Page 108 of Everything Under the Sun

I just looked at him, plotting. Oh, so you want to play, huh?

I tilted my head, and pushed up on my toes. Atticus leaned toward me, expecting a kiss, but instead, my grimy hands came up and grabbed a hold of his stubbly cheeks. He froze as my slimy fingers slid down his face and neck; blood and fish scales stuck to his skin.

I smirked.

Atticus’ face turned beet red, and his smile grew.

“If you weren’t so pretty…”

“You’d what?” I challenged.

“I’d nothing,” he answered quickly, beaming. “Nothing at all.”

I blushed, and my brief bout of boldness fell under layers of shyness. To combat it, I went back over to the bucket and the chopping block.

“I’ll do the other one,” Atticus gave in.

“No, it’s okay. I can do it.” I tried so hard not to think of my father.

He placed his hand on mine. “Let me clean it,” he insisted. “This shouldn’t be your job; you’re too…kind to be sawing the heads off fish.”

“I really want to do it, Atticus,” I lied, and grabbed the flopping fish into my hand. I can do this…I can…

Despite the confidence, I still thought of my father as I cleaned the second fish; I thought of him standing at the sink cleaning the fish I’d brought from the lake because he knew I didn’t like it. I thought of his kind, happy eyes and the way his tooth used to hurt him so terribly. As I cut off the fish’s head, I thought of my father sitting in his favorite chair; him coming home with squirrels and rabbits to eat and how he’d told me he’d killed them in one shot so they did not suffer. As I cut off the tail and pulled out the guts, I remembered his teachings and his advice and how he made sure that none of the men in our small town ever touched his daughters. And as I dragged the knife over the scales—scrape, scrape, scrape, cringe, scrape, cringe—I heard my father’s cries as he rocked my dead mother in his arms; his shouts as he told me and Sosie to run and hide in the cave; I saw his final moments, heard his final thoughts: Lord, please keep my daughters safe…I will gladly spend an eternity in Hell if only You’ll spare my daughters, and I saw him curse the raiders who came into the house after him. And I saw him die. I saw him die. I saw him die…

Atticus caught me when I collapsed. He held me in his arms as I wept.

(I held her in my arms where no one could touch her but me, where no one could ever hurt her again. “Shh,” I whispered onto her hair. Shh…)

37

THAIS

We lay together on the mattress later that night; Atticus behind me, his arms wrapped around me. We stared out the window at the black tree limbs jutting into the navy sky; the scattering of stars; the moon glow. We still smelled of fish even after scrubbing our hands in the pond. I didn’t care; I wanted him wrapped around me no matter what he smelled like. I melted into the heat of his chest; his warmth alone could ease me into sleep. His protective arms alone could ease me into Heaven.

“Atticus?”

“Yeah?” He squeezed me gently, spooning me.

“Do you ever wish that I was somebody else?” My voice was soft, quiet.

He squeezed me again, a little tighter this time.

“No,” he said. “Why would you ask me that?”

I shrugged. My eyes remained fixed on the sky through the open window. I stared at one star, hardly blinking, mesmerized by it though entirely absent to its presence. I was picturing something else. Many things. Bits and pieces of this and that.

“Why would you think I’d wish you were somebody else?” He pressed his lips to the back of my head.

“I saw how Rachel back at the farm looked at you.”

“You noticed that?”

“Yes.”

“Did it bother you?” His arms tightened around me again.

I nodded.

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