Uncle Jasper slouches in his chair beside me, his baseball cap on sideways and an empty can of soda in his hand. He stares blankly at the screen, watching golf. Golf.
When the commercials come on, I lift myself out of the chair and go upstairs to use the bathroom. I have an urge to crawl into bed and go to sleep, but I know even if I do, sleep won’t come right now.
I splash some cold water on my face, deliberately ignoring the mirror in front of me. Before I go back downstairs, I find my hoodie and slip it on, feeling cold for the first time this summer.
Miles shows up at our door right as the sky is becoming dark, all smiles and perfect hair despite the rain, asking for Kale since he wasn’t at home.
“He left early.” I stand in the doorway and realize I don’t want to go back inside yet. I nod to the porch and ask, “You wanna sit down?”
Miles nods, still trying to look happy despite my news. He sits next to me on the porch swing that faces the field and speaks first, “It’s not easy—it’s okay to admit that even if you feel you shouldn’t.”
That’s exactly how I feel—guilty for feeling something when Kale leaves, knowing what he goes through is harder than me waiting for him to come back. “It just feels …” I’m not sure if I know the right word. Then I test it. “Disconcerting?”
“To put it mildly, yes,” he agrees. “We were driving into the city one weekend right after I got my license and this song came on that we both liked. We sang it together a hundred times before, trading verses and me always taking the high parts. At least trying to.” I smile at that and try not to laugh. “So we were singing along and then it was Kale’s turn, but he wasn’t singing his part. I looked over to find his seat empty.”
I can say nothing except—“Shit.”
Miles laughs, probably because he’s never heard me swear before.
“It’s expecting one thing and getting another. Something you just gotta roll with. That’s why we’re friends with him, right? To be here for him when he gets back. It’s the side effects of being friends with Kale Jackson.”
“Does it get easier?”
“You get used to it.”
The rain tapers off during the night. Uncle Jasper already went up to bed, and I’m watching an infomercial about brooms. When I can’t hold my eyes open any longer, I shut the television off and blindly make my way upstairs.
Without turning the lights on, I change into a pair of shorts and a tank-top. I open the windows before I climb into bed, only taking comfort in the sound of the storm tonight when nothing else comes close. While lying in bed, facing the dark windows with the sound of rain coming through them, I brush my hand over the place where Kale slept all those nights ago. The warmth of him is long gone. When Kale leaves, he leaves nothing behind except the memory of him, and it’s never enough.
There is one question I’ve been ignoring today.
What if Kale doesn’t come back? This is what Uncle Jasper must have felt when Aunt Holly died. I don’t understand how life can continue on when someone so close to you goes away forever.
It’s something that hurts to think about, and something I hope I don’t have to deal with anytime soon.
43.
Kale
When I look up at the sky, time is irrelevant.
The clouds look the same and the sun is just as bright.
It’s one thing that never changes. The only thing that brings comfort. Because wherever I might end up, the sky is always there—the sun during the day and the moon at night.
Two constant things when nothing else can be.
With my helmet hanging from my fingers, I close my eyes and soak in whatever warmth I can get on my face. Missing summer in this cold place.
“Jackson.”
I look down in time to see Perkins throw me something. I catch it in my helmet and see an unopened pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes.
“Where did you find these?” I ask. I shoulder my rifle and put my helmet back on so I can have my hands free. I haven’t had a smoke since last night and I’m dying for one.
“The captain gave them to me,” he says.
I pull two out, hiding the rest away for later. Perkins flips his lighter open—one he found a couple days ago—and I start them at the same time, handing one to him once they’ve caught.
I take a long drag and silently mouth a curse word.
It’s horrible and wonderful all at once.
“Why did he give them to you?” I ask, sparing him a glance. “Special medic privileges?”
Perkins tucks his helmet under his arm, running his hand through his short blond hair with the cigarette between his lips. “I wish,” he says. “I never thought I would be addicted to these damn things.”
I laugh once. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He glances over. “I told him I was trying to find you, and he just gave them to me and said, ‘Here, I owe him one.’”
I can’t believe Captain Price remembered the night we had a smoke together. I’m a little baffled he remembers me out of the hundreds of men in our company.
“That was a while ago,” I say, still thinking about it.
At least I think it was.
Perkins shrugs, continuing to smoke. Most of the guys around us are eating lunch and enjoying the bright afternoon despite the snow on the ground. We haven’t seen any Germans for two days. I still don’t want to think about the last time I was here—how I came back with blood on my face and the look Uncle Jasper’s gave me when he saw it.
Today, I welcome the silence.
I take another quick drag and ask, “Do you know what the date is?”
Perkins shakes his head but looks over his shoulder where a few guys sit. One of them is using an ammo box as a pot, warming some food over a fire.
“Hey, Trip!”
One of the guys looks up. “Doc?”
“What’s the date today?”
“Uh—I think it’s the eighth today. New Years was just last week.” He has a pretty strong Texan accent. But then he grins and asks, “Got a date, Doc?”
Perkins smiles. “What’s it to you if I do?”
“I don’t know, is there a sister?”
“Not one that would take a liking to you.”
Trip’s smile drops and the guy next to him punches him in the arm, laughing. When Perkins turns his head back, he shrugs one shoulder. “It’s the eighth. Why do you want to know?”
“Just wondering.” But my hands are shaking a little more and I glance at the sky again. Looking for some sort of refuge.
I finish off my cigarette and want another. I’ve never had two in a row before, and I don’t want to start now. I’ve never even told Harper I smoke here. It’s not like I do it at home, even though I’ve come close, but I wish I had told her something as simple as this.
I suddenly ask, “Do you ever think about dying?” I see him look over in my peripheral but I don’t turn. I almost regret asking—though I think I would regret it more if I hadn’t.
With every minute that passes, my hands shake a little more and my stomach tightens at every sound.
I’m barely holding myself together at this point.