Music drifts from the barn as I make my way across the lawn. The light falls in the sky as the sun dips deeper below the horizon, making the clouds wispy and pink. Fireflies have already begun to light up the forest.
The door is cracked open and I slip through, breathing in the smell of oil and potato chips. Uncle Jasper lays on a creeper under an old Camaro, his legs sticking out, oil stains on his jeans. He’s softly humming to the song coming from the old radio in the corner.
I wait a few seconds to see if he’ll notice me, but he doesn’t. “Uncle Jasper?”
“What’s up, kid?” Metal clanks from somewhere below.
“I’m going over to see Kale. He hasn’t answered any of my calls.”
Uncle Jasper stops working and rolls himself out, staring up. His baseball cap is turned sideways on his head, his graying hair sticking out from under it. If it wasn’t for the look in his eyes, it would be hard to take him seriously.
“You’re gonna go over there?”
“Yeah.” Then I ask, “Is that bad?”
“It can be tough on him when he comes back,” he says, shrugging, “especially after going through what he does. Some days are better than others. But maybe it’s a good idea you go see him. He could probably use it right now.”
He rolls back underneath the car without waiting for my response. But I ask him anyway, “When did he start being like this?”
“Like what?”
“Not Kale.”
There’s a long pause where the music fills in. “Probably within the last year or so. Things started to get worse after his mom left.”
A knot forms in my stomach, now knowing what that feels like.
“But I do know one thing,” Uncle Jasper continues. “He’s been more himself since you got here. Oh hey, tell him I could use his help tomorrow if he’s up for it.”
I nod—even though he can’t see me—and slip out the door, slightly nervous about going over there again, not wanting to find something else unexpected. I think about driving over, but walking through the woods takes just as much time, so I cut across the backyard with the fading music behind me.
When Kale’s house comes into view, I almost hesitate before stepping out of the woods. Coming here when I was younger was easy. It was something I did almost every day—running through the woods and entering the house without a knock or hesitation. It was a second home.
Now, like last week when I came, it feels like I’m approaching something unknown. Light glows from behind closed shades and not even the hum from the television can be heard. I step up to the door and knock, trying to ignore the weird butterflies in my stomach. It takes a few moments for me to hear footsteps, and when the door finally cracks open, Bryce stands on the other side.
“Harper?” He opens the door wider. “What are you doing here?”
The house looks empty behind him, and I have a bad feeling that maybe Kale left early. It’s been only two days, and he said he had at least three or four before then.
“Um, is Kale here?” I ask. “I tried calling earlier today but nobody answered.”
“Oh, sorry. I just got home, and Kale is up in his room.” Bryce gives a small shrug, almost apologetic. “He doesn’t usually come out to answer the phone. But come on in. You can go up if you want. I’m sure he’s awake.”
“Thanks.”
I move in past him and up the stairs. The higher I get, the darker it becomes. Kale’s is the last room on the right. There’s no light coming from the crack under the closed door, but I knock anyway.
I hear the bed creak and bare feet padding softly across the floor. When the door opens, the light coming through the window behind him makes his face shadowy against the white walls.
“Harper.” He says it like I’m the last person he expected to see. “Who let you in? Is my dad home?” He looks past me, down the hall, like he expects to see someone standing there.
“I don’t think so. Bryce let me in.”
Kale lets out a breath and relaxes a little. “Oh. So, what are you doing here?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have come if you would answer your phone. I’ve been trying to call you all day.”
His eyes close briefly and he looks down. “I’m sorry.” His jaw flexes. “It seems I can’t do anything right today.”
“You will if you let me in,” I hint.
Kale flashes a quick smile and opens the door wider. “That, I can do.”
I walk past him through the door. “Uncle Jasper said to tell you if you’re free tomorrow, he could use some help with that Camaro.” When he doesn’t say anything I ask, “How’s your side?”
“It’s good. I’ll probably take the stitches out tomorrow.” He closes the door and sits down on his unmade bed.
“So soon?” I say, still glancing around and trying to remember what has changed. Not a lot—just little things, like the place of his bed and the absent posters on the walls. It seems so bare now. With the door closed, I feel close to him.
“Well, yeah,” he says. “I tend to heal fast.”
I lean against his desk and shake my head. “Even though I’ve had a couple of days to process it, you being …”
“Not normal?” He only stares at the floor between his feet, his expression voided.
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“But it’s true.” Kale looks small sitting on the bed, and when he shrugs his shoulders, I really see how tired he is. Worn out. “I don’t ever remember being normal.”
“It’s not all that great.” I finger the books on his desk and the worn bookmarks protruding from them. Pencils stand up in the old mug with a chip, showing the white porcelain surrounded by green. Kale broke that mug when he was twelve. His mom was going to throw it out, but I had no idea he saved it from that fate. There’s so much that I don’t know about him, and I’m starting to realize it even more than before.
Pictures are tacked on a bulletin board above his desk. There’s a lot of us and Libby. My eyes linger on the ones of Kale and me, trying to remember what I was thinking and what I felt. It certainly wasn’t what I feel now, but maybe close.
A few of the pictures of Kale and Miles are only a couple years old.
“How long have you known Miles?”
“A few years now. He’s the only person in school who bothered to put up with me.”
“You said telling him about your time-traveling was a mistake. How come?”
He gives a small smile. “You really want to know?”
“Of course.”
“Well … we stayed late after baseball practice one evening. It was the start of the season last year and I wanted to get more pitches in before our first game. I don’t know—I think it might be because I worked up a sweat and couldn’t feel the cold coming on, but when we were done, we packed up our bags and started back toward the school. Suddenly it just hit me. I dropped my bag and couldn’t move, tried to stop it from happening. He knew something was up because I was starting to freak out that I was about to expose myself to him.”
He pauses, thinking about it.