Page 16 of The Apple Tree

Kyle snorted while returning the cash to his wallet.

I wrinkled my nose. “It’s not funny. There’s only so much I can do in my room. And it’s embarrassing. I’m an adult who’s grounded. How would you like it if you had to move back home and your parents grounded you? Can you imagine telling the other teachers that you can’t go out because you’re grounded?”

His grin touched the corners of his blue eyes.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get ready for bed. Drink your warm milk or prune juice. Trim your ear hair. Whatever old people like you do at night.”

“Let me grab my cane, and I’ll walk you home.” He nodded toward the front door.

I giggled, walking in front of him. “It’s down a small hill, up another hill, through the orchard, and over the fence. I think I’ve got it.”

“Yeah, but my brother and your dad are best friends, so I feel extra responsible for ensuring you get home safely.”

“You can’t leave Josh.” I slipped my feet into my sneakers without untying them.

“He’s asleep. I think we’re in a low-crime neighborhood.” He opened the door for me. “I’ll be right back. I have to lock up my gun.”

He met me on the porch less than a minute later. The humid, late August air clung to my skin as we descended the grassy hill. “So Josh said he’ll be in kindergarten.”

“Yes.”

“Who’s watching him when you’re coaching?”

“After-school daycare.”

“I can watch him if he doesn’t want to spend every afternoon in daycare. I work days. That is if you feel my pretty little head is responsible enough to watch him.”

We shared sideways glances.

“What about your volunteer loitering?”

I coughed a laugh. “My Grandma Bonnie is in the nursing home. They moved her there last year after my grandpa died. She’s cool. I can tell her anything, so I keep her company way more than my mom, her own daughter. And I’m done with work in time to visit Grandma Bonnie and still be home by four.”

“I’ll talk to your parents about it.”

“Dude! I’m eighteen. Once again, how would you like it if, when you applied for your teaching job, they wanted to talk to your parents first?”

Kyle chuckled as we trekked up the small hill. “Do you have any speeding tickets? Arrests? Recent groundings?”

“Shut up.” I laughed.

“What about food prep? Can you make him a meal?”

“Are you serious? I made him homemade applesauce. I’m an extraordinary baker. And I have a long list of meals I can cook better than my mom. My grandma taught me everything she knows.” I stopped at the orchard and grabbed an apple, plucking it from its stem.

“That will cost you,” he said.

I smirked, wiping it with my shirt before taking a big bite.

Kyle reached for an apple and followed my lead. “Oh”—his face soured—“that is tart. How can you eat it plain like this?”

“My grandma says the sweetest people can eat the tartest apples. My grandpa never could eat them; she said it was because he was a grump. I guess we know what this says about you.”

“That I have normal tastebuds?” He spat out the apple and chucked the rest of it behind us like a baseball.

“Josh loved my applesauce. Granted, I put a little cinnamon and sugar on it, but it was still tart, and he gobbled it up because he’ssosweet.”

“Respectfully,” Kyle said, “your grandma’s theory is flawed.”

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