“Come on, it’s back here.” He maneuvers around milk crates full of tools and odd engine parts. There’s a wide space open from where Kale’s car sat last week, so I tentatively start there and attempt to follow him over to the other side, trying to remember if my tetanus shot is still up to date.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you open the other door?” I ask.
“It’s locked from the inside,” his voice echoes from somewhere over to my right. “Give me a minute and I’ll open it to let in some light.”
There’s a small desk piled with papers and more tools with an oil-stained chair placed behind it. The large shape of a couch hides beneath a layer of drop sheets and old Mountain Dew cans. This place is long overdue for a cleanup.
A sliver of light grows as Uncle Jasper pushes open the other big door, brightening my narrow path. I make my way over to the other side of the barn, still not sure what he’s supposed to be showing me.
“Well, here it is,” he says, pulling a big box off something covered with an old sheet. When the box hits the ground, a large plume of dust rises up. I don’t really know what I’m looking at, so I tilt my head to study it from a different angle. “Is it a car?”
“Of course it’s a car!” He laughs once and rips off the sheet. More dust pollutes the air and the sun shines on old paint.
“Are you sure?” I ask. It looks more like a metal box on wheels. I walk over and peer into the windows. The inside is suspiciously clean.
“Well, it’s fine if you don’t want it,” he says. “I thought you’d like to have a car of your own.”
I stand and stare at him. “You said you had something to show me, not give me.”
He shrugs.
I look between him and the car. “Does it run?”
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” He throws me the keys. “You need to have your own way around, and this one won’t let you down, even though it doesn’t look like much.”
“How long have you had it?” I open the door and the smell of old car rushes out. Another scent lingers, one that I know too well, something not even time can take away. I look up at Uncle Jasper. “Was this Aunt Holly’s?”
I suddenly remember the picture hanging in the hallway, between their wedding photo and one of them in New York City. It’s a picture of Aunt Holly and Uncle Jasper leaning against the hood of a maroon car, her blonde hair in braids and her smile wide. The ocean is behind them, the same color as the sky. The picture is old, taken back when they first started dating. Long before I was ever born.
If I had one day I could choose to travel back in time to, that would be it. Just to see her once more, the way Uncle Jasper remembers her most.
I look at him now, my smile long faded.
His jaw tightens and he nods. “She wanted you to have it.”
“Uncle Jasper …”
He reaches out and traces the hood with his fingers, almost like he can see her in it. “And you should have it. I’m sorry it took me so long to give it to you. It’s … just—” He pulls away and takes a shaking breath, his eyes narrowing as he tries to keep himself from crying. “It’s hard,” he says.
My limbs are frozen in place, my mouth lost for words. It’s how I imagine it would be to see my dad cry for the first time, and there’s nothing I can do but feel everything he does. Knowing someone to be reserved and like a rock my entire life, and then seeing them on the edge of tears, is something I can’t be prepared for.
I never knew Uncle Jasper without Aunt Holly. If you mentioned one of them, you automatically mentioned the other, like a hyphenated word. If you don’t say the whole thing, the word loses meaning. The living room isn’t the same without Aunt Holly sitting in her chair. The kitchen is always cold and never smells like it used to. The towels in the bathroom closet aren’t folded the same way. And those are just the things I’ve noticed.
For Uncle Jasper, it must be one hundred times worse.
He’s only half of what he used to be, slowly learning how to become himself again.
“For months after she was gone,” he says, “I never moved anything she left behind. Her toothbrush stayed on the sink. One of her shirts was left hanging over the chair in our bedroom.” He shakes his head to himself, the littlest of movements, his eyes reflecting like glass. “I couldn’t bring myself to move anything. Not even the glass of water on her nightstand. It was like I would erase a part of her if I did.”
I think of her green chair in the living room, still untouched, probably the only thing left besides this car. I can’t imagine what he feels when he sees it, and I wonder if he remembers the ocean that day. Or what she smelled like, or what music played on the radio.
It feels like I’m stealing something away from him.
“You don’t have to do this—”
“—No, I do,” he says, finally looking at me. “Remember what I told you about your dad all those years ago?”
I nod. “That there’s always a piece of him in me, even though he’s gone.”
“It’s the same way with Holly. Moving her things, or in this case giving them away, isn’t going to take her away. I’ve had to realize that.” Then he says, “But I won’t say it’s easy. Nothing about her being gone is. But it’ll make me happy to see you enjoy something of hers.”
I don’t know what to say.
When Uncle Jasper pulls his gaze from the car, he clears his throat and digs his wallet out from his back pocket. “Here, you can fill up the tank in town and stop by the store to pick up some food. I know my fridge doesn’t have anything but condiments and cheese, so get what you want.”
Uncle Jasper hands me the money. But before he turns to go, he puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’m glad she decided to give it to you. I don’t think there’s anyone else who deserves it.”
I feel a wet streak on my cheek when a breeze blows through the door. The last person I hugged was Aunt Holly, the summer I spent here before she was diagnosed. And I want Uncle Jasper to be the first since then, maybe hoping I’ll give him a small piece of her that isn’t lost.
I close the small space between us and wrap my arms around him, pressing my face against his chest. His shirt smells like oil and toast.
And when he hugs back, I begin to understand what it feels like to have a home.
19.
Kale
Harper was covered in mud the first time I saw her.
Libby and I heard that Uncle Jasper and Aunt Holly’s niece was coming to visit in a few months, and we were wary of the thought of another kid around to spoil our fun. So, when the day came and Aunt Holly called us to come over and meet Harper, we dragged our feet on the narrow path through the woods.
I don’t remember what we talked about on the way there.
Kid stuff probably. Like how our big brother Bryce was “too old” to hang out with us, and most likely ways of escaping if this girl turned out to be someone horrible.
When we walked through the back door, Aunt Holly was at the sink. We stayed near the door, knowing not to track mud into the house.
“So,” Libby said, crossing her arms, “Where is she?”