Page 9 of The Boy from Half Moon

He held my hand, and we stared uncomfortably at one another for what seemed like an eternity. I didn’t want to let go of him, and he didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry, either. After only a few seconds, we released one another.

“The rolls?” he asked, looking at the glass case to see where they were located. “I mean, if you have them,” he added.

“Yes, sir. They’re in the kitchen. Let me grab them,” I said.

He smiled and shook his head slowly. “What are the chances you can stop calling me, sir?”

I felt my face reddening like it did when I got called out or felt embarrassed by an action I may have messed up. “I can’t do that, sir,” I explained.

He seemed surprised and raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “‘You can’t do that?’” he asked. “Even if I ask you to call me by my first name?”

“But you haven’t asked me to do that, sir.”

“Will you please call me Tate?” he asked. “I’d feel a lot younger if you would.”

I’d call him anything he wanted me to but had waited for the formal permission to do so.

“Yes, Tate. I will.”

Tate studied me for a moment. I was familiar with his look of confusion regarding my behavior because I’d experienced it many times. I braced for the questions. “Forgive me for asking,” he began, turning to his left and reaching for some napkins from the dispenser. He hesitated and then pulled his hand back, not removing any napkins. “The sisters you mentioned before. The ones that help you clean. Are you related to them?”

Here came the answer that always leads to more questions. “Like are they my actual sisters?” I asked. He nodded. “They’re my community sisters. I am not related to any of the women here, but I do have a brother.”

“Community?” he asked.

“Half Moon Ranch,” I replied. “I take it you haven’t heard of us?” I asked, surprised by the fact but suddenly remembering he hadn’t been in town long enough to have heard of the so-called Moonies out at Half Moon.

He seemed a bit confused by my answer. “You all live on a ranch?” he asked. “But aren’t a family?” he added.

This would be hard to explain to an outsider, especially one not from our area of the state. How to explain and not paint my life as a complete freak show? I’d heard the gossip, witnessed the stares, and experienced my share of prejudice because of our beliefs, so I hoped I could answer him without scaring him off.

“We practice our faith on a ranch. We refer to it as a ranch, like one would for a community of people.”

Tate seemed nonplussed and listened intently to my explanation. “Like the Latter-Day Saints?” he asked.

He had the right idea. “Similar, yes, but with a few differences,” I shared.

His next question caught me off guard. “Are you allowed to have friends that don’t live at Half Moon Ranch?”

I wanted to be his friend and worried I would not get that chance if I told him the truth. “Sure, we can have other friends,” I fibbed. I hated lying, especially to this man, for some reason. “We don’t often get the opportunity though,” I confessed, suddenly feeling a triggering emotion the moment I lied to him. My pulse quickened, and I knew I had to get away from him to regain my composure. “Let me get the rolls.”

My nerves got the best of me after lying to him only the second time I saw him. I hurried to the kitchen and leaned against the oversized table in the middle of the room, catching my breath and wiping small beads of perspiration from my brow. He was handsome, unlike any man I had ever seen, but my feelings had to be wrong. A sin for sure.

I’d never felt anything like how I was reacting to being near him, and I felt panicked with unknown emotions. I stood silently for several minutes, attempting to calm my nerves by taking slow, deliberate breaths, but awful images and bad memories waged a war within my brain.

The swinging doors opened, and he stood watching me. “You’re taking a long time. Are you okay, Luke?”

His voice was intoxicating, the tone one of concern and caring. The dampness under my arms and on my forehead was giving me away, and I couldn’t focus.

“Yes, thank you,” I answered, grabbing the box of cinnamon rolls. “You want the whole box?” I asked, holding them in the air. He nodded, and I walked past him and into the safety of the dining area. He followed.

“You’re sure you’re feeling alright?” he asked, remaining by my side. “You look sort of flushed.”

I shoved the box in his hands and stepped around him, feeling overwhelmed and like I could lose consciousness. Horrible scenes played in my mind. I was being held down on bales of hay, unable to fight off my assailant. Ropes restrained me, preventing my escape. The memory was vivid enough for me to experience genuine fear at that moment. The stranger in the bakery was going to hurt me. He would attack me and make me do bad things. I had to escape the nightmare.

I hurried to the door. “You have to leave now, sir,” I stated, struggling to unlock the door, my fingers fumbling with the twist lock. “Please. You need to leave right now.

“But I haven’t paid you, Luke,” he declared, staring at me with obvious concern. “You don’t look well,” he added kindly, reaching for me, which caused me to jump backward.

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