Page 105 of The Boy from Half Moon

“Hopefully, I’ll be able to come around more often now. The elders approved this visit.”

David twisted his hands back and forth and couldn’t seem to look at me. He’d grown considerably. Fourteen was just around the corner for him, and I imagined he’d sprout up even taller, as I had at his age. Pa was a big man, and I suspected, like me, David would be as well.

“You been giving Ma any trouble?” I asked. He ignored me. “I need you to help Ma out now. You need to start acting like the grown-up you’re becoming. None of this hiding out and sassing her.”

“I’m not hiding out, Luke,” he said. “I just like it out here. This is my stuff and my house. No one can take this from me like before.”

“You think people want to take your stuff?”

“I know they do. I’m guarding what’s mine.”

I scanned the interior of the small space. He had a small camp stove in one corner that he had a fire going in it. A sleeping bag I had no idea where he’d gotten was rolled up in a corner. A few scraps of firewood and some plastic containers I recognized from the cafeteria and used for leftovers completed the stuff he was protecting.

“How about you talk to someone about what’s bothering you, David?” I said, watching his hand outline the cutout we’d cut into the floor so many years ago. “Maybe an elder?”

“A lotta good that’d do,” he said. “They’d just tell me to pray more, and that’s never worked.”

With Pa’s help, we’d built the interior floor a foot higher than the support floor, giving the treehouse more strength in the strong winds around these parts. The unique design also allowed us to create a secret hiding space beneath the floor we now sat on. I’d noticed extra clothes and a shotgun David stored in the space the last time I’d been up here.

In fact, the stashed clothes had proved useful when I retrieved some for Josiah the day I’d helped him clean up after Franklin raped him. I’d warned David back then that he was violating community rules by having clothing hidden, not to mention hiding a shotgun.

“Would you be willing to talk to someone else instead?” I asked, prodding him to respond to my request. “I’m seeing a therapist on the outside and it’s helping me.”

“No thank you,” he said, his fingers still following the cut lines of the nearly invisible hiding place that the naked eye would barely notice.

“Would you do it for me?”

“No thank you,” he answered, sticking to his monotone replies.

“I promise it’ll help you talk about the things that hurt, David.”

“Why do you care?” he snarled, looking at me like I was the enemy, not his supportive brother. “You’re not here anymore, Luke. You’re too busy wearing your fancy clothes and hanging out with outsiders.”

“Don’t speak to me like that, little brother,” I warned. “I am still the head of this family.”

He glared at me, his eyes narrowing. “Not anymore,” he declared. “I protect Ma now.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” I teased, chuckling, trying to keep things light. “Maybe in a few more years, little brother.”

David behaved like an animal that was cornered or trapped. His actions were unusual, even for him. He’d always wanted to be an equal with his older brother, constantly challenging me. But he’d also been a lovable boy, so this sullen David was out of character.

“I’ll talk to Ma about getting someone you can talk to,” I said, still pushing. “I know you don’t agree with me, David, but like I said, I’m seeing a therapist, and it’s helping me.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have problems if you’d protected me,” he whispered, picking up the piece of kindling he’d held before. “In case the outsiders didn’t tell you, people hurt people, Luke.” I made a move to get closer to him. “Stay over there,” he snapped.

I sat back after he rebuffed me. “I know you think I let you down, but I’ll always protect you. Besides, I’m visiting now, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, for what, a coupla hours?”

I shook my head, trying hard to understand why he held such hostility inside. “Why are you so angry at me?”

“Whatta you care? You’re just gonna disappear again,” he said. “I’m stuck here. Hiding out until I can leave.”

“I’ve asked you several times if someone hurt you, David, and you said no.” He looked past me, ignoring my question once again. “Please tell me. Did someone hurt you?” I asked.

He locked eyes with me. “Not anymore,” he whispered, his fingers still running along the cutout grooves on the floor.

A familiar dread entered my brain at his answer. Not anymore? What did that mean? The recognizable feeling of doom that always came over me, especially when I felt Franklin was near, made me queasy. I’d constantly worried Franklin would abuse David. But now, Franklin was dead, so who, or what, was David hiding from?

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