Cold Summer

After she dies for the fourth time, I suggest, “You should put C4 on the jeep and then drive it into the tank.”


She turns and then says, “I should do that.”

Once she beats her nemesis and turns off the game, she asks, “So what’s going on between you and Kale?”

I pause the folding. “Do people really talk about this stuff?”

She shrugs. “I do.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything to tell.”

“Come ooooon,” she drawls, “don’t leave me hanging.”

The phone rings downstairs and I smile, backing out of the room. “I should get that.”

“We aren’t done here.”

I start downstairs even though I’m afraid it’s Mom again—she hasn’t called since last week, but it’s something I’m having a hard time forgetting. But it also might be Kale. It’s about that time now, so I decide to take the risk and go downstairs to answer it.

“Hello?”

“What’s wrong with your voice?” Kale asks. “You sound like a mass murderer is trying to call you.”

I smile, more than relieved it’s not Mom. “You’re back.”

“I am.” He sounds tired and my stomach feels weird when I hear his voice again. “Is Uncle Jasper home?”

I glance out the door, making sure the driveway is still empty. “No, he’s been gone all day.”

“Well,” Kale says in a sad voice, “I guess that means you’ll have to come and get me.”

“That’s a shame,” I say, matching his tone.

“Tell me about it.”

“Where do I pick you up?” I ask, trying to force my heart to stay calm. After Kale gives me directions, I leave Grace at her car with a list of questions and I’m driving away before I can tie my shoelaces.

My heart hammers as I drive with the windows down. I thought the wind would help calm my nerves, but I was wrong. I can’t even focus on the music coming through the speakers. I had no idea one person could make me feel this way. So discombobulated and weird.

After twenty minutes of driving down roads lined with fields and hidden driveways, I catch sight of the Phillips 66 sign. I pull in and see Kale sitting on the curb near a pay phone covered in graffiti. He’s wearing the same T-shirt from when I cut his hair, and it makes me wonder how long he lasted after I saw him. Hours or only minutes?

I pull up to the curb and Kale gets in. He looks more exhausted than he ever has. Along with his smell of rain and wind, the subtle hint of snow fills the car, something that should never happen in the middle of summer.

He glances at me and says, “Thanks for picking me up.”

I nod and pull out of the small parking lot. My stomach won’t settle now that he’s finally sitting next to me. I don’t understand how I was ever able to ride next to him and not be aware of his every move. I unsuccessfully try to focus on the road.

“So … how was it?” I ask, my voice unsure.

He leans back against the headrest and gives a tired shrug. “Fine. Good. I guess.”

It’s like I picked him up from work, and he doesn’t want to explain his boring day. It’s so Kale. I don’t see what is good about anything where he came from. But I give him a questioning look anyway.

“It’s just different,” he says, his eyes glued to a point between us. “When I’m there … I feel needed. Wanted. I feel like I’m there for a purpose, even though I don’t know what it is yet.”

“And what about here?”

He raises his gaze and says, “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

We ride a few miles in silence, listening to the wind and passing cars. Just when Kale seems like he’s about to fall asleep, he lifts his head and looks over. “Have you named him yet?”

“Named who?”

He nods to the dashboard. “Your car. Every good car needs a name.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” I say, shaking my head and trying not to laugh.

“It is if I’m going to ride in an unnamed car.”

“And you said ‘him.’ How do you know it’s a boy car?”

Kale thinks about it for two whole seconds before breaking into a smile. “I don’t.”

I eye him doubtfully. “Besides, I’m horrible with naming things, so I probably shouldn’t. I named our cat Blackie … because he was black.” Kale laughs and I say, “It’s not funny. That poor cat had to live with that horrible name for the rest of his life.”

“Baby steps then,” he says. “Pull over.”

“Why?”

Kale grabs the handle of the door, threatening to jump out. “I swear, Croft. If you don’t pull over right now, I’m going to jump out and very possibly die.” Then he adds at the end, “And it’ll be your fault.”

I throw a glare and pull over on the dirt shoulder. Kale opens his door and gets out. “Come on.”

I stare at him through the dirty windshield, unable to deny that smile. I cut the engine and get out, joining him in front of the car. He grabs my hand and pulls me a foot to the left. His skin is cold against mine, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“All right,” he starts. “First thing you have to do is find out if it’s a boy or girl.”

“And how do I do this exactly?”

“Well, when you look at your car, what do you see?”

“Red.”

“Come on, I’m serious.” Kale moves behind me and whispers in my ear. “What’s the first thing you think of?”

Butterflies tease the insides of my stomach, making it hard to concentrate on anything but Kale. “Well … it’s a Rabbit, and when I think of rabbits, I always think of boy rabbits. Like the ones in Watership Down.”

“So …?”

“So, I guess he’s a boy car.” I turn around and back away a step. “Which means he needs a boy name, which I cannot do him justice with.” I sit down on the hood with a small sigh. “Why don’t you just give him a name since you claim it’s so easy?”

“No, no, no.” He shakes his head. “Only the owner of the car can name it. But it’s not something you have to do right away. Give it some time, it’ll come.”

Kale sits down next to me, putting his feet up on the bumper with his arms resting on his knees. The wind teases his hair and his eyes are more gray again today.

“What’s the name of yours?” I ask, drawing up my knees. “If you’re such an expert at this.”

“His name is Dixon,” he answers, matter-of-factly. “I know he doesn’t look like much now, but he’ll be great once I take him to the body shop.”

“Uncle Jasper said you put a lot of work into him, and if your dad knew that before he sold it, he would’ve gotten a lot more money.”

There’s a period of silence and I look over. Kale’s eyes are downcast. “If only he knew me better,” he says, but not like it’s a good thing.

The field of grass next to the road moves with the wind, every blade rustling against its neighbor and creating the sound that puts me to sleep at night. “I really missed you these past couple of days.”

“Really?” Kale’s shoulders stay hunched, but he turns his head, studying me to make sure I’m not joking.

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