“Kale, whatever made you believe you aren’t strong—or if someone said something to make you think differently—it’s not true. Don’t think that. We all go through trials in life, but yours are just harder than everyone else’s, and quite a lot different. I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who could have been through what you have and came out stronger in the end. Do you hear me?”
I nod, not trusting my voice enough to say anything. I feel anything but strong. But I survived, so that’s better than nothing.
“You’re strong because you kept coming back,” he says. “It’s more than I deserved.”
I think back on all the times I came home after days of being gone, not wanting to go home because I didn’t want to face the mess I had made there. It never felt like enough—like I was a burden more than anything.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“For what?”
“For not being the son you wanted.” I taste salted tears on my lips. “For not being normal.” I wish I could take back everything I’ve put him through. That I was strong enough to change the past instead of having this curse I can do nothing with. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again, because it doesn’t seem like enough to say it once.
Dad leans over the seat, wrapping his arms around me to bring me into his chest.
“You’re more than I ever could have hoped for,” he says, holding me tight. “I’m proud of you, Kale.”
And before I know it, I’m hugging him back.
After we get home and Dad leaves for work, I go upstairs to take a shower. I stand under the hot water, relishing it because I feel anything but cold.
I’m home now, and I’m not leaving anytime soon.
It’s time I exercise the control Harper swears I have.
When the hot water runs out, I get changed into a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I walk out the door, leaving my sweatshirt behind. I glance under the tree where my car is usually parked, forcing my legs to keep walking toward the woods.
That car always felt like it was a part of me. I know it’s just a piece of metal with a name, but it was the first thing I ever called my own. I worked on it for hours. Cut my hand open on the broken exhaust. Lost sleep over trying to figure out what was wrong with the starter.
I stop thinking about it.
I should know better than anyone—the past can’t change.
Even before I reach the back door, it opens and Harper comes out. Her Chuck Taylors once again untied and her eyes brighter than I’ve seen them in a long time. She stops on the bottom step, looking down at me.
“Hey,” she says. “You’re back.”
“Why do you keep saying that like I won’t be?” I step up to join her, struggling not to touch her.
Then I think: Why?
All my life I’ve held myself back.
I don’t need to now.
I trail my fingers up her arm to her shoulder, all the way to her jaw, slipping my hand through her hair. I kiss her, not sure how I’ll ever be able to stop. Harper slides her fingers through the belt loops of my jeans, pulling me closer.
It’s enough to make my heart go crazy.
The screen door opens, and for the first time, we don’t break apart right away. I smile against her mouth and open my eyes, turning to see Uncle Jasper standing there.
“Uncle Jasper,” I say.
“Kale.”
He looks between me and Harper. “Come inside, I have something to show you.”
“Is it a gun?” I ask. “Am I going to get shot again?”
“Not today, smartass.”
“There’s that language again,” I say, smiling.
Uncle Jasper looks like he wants to say something else, but he stops, looking down at Harper’s thumb still hooked in my jeans. He suddenly shakes his head and goes back inside.
“Too soon for the gun jokes?” I ask her.
“Maybe a little. Give it another month or two.”
Harper sneaks me another kiss and I follow her into the kitchen. We sit down in our respective chairs, Uncle Jasper looking at me differently than he usually does.
“I’m glad you were able to recover so quickly,” he says. “How does it feel?”
“A little stiff, but nothing too horrible.” He keeps fingering a piece of paper on the table, and I can’t stand waiting for him to tell me whatever he’s holding back. “What?”
“We weren’t sure if you wanted to see this,” he says, “but I wanted to at least give you the option.”
I glance at the paper between his hands. “What is it?”
Harper answers for him. “It’s the article I found online. The one that told us you were going to die.”
“I don’t know if I—”
Uncle Jasper leans forward, cutting me off. “That’s not what we wanted to show you. This man wrote a short piece about his time in the war, and he mentions you. We thought you might want to see it.”
“Who wrote it?”
“A medic,” he says, and I instantly know who he’s talking about. I can see him like I’ll suddenly go back there—blue eyes, blond hair. The only friend I was able to save. “Do you want to see it?”
I don’t know if I want to see it. Uncle Jasper slides it over, face down. I finger the corner and catch his eye. “Why did you look it up again?” I ask him.
“Because I needed to know if it was all worth it.”
I glance down at the paper, already knowing the answer to that. “It was,” I say. “I don’t need to read it to know that.”
I slide it back to him.
“So it’s true then?” he asks.
I nod. “It’s true.”
Uncle Jasper folds the paper and gets up to put it away in the drawer where he keeps old newspapers, mostly those that have crosswords he couldn’t finish. “If you ever want to read it, it’ll be here. But there’s something you should know about it.”
“What?”
He sits down and finally smiles. “It was only written two years ago.”
I sit up straighter and ask, “He’s still alive?” This is something I hadn’t expected. Most World War II veterans have passed away by now.
Uncle Jasper nods. “He got married and had four kids, and he now has six grandchildren. If you hadn’t saved his life, Kale, that whole family never would have existed. So I think you’re right—it was worth it.”
The last memory I have of Perkins was him looking at me before I told him to run. There was blood and dirt streaked on his face—his eyes the only things in color in that whole world. It was the moment I knew he would live.
That was what I had gone there to do. Save him.
Ripples in a pond.
That’s all the past is.
It’s almost unbelievable that one person could have such an effect on it. It makes me wonder about the small things in life, and how much they have to do with the bigger picture. How many times have I traveled to the past to do small but important things? I’ll probably never know.
We’re not all meant for great things, but we all play a role somehow, no matter how big or small.
It’s my first night home from the hospital, and I can’t sleep. I should be able to because sleeping in the hospital is terrible. People always coming in your room in the middle of night, wanting to take blood pressure or make you take pills.
I should be able to sleep, but the nightmares still come—something that might not ever go away. I know war can give you scars on the outside. I never thought about the scars left on the inside once it was over.