Page 136 of The Apple Tree

The back door slammed shut, and my gaze shot in that direction. It had to be my dad and Kyle. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Gabby carrying Josh to the front door, probablytaking him home to protect him from the fallout. When that door clicked shut behind them, Grandma stepped into the kitchen.

“Eve, give me a moment with your mom,” she said.

“Mother, this is none of your business,” my mom said, with her claws still planted into my wrist.

Grandma gently rested her hand on my mom’s until she released me.

“Eve, I’ve got this,” Grandma said to me.

I wanted to tell my mom it was my fault.

Confess my sins.

I wanted to beg her not to slit her wrists or drive the car off a bridge.

Or take a whole bottle of pills.

Instead, I headed to the front door. My vision blurred behind my tears as I held up my dress and slid my feet into my old cowboy boots. By the time I ran down the front porch stairs, Gabby and Josh were way past the orchard. I could hear my dad and Kyle arguing out back, but I couldn’t make out the exact words. I kicked the planter off the milk box and grabbed a bottle of vodka. Then I headed to the creek, where I followed it past our property to the hut Kyle built for me.

I loved Kyle and Josh beyond anything my young heart could have ever imagined, but as I took drink after drink of the liquid that burned my throat, all I wanted was for it all to be a bad dream.

I wished Kyle and Josh never moved to Devil’s Head.

And then I wished I was never born.

Mom should have taken that bottle of pills when she was pregnant with me instead of the pregnancy she ended after Gabby.

Feeling responsible for someone else’s will to live was the worst fucking thing in the world.

I wokeup in the hospital with my mom in a chair next to my bed, bent over, her cheek resting on my hand. There was an IV in my other arm and an oxygen mask on my face. Dad was staring out the window with his hands in his pockets. I gingerly lifted my arm with the IV in it to pull the oxygen mask off my face.

Mom quickly lifted her head. “Eve,” she said with a breath of relief.

Dad turned.

“What happened?” I whispered.

Mom batted away her tears before they made it down her face. “You—” she choked and had to clear her throat.

“You poisoned yourself with alcohol,” Dad said with less emotion, resting his hand on my mom’s shoulder as she gently sobbed. “You could have died.” He narrowed his eyes, displaying a hint of pain. “That dog— that you were supposed to get rid of—led Kyle to you. He carried you to his house, and an ambulance brought you here.”

Kyle carried me? I tried to imagine it. He must have hoisted me over his shoulder with only one arm to steady me. Then he had to carry me up a long hill to get back to his house.

I was an awful person.

“We’re taking you to St. Louis tomorrow,” Dad said.

“For what?” I whispered, and it made my mom break down with a new round of tears.

“For thirty days of treatment at a rehab facility,” Dad replied.

“What?” My head rolled side to side. “No. I don’t need that. I was upset. I’m fine. I don’t have a problem. Please. No. Just?—”

Dad rested his hand on my leg. “If you go, you’ll have a home to return to. If you don’t, then you’re on your own.”

It was happening again—another Jacobson girl being kicked out of the house for falling in love with the wrong guy.

“I’ll stay with Kyle,” I said.

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