Was this what Heaven felt like? Had I been wrong about Heaven all my life?
Atticus made a deep noise against my mouth, low and rough, and his hands became heavier as he pulled my face closer, as if he couldn’t get me close enough. My belly felt light with air and shivers; my eyelids and the top my head and down my spine tingled to where it paralyzed me, made every muscle in my body heavy and hot and his. I felt a tug between my legs, and it surprised me. I gasped, wanting to feel it again, wanting to know how much more intense it could be if he’d touch me there with his hands.
Atticus pulled me onto his lap with ease; my legs straddled him. I felt him beneath me and the tugging sensation intensified, spreading outward through my thighs. My chest heaved with the desperate need for breath, but it wasn’t my own breath I needed—I needed his, and only his alone in this moment could sustain me.
I wound my fingers within his short hair, pulling, needing, wanting, but then all too soon the kiss broke, and Atticus, still with his hands against my cheeks, pulled away slowly.
Why? Why stop now, Atticus?
(I knew that if I didn’t stop, I never would.)
It took a moment before I could open my eyes; the lids were like heavy weights; behind them, and the spot between my legs tingled and throbbed so intensely that I felt frustrated as much as I felt intoxicated by it.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
For a long time neither of us said a word. I wanted to know what he was thinking. I wanted to understand my own thoughts. I wanted him, more than I had ever wanted anything, yet I would not say it.
(And I wanted her, more than I had ever wanted anything, or anyone, yet I would not admit it.) He helped me from his lap and then he stood.
“Atticus?”
(Her voice was soft, sweet, and full of question; I went back over to my quilt and laid down against it. I needed to put distance between us now more than ever. To kiss her…I knew it would be a mistake but…Distance.) I frowned. He was too far away.
I stood and took my quilt with me, went around the burned-out campfire and laid it down next to his. I could still feel and taste his lips—every part of me could. Oh, every part of me could.
We stared up at the night sky framed by fringes of branches and leaves high above us; a few stars peeked through the navy backdrop like pinholes in a piece of construction paper. His arms were crossed over his chest; his feet were crossed at the ankles. He didn’t look at me as I lay down beside him—but he didn’t tell me not to lay beside him, either.
So, I went a step further and curled up next to him.
“Atticus?” I repeated.
“Yeah?” It was a simple reply, as if his mind were off somewhere else.
“If I ask you to kiss me again, would you?”
“I…don’t know, Thais.” (Lie of the century.)
I smiled, and I wondered if he could feel the shifting of my lips as my face lay pressed against his chest.
(I smiled, only in thought, and wondered if she could sense it, with her head being so close to my heart.) “Atticus?”
“Yeah, Thais?”
“What kind of women do you like?”
(I only like one kind of woman. And there’s only one like her.) “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never given it much thought.”
I looked up at the trees. The call of the Whippoorwill sounded in my ears and it made me smile so big—surely he felt that against his chest, I thought.
(Surely she can feel how much my heart is aching for her.) “Are you still angry?” I asked him.
“About what?”
“Giving the bread away to those people.”
He shook his head against the quilt.
“No, Thais, I’m not still angry.”
After a moment, he said, “Thais?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“Don’t ask me to kiss you again.”
I paused, tensed. “Why not?” I was afraid of the answer.
We continued to look up at the stars. Behind us the horses whickered and their tails swished about. A light breeze combed through the trees, carrying the bitter and sweet scents of pine and honeysuckle with it.
Finally, Atticus answered, “Because whatever you want from me, Thais, I’d rather you just take it.”
I wanted to cry.
I smiled to myself instead.
32
ATTICUS
Another full day on The Road left us with hunger pangs and sore muscles and dwindling hope. We still had bread in the pack but it was all we had. But water was becoming the biggest concern; there were no lakes or ponds or creeks or even the smallest of streams for many miles. And it had not rained in days. What little water there might’ve been had already been swallowed up by the earth.
And the horses were showing signs of fatigue; their shoes were already old and worn when we took them from the stable. After a while, Thais and I hopped down from the horses, and left them to carry only our gear.
My feet swelled inside my boots; blisters rubbed against the leather. But I soldiered on, never letting Thais on to my discomfort—she would’ve refused to let me carry her piggyback for a while when she twisted her ankle and could barely walk.
“Let me down,” she said, after a few minutes with her legs wrapped around my waist from behind. “I have to walk on it, or it’ll take longer to heal.”
I didn’t let her down.
Hours later, as the night fell, a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. The sky filled up with black clouds, and I knew we had to find shelter before the storm arrived. But mostly all I could see for miles in every direction were more fields, and not a single house or barn or shed perched amid the landscape.
“Maybe there’s a barn in the woods,” Thais said, standing next to me. She pointed at the cluster of trees out ahead. “And if not, it’s better than out here in the wide open.”
Agreeing, I took her hand into my right, the horses’ reins gripped in my left, and we set out for the woods.
The first few giant drops of rain hit our faces before we made it halfway, and by the time we came upon the outskirts of the trees, the rain came out of the sky in torrents, drenching us and everything the horses carried within a few short seconds. The lightning and thunder was brief, rumbling and streaking across the sky, but the heavy rain that accompanied it showed no signs of letting up after fifteen minutes.
Thais shook from the chill; rain streamed over her head and into her eyes. Her teeth rattled, and she still walked with a limp.
“We need to find shelter!” I shouted over the pounding rain, pissed at myself that she was already soaked.
We came upon the metal frame of an old rusted truck that looked like it had been sitting in the woods for fifty years. Everything had been stripped from it, and there was no way we could take shelter underneath the skeletal remains overrun by weeds.
I clenched my jaw, looking around. Finally, I saw something, released Thais’ hand and left her standing with the horses.
The hood lay on the ground, partially covered by leaves and dead branches. I went back over to the horses and rummaged through a pillowcase for the crank flashlight I’d found at the farmhouse.