The Apple Tree (Sunday Morning, #2) (4)

He watched me with wide eyes as I peeled the apple, leaving one long ribbon to toss into the compost bin by the trash.

“Now we shred it.” I retrieved the cheese grater and a bowl and pulverized the apple using the fine side of the grater. “Do you want to try it?”

Josh shifted his gaze to me and slowly nodded.

I held my hand over his and helped him move the apple along the grater until it approached the core.

“Okay,” I said, wiping his hand with a damp washcloth. “Now we add some cinnamon and sugar.”

He grinned. All kids grinned when they heard the word sugar.

Mom had a special shaker with the two already mixed together, so I handed it to Josh.

“Can you shake that over the bowl?”

He nodded and shook the bottle a couple of times.

“Keep going.” I grinned. “These apples might be a little tart for you, so shake more onto it.”

His grin doubled as he continued to shake it.

“Perfect,” I said, taking the bottle from him and plucking a spoon from the silverware drawer. “Do you want to stir it?”

He shook his head.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” I stirred it and offered him a bite.

He hesitated before parting his full lips. At first, his nose scrunched in a sour expression, but then it softened, and his eyes widened as he smiled.

“It takes a second for the cinnamon and sugar to sweeten the tartness.” I laughed. “I usually let it sit for a while, but I know you’re hungry.” I held the bowl in front of him and offered the spoon.

Over the next ten minutes, Josh slowly ate it, and I was dying to call Erin and tell her about my hot neighbor.

“I have to poop,” Josh whispered, leaning to the side and pressing his hand to his butt.

“Poop?” I lifted my eyebrows.

He nodded.

“You need to go poop?”

Again, he nodded.

“Oh, okay. Um …” I lifted him off the counter and led him to the bathroom under the stairs. “Do you do everything by yourself?”

He looked at me like I wasn’t speaking English.

“Can you get your pants down, get on the toilet, and wipe all by yourself?” I had worked many summers with kids at vacation Bible school. And not all kids his age were proficient at pooping independently.

“I’m a big boy,” Josh said.

I grinned. “Of course you are.” I turned on the light. “Let me know if you need help.” He closed the door, and I waited for him to finish, which felt like forever.

“Are you okay in there?” I asked with my arms crossed over my chest while pacing the hallway beside the pocket door.

“Yes,” he replied in a soft voice that I barely heard.

A minute later, he flushed the toilet, and a few seconds later, he mumbled, “Oh, shit!”

Did he say “shit?”

I cringed, recognizing the sound of the incomplete flush. “Josh?” I said his name while slowly opening the door.

He finished pulling up his pants as the toilet water rose to the top with a ton of toilet paper mixed with a couple of turds. “Oh, jeez!” I lifted him onto the vanity. “Uh, wash your hands while I grab the plunger.”

I ran to the basement, a musky dungeon where we kept a few things like the plunger and old cans of paint. The stairway was filled with cobwebs, and I hated going down there, but I had no choice. When I returned to the bathroom, Josh had half the bottle of soap pumped onto his hands, the water running full blast, and the sink filled with bubbles. But I didn’t have time to worry about that because the toilet was on the verge of overflowing. Luckily, it stopped running right as it reached the rim.

God was good.

As I dipped the plunger into the toilet, the water breached the rim and ran down the sides onto the floor, along with soggy toilet paper and a turd. “Crap, uh crud.” I wrinkled my nose, quickly jumping back to avoid getting my shoes wet.

“Oops,” Josh mumbled, eyes wide and unblinking.

I glanced over my shoulder at his guilty face.

“It’s fine. It’s not your fault.” It was all his fault, but I didn’t want to make him cry.

Leaving the plunger in the toilet, I lifted Josh off the counter and abandoned the mess. “Let’s go back to your house.”

He took off running when I set him down outside our front door. I jogged after him through the orchard, down a hill, and up another.

“Hey, did you get a snack?” Kyle asked, closing the back of the moving truck.

“I pooped,” Josh said.

Kyle looked at me, biting his lower lip and shaking his head.

“And the water went up up up.” Josh pressed his hands to his cheeks and made an O with his lips.

Kyle’s gaze flitted between us.

I found my fake smile like it was no big deal, like my dad wouldn’t come home to a mess on the bathroom floor. It wasn’t the first time I’d abandoned a clogged toilet. But it was just the first time it wasn’t my fault.

“He clogged the toilet?” Kyle asked.

Pressing my lips together, I nodded.

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m so sorry. Did you get it unclogged?”

“Of course,” I chirped.

“No. We ran,” Josh called me out before sprinting into the house and leaving me alone with Kyle.