Suddenly, even the sound of my breath quieted; the world went silent, unmoving and dead. With realization, I felt my lashes sweep my face; my bowed fingers relaxed and slowly uncurled from my hands. Raising my eyes from the floor, I looked at Atticus once more before closing the door to leave him with his thoughts. I wanted to go to him; I wanted to know the truth I already knew, but I could not. He wouldn’t have seen me if I stood in front of him.
With a heavy heart, I stepped out of the boots. Taking up the dinner plate we’d used as a candle tray, I carried it down the hallway, four tiny flames lighting the dark passage, casting an orange glow against the walls. I placed the candles on the floor near the mattress. The window was open, and I was thankful for what little breeze that pushed through it. Stepping out of my pants, I stood by the window in my T-shirt and panties, looking out at the black trees in the front yard. I thought about the skeleton on the front porch, the mother and son buried on the side of the cabin. Will that become us one day? Will that man in the rocking chair with his peaceful view of where his wife and son used to play, one day be Atticus? Will he bury me in my own grave and drape a ribbon around my marker?
I laid down on the mattress and drew my knees up, hugging my arms against my chest, and I laid there for a long time staring toward the open window, feeling the warm breeze on my face. And I never moved; not when I became uncomfortable and needed to readjust; not when I wanted to go back through the kitchen and make sure Atticus was still outside; and not when I finally, after another hour, heard the back door opening and Atticus’ boots moving over the hardwood floor in the living room.
All became quiet again.
I never heard the familiar sound of springs creaking in the sofa, or the rustling of Atticus’ heavy body moving against the cushions. I wondered what he was doing; I imagined him standing in the living room, staring intensely at something, but seeing absolutely nothing. I wanted to cry, but more than that, I wanted him to lie next to me so I could allow him to cry.
I got up and went slowly down the hallway.
I had been right—Atticus stood in the center of the room, staring intensely at seemingly nothing; the outline of his tall form loomed in the darkness, silhouetted by the borrowed moonlight pouring dimly in through the windows.
“Atticus?” I spoke softly from behind.
He did not move and no answer came.
His back was bare—I glimpsed his shirt on the floor—and as I drew closer, as I felt the heat emanating from his skin, even in the summer heat it only made me want to touch him. And so I did, first with my hand where I pressed it against his back, then with the side of my cheek as I rest my head where my hand had been, absorbing his warmth.
“Thais,” he said without moving, “go to bed. I’ll be sleeping on the sofa from now on.”
I shook my head lightly against his spine. “No,” I whispered, “I won’t sleep without you—I can’t sleep without you. I only feel safe with you next to me.”
“Well, you shouldn’t.”
“But I do.”
“Thais, go to bed.”
With my cheek still against his back, his heartbeat thrumming in my ear, I drew my arms around his waist and enclosed my fingers. I felt his shoulders rise and fall, and then his large hands touching my small ones, carefully pulling them apart.
I let him reject me; my hands fell to my sides, but my cheek remained on his hot skin.
“Thais—”
“If you won’t sleep in the bed with me,” I said, “then at least stay with me until I fall asleep.” That was not what I wanted, but I would’ve said anything to get him in the room with me, and then hope he would choose to stay.
Without another word, I left him standing in his grief, and I went back down the hallway toward the flickering light beckoning me from the bedroom.
I lay alone, until finally Atticus came into the room.
He wouldn’t look at me when he sat down on the edge of the mattress. He wouldn’t look at me when I raised my body from it, attentive to him. He wouldn’t look at me when I moved closer to sit beside him and swept my lips over his shoulder. And he wouldn’t look at me when I laid my head against his arm.
“Did you kill him?”
ATTICUS & (THAIS)
It was such a dark question coming from the kindest voice, I thought, and I closed my eyes.
“Yes,” I answered.
I felt her warm, wet tears moving down my arm.
I shuddered, forcing my own tears down. More than hating myself for killing another man, for killing that much more of myself, I never wanted to hurt Thais, or frighten her, or make her see me…as the person I was. But I wouldn’t lie to her. She deserved to know the man I was, even if it meant losing her.
“I’m sorry, Thais…I…” I couldn’t finish; the sound of her weeping tore me up inside and stole the words from my mouth.
I cupped her face in my hands, (and I looked into his eyes brimmed with moisture. I felt him trembling. Candlelight gave soft color to his features, made his harsh eyes more intense; the hair that grew on his face, darker.)
“I’m so sorry…please don’t cry…” I said; I couldn’t hold the tears back anymore.
“Oh, Atticus,” she said with emotion, shaking her head within my trembling hands. “Atticus…you don’t understand, do you?” She reached up and cupped my face as I was doing to hers. “I’m not crying for that man…I’m crying for you. My heart is breaking for you.”
I let out a choking shudder.
THAIS
His gaze fell from mine; his hands fell from my cheeks. Quiet sobs shook his body, and I took him into me, wrapping my arms around him, squeezing him, choking on my own tears as I tried desperately to take on his pain, to force it into myself.
I felt his body harden; heard his teeth clenching in his mouth; his hands, balled into iron fists, shook between us as if all of his pain and anger and hatred for himself and the world and the man the world created was being contained there. They were his burden, the boulder he pushed up the mountain every day of his existence. And he fought to keep it all contained, and it took everything in him to hold it all inside.
But I could not bear to let him. I knew it eventually kill him if he could not let it go.
With my arms still wrapped around his body, and with more emotion than I had felt since I held my dead sister in my arms, I said against his ear, “Let me take on some of your pain, Atticus…I am yours to do with what you will, what you need to. Take me—”
He raised his eyes to mine, and the rage they contained might’ve frightened me a long time ago, but not anymore.
He pushed himself away from me.