“Because I can’t promise anything at this point.”
Miles is still silent next to me, my ever constant support when I need him. Uncle Jasper is trying not to look hopeful but it’s all he has left. And Harper is more optimistic than all of us put together.
What would they think if they knew I shot someone in the back who was trying to run away? I almost tell them, just to see. It’s hard to be hopeful when I have to go back to that.
I scrape my chair back and stand. I say, “I’m going home.”
“I’ll drive you.” Miles tells me, grabbing his keys and not giving me a chance to decline.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Harper looks like she wants to get up and walk to me or something, but she stays seated. Just nods.
Outside, the sun is going down and the grass is becoming wet with dew. His old Camry sits behind the truck, and I take my usual seat, brushing away some old gum wrappers to the floor. It smells like him. Mint gum and the laundry detergent his mom uses. The car wheezes to life, brakes squeaking as he turns around.
He looks at me and says, “Not a word.”
Because I always have some about this car.
Honestly, I’m just surprised it’s still running.
In no time at all, he’s pulling into my driveway and parks behind Dad’s truck. It feels odd being glad he’s home.
“You wanna throw some ball tomorrow?” Miles asks, knowing the right words and knowing I need to do something normal.
“Nine?”
“I’ll meet you there.” I’m about to get out when he stops me and asks, “What is it?”
I look at him for two seconds, then say, “I shot someone trying to run away.”
His mouth presses into a thin line, for once not smiling.
Miles nods.
I nod back.
That’s all I needed.
That night, I can’t sleep. I don’t even try. Dad leaves me watching TV to go to bed around midnight. I can’t really remember the last time I did nothing but stare at the television. It feels good to shut off my thoughts. To think about nothing and worry about nothing.
I must doze off in the early hours because I wake to Dad making his coffee in the morning and there’s a blanket over me. The television is still on, showing an early morning news show. Dad comes into the living room, and I sit up so he takes a seat.
“Didn’t know you were a fan of the Today Show,” he says, nudging me in the shoulder.
“Is that what it’s called?”
Dad’s dressed for work and his shoes are already on. He would already be out the door by now, but instead he’s sitting here with me. I almost wish he would call in sick but he loves working too much to do that. So I don’t ask.
After a few moments of silence, he says, “I’m glad you’re home. It’s too quiet around here when you’re gone.”
When I’m gone.
And what about when I don’t come back at all. What will he do then? What will happen to my body once I die—will it stay there forever or will it go back to be the proof of what happened? I’m not sure which is worse.
I have to come back. I’ll make sure I do.
Screw history.
So I tell him, “I always come back, you know that.”
40.
Harper
Kale goes and comes back again within the next week. He appears in the field like last time but not early, and he doesn’t feel like talking at all. He mutters something about going home, his face streaked with blood and his hands dirty with brown and red. So we let him disappear into the woods without a fight.
I give him the night and then go to his house in the morning, the sky overcast with a coming storm. Kale must hear me pull up because he opens the door before I get there. His hair is that type of messy when you sleep with it wet, but Kale doesn’t look like he’s slept at all.
“Hey.”
Thunder rumbles overhead and he looks up, like he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing or maybe he expected something else.
“Are you okay?”
He nods and steps aside. “You wanna come in?”
I take him up on the offer as the first drops of rain fall on my shoulders. The living room is dim with the television on, and there’s a blanket and pillow on the couch.
“Have you been sleeping in here?”
“Sleeping is a relative term. I stay up late watching TV, and I’m lucky if I doze off sometime in the morning.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, because I don’t know what else to say.
“It’s not your fault.”
But it is; he just doesn’t want to admit it. We sit down on the couch, a good foot between us, and stare at the screen showing a muted rerun of The Price is Right.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Kale says, turning around an apology of his own. “I just didn’t feel like talking or seeing anyone.”
I peek a glance at him. “I’m just glad you’re back.”
He looks down to the carpet, and I’m ready for him to shut me out like he does every other time when we try to talk about his foretold death. But instead, he smiles and looks defiant, like not even history can get in his way.
“I promised I always would be, right?” This is the side of him I’ve been waiting for—the Kale who doesn’t give up. “I’ll be back next time, too.” Even though he’s staying strong, his voice cracks—just enough for me to hear it. “You’ve shown me I can control it—I’ll be able to when the time comes.”
“You don’t leave for another few days, right?” I say. “So let’s make the best of it. Come have lunch with me and Uncle Jasper. There’s no food in the house, so you know we’ll go somewhere good.”
At that he smiles.
The whole rest of the day goes by in a happy blur despite the weather spitting rain at us every other hour. We have lunch and then go see a movie, where Kale holds my hand in the dark so that’s all I could think about. He’s closed off more than usual, but I take what I can get.
I don’t want to see him go again, but I don’t mention it. I try not to think about it all, like I know he’s trying to do. But it’s there—like the clouds overhead—and not letting us forget.
Kale comes through the back door while I’m making breakfast the next day. Uncle Jasper is already in the barn. I’m about to offer him some food before I stop short. He stands barely inside the door, hands deep in his pockets, unable to look at me.
“What is it?”
The silence is deafening between us until—
“There’s no point for me to wait around a couple days. I don’t think I can bear it. So I’m gonna go.”
“But …”
“Bye, Harp.”
Then he’s out the door before I can stop him, and I’m holding the spatula and am too shocked to move. Did that really just happen? He hasn’t even been here for two days yet. I throw the spatula on the counter and run after him, the screen door slamming shut behind me. He’s already at the tree line.
“Kale!”
He doesn’t stop, and I run after him, not caring I don’t have shoes on. The farther I go down the path, the more fear consumes me. I see the river around the bend, and I slow to a stop when he finally comes into view.