Page 66 of The Apple Tree

I dropped the serving spoon, and it clanked against the bowl. Mom frowned at me while I cringed.

“He said he’d help me take down that last tree after dinner tonight if someone can watch Josh.”

“I’ll do it!” I blurted.

“You just said you’re going out with friends,” Mom said.

“Yeah, but I don’t have to.”

“You worked all day. I’ll watch him. I watched him earlier while they took down the other trees.” Mom smiled at my dad.

“Do you need help with the tree?” I asked.

My dad gave me the hairy eyeball.

“What?” I shrugged, taking a bite of my steak. “I’m eighteen now. Only a few of my friends are still in town, and Erin’s in school, so she has to study most nights.”

My parents exchanged a look.

“I like this adult version of you,” Dad said, offering me a rare, sincere smile. “You can help pile up the branches.”

I controlled my excitement and returned a smile and nod.

After dinner, I walked with my parents to Kyle’s house. As soon as he opened the door, his smile vanished.

It hit me: He probably thought I told my parents, and they’d dragged me over to talk with us about our sinful behavior and to tell Kyle he wasn’t allowed to get anywhere near me ever again.

“Hi,” he said cautiously.

“Eve’s going to pile up branches for us,” Dad said in a rare moment of fatherly pride.

It took Kyle an extra second to return a nod, and his smile was barely believable as my mom stepped inside.

“Is Josh in his room?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah.” Kyle continued to trip over his words.

It was weird, as if the previous night didn’t happen. I stared at his hands that had been in my underwear, and his lips that had kissed mine.

Dad jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to head that way. I need to run back home first because I forgot my gloves. I’ll meet you two at the creek.”

“I’ll grab my handsaw and be there soon,” Kyle said to my dad while staring at me with an unreadable expression as he stepped outside and squatted to tie his brown work boots. “No plans tonight?” he asked.

“Nope,” I said, watching my dad trek back toward our house.

He stood and headed toward the barn, so I followed him, staying a few steps behind.

“Did you think I told my parents about last night?”

He shook his head, opening the barn door. “I don’t know what I thought.”

I stepped inside as he held it open.

“Why would I tell them?” I laughed, following him toward a wall of tools hanging from rusty nails beside the cabinet where he kept his bow.

“I don’t know. I thought maybe Jesus made you do it,” he said.

“Jesus died so we can sin.”

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