The Apple Tree (Sunday Morning, #2) (83)

“What? No. I love him.”

“Eve, you are the most indecisive young woman. You have no idea what you want to do with your life. You have a substance addiction. And you’re eighteen. I’m not sure you know what love is,” Dad said. “Kyle is an infatuation. He misled you. And I hold him just as accountable, if not more than you, for everything that’s happened.”

I started to say something but stopped before the words escaped because I looked at my mom’s exhausted face and red, lifeless eyes. Was I next in line to sacrifice my happiness for the well-being of others?

“Okay,” I whispered.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE





WHITE LION, “WHEN THE CHILDREN CRY”





Eve

“What’s this?” I asked the next day after getting discharged from the hospital. There was a bag in the back seat.

Dad started the car. “A few things to get you by for the next thirty days.”

Mom shot me a sad smile over her shoulder.

“Uh …” I chuckled. “We’re not going home first? What about Thanksgiving? This is happening now?”

“Addiction doesn’t care about holidays, Eve. This way you’ll be home by Christmas.”

I didn’t have an addiction. What was happening? I thought it was a threat, a test to see how I’d react. I kept my mouth shut the previous day. It wasn’t fair.

“I didn’t get to talk to Erin or Grandma. I didn’t get to say goodbye to … Josh.”

“It’s for the best, honey,” Mom said.

“How is not saying goodbye for the best? Does Erin even know I was in the hospital?”

My parents shared a look.

“To help you save face, we’re telling anyone who asks, that you are on a mission trip.” Dad glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

“You’re lying to people?”

“We’re protecting you,” Mom said.

“From what or who?”

I looked out my window and quickly batted away my tears. The longest I’d been away from home was two weeks, and that was with friends and adults from the church who I knew. I wasn’t ripped away from my life and everyone I knew for a month over Thanksgiving.

They were protecting themselves.

Erin would know it was a lie. The truth would come out. And what about Kyle? He was okay with letting me leave? Of course he was. After all, he was taking Josh back to Colorado.

I envied Sarah for getting the hell out of Devil’s Head. I envied her for falling for someone who put her first above everything and everyone else in the world.

For the rest of the trip to St. Louis, no one said a word. My heart ached a little more with each passing mile, and my eyes never stopped leaking painful tears.

“We’ll get you checked in, and be back to visit before Thanksgiving,” Dad said, opening his door.

I grabbed my bag and climbed out. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to see you.” I headed toward the entrance.

“Eve,” Mom said, following me.

I whipped around right before reaching the door. “I’m doing this for you. Only you. So don’t forget it. And don’t do anything stupid and selfish like slitting your wrists or driving off a bridge.”

“Eve,” Dad said in a sharp tone.

Mom swallowed hard and blinked back her tears.

I ignored my dad.

“Eve,” Mom whispered.

“Just answer me. Do we have a deal?”

She slowly nodded.

“Great. Let the fun begin.” I opened the door and headed for the front desk.

“Can I help you?” A smiley blonde asked.

“Eve Jacobson,” my dad said.

I didn’t make eye contact with anyone. The lady took me through a long list of questions. I had to consent to being admitted because I was eighteen. And I could leave whenever I wanted to leave.

But the look on my dad’s face was a reminder that if I left early, I wouldn’t be welcomed home.

My parents left me with hugs and whispered “I love yous.” Then I was escorted to another room where they went through all of my belongings.

I fucking hated my life.





Despite crying myself to sleep every night, the people at the rehab facility were friendly. It was the kind of prison I imagined convicted celebrities went to. I got outdoor time every day and three square meals.

The surprising bonus was the therapy sessions, group and individual. There were some really messed up people in the group sessions.

“Eve, would you like to add anything today?” the therapist asked after I stayed silent for the first week.

On one hand, it felt weird sharing intimate family details with strangers, but I also thought it might feel freeing to bounce my woes off people who wouldn’t take sides because they didn’t know me or my family.

“My name is Eve, but you already know that.” I wrinkled my nose while tugging at the arms of my sweatshirt. “I guess I’m one week sober.” I shrugged because I had gone much longer than a week without alcohol.

I wasn’t an addict. But celebrating sobriety seemed to be the theme, so I went with it.

“I started drinking when I was fourteen. I came home early from a friend’s house, and I overheard my mom and dad arguing in their bedroom. My mom was crying. My dad was like, ‘What have you done?’ And my mom said she couldn’t do it. He said, ‘Do what?’ And the next thing I heard was him whispering, ‘You’re pregnant?’ She said it was too much. She didn’t want four kids, and she knew it was awful and sinful, but raising three girls, two years apart, and being a pastor’s wife who took care of the congregation like an extension of our own family was too much. Dad asked if she took the whole bottle of pills and said she could die. She said …” I fought the unexpected rush of emotions.