A time-traveler. Kale. It’s weird that it feels so right.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
For once, he holds my gaze. “Honestly, because I didn’t want things to change between us. I didn’t want you to see me as a totally different person, because I’m still me … even though things have changed and we’re older. I didn’t want to mess things up.”
He brings his knees closer to his chest and tucks his arms in like he’s cold. He still doesn’t have a shirt on, but even though it’s night, the air is warm. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you before now. Libby, Bryce, and Uncle Jasper are the only people who know, and I had enough trouble telling them as it is. Well, Miles knows too, but that was sort of a mistake how it happened.”
“I’m not saying you should have,” I say. “It’s yours to tell, not mine. And besides, if you would have told me before tonight, I probably wouldn’t have believed you.”
He looks over. “So that means you do? Believe me?”
“Of course I do.” Then have to ask, “What about your mom and dad?”
“I’ve tried telling them the truth for years, but they never believed me. So I stopped trying.” He shrugs once, clearly uncomfortable talking about them.
I think about Kale being able to travel through time, something he’s been doing ever since he was a kid when everyone thought he was running away from home, and it just makes sense. Almost crazy and impossible, but for some reason believable.
“So that day when we were eleven, and you promised you would be at the river …” I trail off.
His eyes look up to the sky, thinking. “Hmmm, 1974. It was pretty weird.”
Kale smiles, and I laugh.
“I know there are a lot of things you want to know,” he says, “and I’ll try to answer everything I can. But it’s not as complicated as you might think.” He stares into the woods, in the direction of his house, and says, “I’m sorry I haven’t told you before now. I’m just—” He struggles for a word “—ashamed of it.”
“Why would you be ashamed of it?” I ask. “You can do something nobody else can do—it’s amazing.”
“But it’s also a burden.” Kale shakes his head more than he should. “I can’t control it, Harper. I got kicked off the baseball team because of it, and expelled from school. I can’t even get a minimum wage job. What kind of future can I hope to have?”
I can’t think of something to say. “I—I don’t know.”
For some reason he smiles a little. “Yeah … I don’t know either.” Then before I can say anything else, he says, “I should get home.” But when he stands, his right arm moves too fast and he takes a sharp breath and goes rigid with pain.
“Kale—”
“It’s fine. I just need some sleep.”
We both hear Uncle Jasper before he comes outside. He glances at me and then Kale, his eyes going straight for his ribs. “You’re staying here tonight,” he says. “You can stay in the guest room upstairs.”
“I really shouldn’t,” Kale says, for some reason avoiding Uncle Jasper’s gaze.
“Did I sound like I was asking?” Uncle Jasper holds the door open wider and nods his head for Kale to go inside, not giving him a choice.
Kale says, “I could start running, you know.”
“And I would chase you down,” he answers immediately. “How far do you think you’ll get before those stitches come out?”
The white bandage over his ribs stands out against the black around him. I can make out a thin line of red soaking through.
Giving in with a sigh, Kale walks past him into the house. While Uncle Jasper finds one of his old T-shirts for Kale to wear, fussing over him as much as Aunt Holly would, I go back to my room and lie down, wondering if I can fall asleep again. The house soon becomes quiet and dark, the only noise coming from Uncle Jasper’s light snoring across the hall. When he actually does sleep, nothing can ever wake him.
My mind won’t stop processing it all, asking myself how this is even possible. What places has he seen, what kind of events has he witnessed? How long has he been doing this?
I have a thousand questions for him, but he isn’t here, and I know I won’t be able to sleep without them.
I try to keep quiet as I get out of bed. I avoid the places in the floor where it squeaks—a foot from the dresser, the middle of my doorway, and the right side of the hallway. And then I stand before the guest room where Kale is sleeping, my thumping heart and breathing the only sounds I hear.
I open the door and slip inside. He’s sitting on the opposite side of the bed, facing the window where the moon shines in. He’s got a T-shirt on now, still wearing his jeans. I sit down next to him, leaving a healthy distance between us.
“I used to be able to sleep at night,” he says in a hushed tone. “Before I had to start worrying about my dreams.”
“What do you dream about?”
Kale winces with an unseen wound. “Nothing I want to talk about. Sometimes it’s the war, but mostly it’s other things … everything.” He shakes his head. “The only way I can sleep is when I think about the good places I’ve been. Times I wish I could live in instead of here. I’ve seen things nobody should.”
“Will you tell me about it?” I’m too curious now to be left in the dark. “The places you’ve been?”
The muscles beneath his shirt relax, glad of something good to talk about. “What do you want to know?”
I smile. “Everything.”
21.
Kale
The next morning I’m up before the sun is.
My side throbs and a headache brews at the base of my neck. I stare at the ceiling, just thinking.
I’ll have to hide the fact I was shot when I go back in a few days. I can’t let them see me, because they’ll know something isn’t right when they see it’s already stitched. There’s a medic that would probably cover for me, but I don’t want him to become suspicious.
I think about when I came back last night. The old house so dark and my fingers wet with what I couldn’t hold in. Barely able to make it to the gas station without passing out. Staining my shoes and Uncle Jasper’s floor.
And then Harper saw me.
I didn’t want her to see me in that way, but I’m glad for it, because without it, I’m not sure when I would’ve told her.
Last night she asked about everything, and I had no problem talking about it. Having her next to me and telling her about my greatest secret plays over in my mind. Explaining about the different places I’ve been. What it feels like when I leave and the days building up to it. Such a strange series of words I never thought I would speak, because nobody has ever asked so much.
I get a sick feeling in my stomach, thinking of a particular question she asked. Because it makes me realize how wrong things are now.
Harper asked, “How often do you go?”
“About every three or four days.”
“I don’t remember you leaving that much when you were younger.”