Page 153 of The Apple Tree

With a week until Christmas, I was dying to see him. I told myself I needed to get used to that feeling because he was moving. Before long, I would sit in my window seat and gaze through my binoculars, but I would no longer have a chance to see him coming or going because he wouldn’t be in Devil’s Head anymore.

After everyone else went to bed that night, I gazed out the window, hoping to see the exact moment the lights went out at his house. I liked to crawl in bed at the same time and pretend that he was lying beside me, arms wrapped around my waist, face in my hair, lips depositing the occasional kiss.

I waited.

And waited.

But the lights in his main level never turned off. When I lowered the binoculars from my eyes, my gaze dropped to the fence between our house and the orchard.

“Oh my gosh,” I whispered.

He was there, resting his back against the rails, boots half-buried in the snow, Carhartt jacket zipped to his chin, and a stocking cap. What was he doing?

I didn’t know the answer, but I couldn’t wait to find out. So I threw on my jeans and a sweater, then tiptoed downstairs and shoved my feet into my snow boots while putting on my jacket and hat.

I prayed for the door not to squeak too loudly, and God seemed to answer that prayer. It took all the control I could muster not to run to him as I hopped through the snow.

He turned as I approached the fence.

“Are you lost?” I asked, adjusting my hat.

“Something like that.” He rubbed his lips together.

I grinned because my heart needed to feel the joy he brought to me just with one look.

“How are you?”

I shrugged. “Still sober.”

His smile died. “That’s not what I meant, but I suppose that’s good too.”

“How do you want me to be?” I asked, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets.

“I want the best for you.”

“Is that why you paid for my rehab?”

He narrowed his eyes, and I waited for him to deny it, but he didn’t. Instead, he relinquished a tiny nod.

“Thank you.”

Again, he paused before nodding again.

“How’s your arm?”

“Better. I’m still doing my prescribed exercises.”

“That’s good. How’s Josh’s arm?” That was a much harder question to ask, but I couldn’t avoid it.

“He’s fine. I told you the doctor said his scars could completely fade over time.”

I swallowed past the painful lump in my throat because I knew what he said at the rehab center, but I didn’t know if it was true or if he said it to make me feel less awful. “Is he excited for Christmas?”

“Of course.” Kyle stared at his feet.

“Why are you here at eleven o’clock at night?”

He kicked at the snow, taking his time to answer. “To be near you,” he whispered.

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