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she’d been the one he shared his trauma with, his confusion and sense of helplessness, his hidden desire for revenge, and his recurring nightmares.
    Quiet.
    Deep.
    And… secretive?
    The car he’d gotten out of passed the wagon, revealing a man about Mahlon’s age, wearing a military uniform of some type. When she looked to where she’d last seen Mahlon, he was nowhere in sight. As Rachel pulled into his driveway, Deborah realized he’d probably gone up the wooden steps that ran along the outside of his home and led straight to his bedroom—the private entrance she thought he never used.
    She climbed down, waved to her friends, and headed for the front door.
    What was going on? His quietness worked against them sometimes. It wasn’t always easy to know his thoughts. But through the years she’d carried his secrets. Few others, if any, knew that the weight of becoming the provider for himself and his mother before he graduated at thirteen had silently panicked him or that after 9/11 he’d struggled to accept the Old Ways.
    She tapped on the screen door and then went inside.
    Ada placed the flatiron on the stove, stepped around the ironing board, and hugged her. “Gut morning.”
    “Gut morning, Ada. Where’s Mahlon?”
    “Still asleep. I don’t know when the last time was that he needed me to wake him, so I refuse to start now. Besides, with all the work to set up for the auction tomorrow and all he hopes to get done today, I figure he needs every minute of rest he can squeeze in.”
    Hoping her face didn’t reveal how much was going through her mind, Deborah drew a shaky breath. “Do you mind if I go up and wake him?”
    “Not a bit.”

    As she began climbing the narrow steps, she heard water start running overhead. His home consisted of a small kitchen and sitting area downstairs and two small bedrooms and a bath upstairs. A hint of steam escaped under the bathroom door.
    She tapped on the door. “Mahlon?”
    “Hey, Deb. I’m in the shower. You’re here early. I’ll be out in a few.”
    He didn’t sound any different. She heard no hint of guilt.
    Okay.” Rather than go downstairs, she went into his room. It looked like a single man’s room and not much different from the last time she’d seen it, when he was a teen. Clean clothes were stacked on his dresser, dirty ones piled in a corner. Parts of a newspaper lay beside his chair-each folded in a way that let her know which sections he’d read and which he’d chosen to ignore. A wad of cash on his nightstand caught her eye, and she went to it.
    He came into the room, buttoning his shirt. His face and what she could see of his chest were still wet, reminding her of the boy he’d once been. “You’re just full of surprises today. First you’re here early, and then you’re in my room.” The smile on his face didn’t hide the circles under his eyes. He pulled his suspenders over his shoulders and tucked his shirt into his pants. “Something wrong?”
    Weighing her emotions against what she knew of him, she refused to sound stressed or harsh. “I’m not sure.”
    “Well, tell me, and if there is, I’ll see what I can do to fix it.” His eyes radiated something she couldn’t define, but she knew that tone in his voice. The one that hinted of forced patience, usually when life doled out responsibilities he resented.
    “You don’t have to fix anything. I’m not part of what you consider your lot in life.” When he didn’t smile or chuckle or assure her she was the best part of his life, she felt suddenly unsure. “Am I?”
    He shook his head. “You know better than that. I’m hungry. Are you?”

    Hurt that he’d evaded the question, she tried to catch his eye but couldn’t. She’d seen him dodge questions from his mother a hundred times, but she’d always thought he confided everything in her.
    She went to the nightstand and pointed at the money. “Are you working a second job?”
    “No. I wouldn’t have time even if I had