Page 83 of The Boy from Half Moon

What could a man so perfect in every way, see in a guy who had no money, no prospects for a successful future, or an education beyond a home-schooled, high school diploma? Tate was so far out of my league that I felt it was impossible he could see me as someone to love.

“You okay?” he hollered over the noise of having the top down, grinning like a crazy man. “They don’t build Porches so people can drive slow, in case you wondered.”

I gripped the door handle, dismissing my feelings of inadequacy, and grinned like a kid on his first roller coaster. Tate’s caramel-colored hair blew wildly in the wind, messing up what was normally a meticulously styled look. His expensive-looking sunglasses made him appear like a movie star. I couldn’t recall the names of those famous men, but he did look like the fancy guys on the movie posters in town. Movies I’d never seen.

Today he was dressed in what he described as golf shorts in dark blue, with a tight-fitting lighter blue-colored T-shirt that showed off his trim body. Bright white tennis shoes he claimed were ten years old, but looked brand new, finished off his athletic look.

Of course, I felt less than. Less than was my go-to feeling whenever I was outside the gates of Half Moon Ranch. I mentioned how I felt poorly dressed in comparison, so Tate suggested I not wear my button-down shirt, but instead, a tight-fitting T-shirt he loaned me. He rolled my jeans up to just above my ankles, stepping back as I laced my work boots up.

“Damn!” he’d said, giving me a thumbs up. “The distressed boots make the outfit, Luke. You look like a model.”

I felt warm in the face after his compliment. Tate had this way about him where, when he spoke, he generally said positive things. However, I noticed that he was a completely different man when he was working. Oddly, I’d never heard him be negative until I witnessed him confronting the detectives.

“I’m doing well,” I offered, getting back to his question. “You were a different person when you came to get me at the jail,” I said, turning to him so he’d hear me.

“Okay, that’s from left field, but in what way am I different?” he asked, quickly returning his eyes to the road ahead.

“I’m not sure I’d call it mean, but…” I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but mean was the only word I had. “Maybe bossy is better?” I added.

Tate laughed out loud at my description. “Mean and bossy?” he asked. “That doesn’t make me sound like a good person.”

“I know, but…” Once again, I lost my ability to describe what I’d witnessed when he was doing his lawyer work. “Different,” I said, recognizing a word I felt fit for the change in him.

“Oh…” he began. “I forgot you hadn’t seen my business personality before then, had you?” I shook my head. “Do you dislike the man I was at the jail?” he asked, looking back and forth between me and the road, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t think I could ever not like you, Tate,” I began. “You came across like the boss with those policemen. I guess you surprised me is all.”

“I’m sorry if you thought I was being disrespectful to them, but when I’m doing my job, it’s very important they see me as being in control of the situation,” he explained. “Any sign of weakness could hurt my client’s chances. And of course, I know criminal law pretty well, so I’m not intimidated by the police.”

I didn’t want Tate to think I found his work personality bad, but for the life of me, I couldn’t express what witnessing his approach to them did to my insides. A sick feeling invaded my anxious mind when I observed him acting so aggressively. His behavior frightened me.

We rode in silence for several miles, with Tate looking over at me many times. After another five minutes of trying to discover what about his forceful behavior bothered me, he pulled off the highway and into a rest stop.

“The road noise makes it hard to speak,” he stated, placing the car in park and turning to face me. “You’ve been quiet for quite a while, Luke. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Sorry,” I whispered, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. “Can I tell you something without hurting your feelings?”

“Of course,” he said, solemn in his reply.

“How you acted scared me,” I admitted. “Reminds me of Franklin.”

“Franklin scared you?” he asked. “I haven’t pressed you to tell me about him yet, but he was the leader of your community, right?”

I lifted m eyes to him. I didn’t want to compare Tate to Franklin, but I needed to know who that side of Tate was. “He was an awful person,” I stated. My words obviously hurt Tate because he turned away from me, silent as he stared off into the forest beyond. “I never told you this, but Franklin was the person who abused me.”

Tate drummed his fingers on his thigh, still facing away from me. He was keeping time with some imaginary beat, or perhaps biding his time as my hurtful words settled in. I wondered if I’d gone too far with my comparison.

“And I make you feel the way Franklin did?” he inquired, still not looking at me.

“No,” I answered. “Of course not, but Franklin intimidated everyone. We all knew not to respond or voice an opinion that he might not like. If we did, he’d punish us. And… well… he’d do worse stuff to me.” I turned away, the painful memory causing tears to well up.

Tate’s head whipped around. “And you think I’d do those things to you?” he asked. He reached across the console and grabbed my hand. “Look at me please, Luke.”

“I don’t know,” I began, unsure how to say what I felt. “No, not that you’d do to me what Franklin did. That’s not what I meant. What I meant was that you seemed very mad at the police. I wondered if you’d hurt them.”

“And you’d be correct. I was mad at the police, but I do not physically hurt people,” he began. “I was angry that you’d been arrested without due diligence. I was angry that you were cuffed to the interrogation table like a common criminal, and I was hurting that I wasn’t there to protect you, Luke. Did you hear the differences in what I just said? I said to protect you.”

“Protect me?”

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