The next morning at the kitchen table, Uncle Jasper doesn’t say a word. He eats his toast and drinks his coffee across from me, looking tired but not acting like it. He says nothing about leaving in the middle of the night, and I don’t ask.
My Rice Krispies make more conversation than we do.
He scribbles another word into the crossword puzzle he’s bent over, silently mouthing the letters as he does. The clock ticks from down the hall. The refrigerator kicks on.
“So …” I start. He erases one of the words, swiping the paper with the side of his hand. “Do you see the Jacksons much? How’s Libby doing?”
“I see them every now and then,” he says and takes another sip of coffee from a mug that has a T-Rex on it trying to do push-ups. “Libby is actually living with her mom this summer, but she’ll be back before you start school.”
“Oh,” is all I can say. I have my video games, but like I told Uncle Jasper, I can’t stay in the house all day. I’d go stir crazy.
“I’m sorry,” he says, finally looking up from his paper. “I know you were hoping to see her, but she agreed to it before she found out you were coming. Otherwise, she never would’ve gone.”
“Yeah, that’s all right. I understand,” I mumble. “What about Kale?” I try to say it like I couldn’t care less, but really just asking about him makes me nervous. I’ve been more anxious about seeing him than anyone. The boy version of Kale was always smiling, his eyes as bright as the stars. The boy who was always gone. When we were younger, his dad claimed it was a phase because all kids try to run away from home, one that would pass with time. He would get angry when Kale would go, and his mom would worry, but they never paid too much attention to it, probably hoping he would eventually stop.
I wonder if he did stop, and then grew into a Kale I probably no longer know.
“I see Kale quite a bit,” Uncle Jasper finally says. He traces another word on the paper. “He comes over to help me on the cars when he’s around.”
I nod and chew my inner cheek. It can’t be more obvious they were the only friends I have here—I could go see Bryce, but we were never close and that would just be awkward. Besides seeing pictures on Libby’s social media accounts, I haven’t seen either of them—or even spoken to them—in years. I should really text Libby, assuming her number is the same.
Before I can say anything else, Uncle Jasper sighs and gets up from the table.
“I’ve got to get going,” he tells me. “I should be back in an hour or two. And remember, if you get hungry, don’t be afraid to help yourself to anything you want.” With a glance over his shoulder at the fridge he says, “I know there’s not much right now, but we can go grocery shopping later. Sound good, kid?”
I nod again, studying my melting cereal as he walks out. Minutes pass after I hear his truck pull down the long driveway. The house feels like a shell that holds nothing but loss. The chairs are cold and the sink is empty. The refrigerator only has condiments and milk. This is—and isn’t—the house I once knew.
I don’t know what to do with myself. If nothing had changed, Aunt Holly and I would be working on the garden or going to the thrift store to find random kitchen utensils. Or Libby and Kale would be over here, forcing me to go swimming with them.
I drop my head on the table and say to nobody, “This is going to be the longest summer of my life.”
Sometimes I can be melodramatic.
After I rinse my bowl in the sink, I go upstairs and start unpacking my gaming console. I make sure I have all the right cords and work on setting up the TV. The remote’s batteries are dead, of course, so after searching for new ones for ten minutes, I’m back to work. When everything is plugged in and ready to go, I start up the Xbox and let out a groan when it says it has to update.
To kill time, I pull out my phone, which has no new messages or missed calls, something that begs me to think about Mom, but I will not open that box right now. That box is tucked away and locked. That box is invisible.
I go through my contacts and scroll down to look for Libby’s name. I can’t remember the last time I texted her. I go for the ice breaker approach.
Hey friend, I’m here in the empty house wishing you were next door so I won’t go crazy with boredom. Miss you …
I glance up. The update is only at fifteen percent.
Aunt Holly was always adamant about having good wifi, even way out here in the country, so it must be a big update if it’s taking so long. Or maybe I think it’s taking so long but really, it’s only been forty seconds.
My phone buzzes with a text.
:(I’m so sorry I’m not there to entertain you. Mom’s house is just as boring, trust me. Have you seen Kale yet? I know he’s not as exciting as me but …
I smile at that.
Haven’t seen him yet, hopefully later.
Car doors slam outside and I go downstairs to see who it is. Uncle Jasper’s truck is near the barn, and parked by it is another truck with a trailer hooked up to it. There’s an old car on the trailer with a man behind the wheel, trying to back it off. There’s smoke coming from the cracks in the hood, but neither of them seem surprised by this.
That’s the Uncle Jasper I know.
I don’t have shoes on, but I walk down the steps anyway, knowing the grass is soft.
“A little to the right!” Uncle Jasper calls from his place behind the car. He uses his hands to direct him off the ramp like someone would an airplane.
Then a voice says next to me, “You never stop watching, because a small part of you is hoping something bad will happen. It’s like watching Nascar.”
I turn to find a girl standing against the porch with her arms crossed, watching them try to navigate the ramp. She has the same dark hair as the man behind the wheel and she’s probably around my age. Brown freckles are splattered across her cheeks and nose, complimenting her olive skin.
“That’s kind of true,” I say, agreeing. “It’s basically the only reason to watch—to hope for an accident.”
“Because who actually likes watching cars go around and around in circles?”
I lean in and say, “Don’t let Uncle Jasper hear you say that. He secretly watches it when I’m not around.”
She laughs and gives me a wink. Her hair is on the unmanageable side of curly, pulled back into a ponytail like it’s the only thing she can do with it. She wears a flannel button-up shirt, rolled up at the elbows, something that’s usually too warm to wear during the summer.
“Unfortunately for us,” she says, “they’ve done this hundreds of times and are very experienced in the ways of ramps. But one of these days …”
I smile. “We’ll just have to keep watching.”
“I’m Grace, by the way. That’s my dad, behind the wheel.” She nods her chin at him, her arms still crossed.