going to the store, so I was wondering if you wanted to come.” He’s lying—he only came out here because he felt like he had to.
“No, thanks.” My voice is tight.
“Why not?”
I keep my eyes forward.
“Because I—” Because I won’t be here in an hour? Because I don’t want to disappear while we’re driving to the store? I’m sure he would take that well. I start again, coming up with a normal answer. “I just don’t want to,” I finally tell him.
Bryce only sighs behind me.
I wrap my free arm around myself and shiver again, a place of winter invading my thoughts. If I close my eyes, I’ll see nothing else. So I keep them open, hoping I’ll stay here longer.
I can’t give into it. Not yet.
Bryce says, “So—” He pauses a long moment “—are you …” He takes a quick breath and starts again, his voice lower. “Are you going to be here when I come back?”
I almost lie to him but end up saying, “I don’t think so.”
“Okay, well—” If I turn around, I would see him flex his jaw because that’s what he does. But I don’t, so the door opens and he says, “I’ll see you later.”
Bryce’s footsteps fade away into the house, followed by the slam of the front door and the roar of his truck starting.
Then I’m alone.
After putting it off for so long, I close my eyes and picture the place my body wants to take me. I don’t want to go, but I also don’t want to stay.
Two worlds I don’t want to be a part of.
Two worlds I don’t belong in.
And the worst part is I don’t have a choice.
I stand and take a step off the porch, my foot landing on snow instead of grass. Cold bites at my skin and fills my lungs. Everything changing in an instant. I don’t have to open my eyes to know I’m here.
This is what my life has come to.
I don’t have a superpower.
I have a curse.
1.
Harper
When I decided to move to Uncle Jasper’s house permanently, I didn’t think it would happen so fast, and I definitely didn’t think it would actually happen. Boy, was I wrong.
It doesn’t hit me until I’m staring at the house.
Not during the plane ride or when the pilot announced our descent. Not even when Uncle Jasper picked me up from the airport and we drove past miles and miles of familiar fields and driveways marked with old mailboxes.
But now that the truck has shut off and the only thing I have left to look at is the farmhouse, I can’t ignore the truth: I’m back in the place where I spent my summers every year—a place filled with memories of a boy with secrets and a house I loved more than my own. But this time I’m not just visiting. This time I’m staying for good. Same girl, different life.
What the hell just happened?
I glance over at Uncle Jasper. He stares out across the field to the left, his hand still on the top of the steering wheel. His short graying hair is hidden beneath his Royals cap, the blue faded and the bill fraying around the edges.
My throat feels dry, but I ask him anyway, “Do you think this was a mistake?”
He blinks and looks over, giving me one of his rare smiles.
“People don’t make mistakes,” he says. “They make decisions.”
“Ah, wise Uncle Jasper is at it again.”
“I try my best. Come on, let’s get your stuff upstairs.”
He grabs my duffel bag and I follow him to the house with my backpack, leaving my biggest check-in bag in the back for later. I’m still wondering what I’m doing here. Inside, it smells like old wood and toast, just as I remember. The pictures in the hallway show past holidays, Dad and Uncle Jasper when they were young, and even some of me. I glance at Aunt Holly’s empty chair before following him upstairs, noticing the afghan still draped over the back and the way the green is still that faded color.
Being in this house without her doesn’t feel right. It probably never will.
I follow Uncle Jasper upstairs. He stops at the door at the end of the hall where my room looks untouched, as though nobody has been in here since I left. My clock glows green from the nightstand and my bed has a single pillow on it. The top of the dresser is bare, save for the mounted mirror on the wall above.