He was about three then, which made Alan seven. “What if I chopped down the plant?” he said. “Would the bug still hatch next week?”
“You won’t,” Billy said.
“I could, though.”
“Nope,” Brad said.
Alan reached for the plant. Took it in his hand. The warm skin of the plant and the woody bole of the pod would be so easy to uproot.
He didn’t do it.
That night, as he lay himself down to sleep, he couldn’t remember why he hadn’t. He couldn’t sleep. He got up and looked out the front of the cave, at the countryside unrolling in the moonlight and the far lights of the town.
He went back inside and looked in on Benji. He was sleeping, his face smooth and his lips pouted. He rolled over and opened his eyes, regarding Alan without surprise.
“Told you so,” he said.