Page 114 of Everything Under the Sun

I looked into my plate. I chewed for a moment. My father had said things like this to me, told me how important it was that I know how to do such things. But like with my father, I never wanted to think about having to do it myself. Because it meant that I would be alone and Atticus would be dead.

Atticus’ death was unacceptable. It wasn’t possible. No. I refused to believe it ever possible!

I looked up at him nonchalantly, and took another bite. “I know I won’t have to.” I didn’t want to be having this conversation; I looked back down into my plate.

Atticus sighed.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I did too answer it,” I said. Please Atticus, just stop talking.

“Do you know how to skin and gut a deer?” he asked. “Do you know how to pluck a chicken? Could you—would you—kill a turtle if it was all you had to eat and I wasn’t here to do it for you?”

Atticus, please…

(I just wanted to know if she would; I knew that she could.)

“Stop it!” I dropped my plate on the table beside me and sprang from the chair; it rocked back and forth wildly.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

After a second, I sat back down, but refused to look at him.

Atticus set his plate on the porch railing, hopped down, and laid his arms across the top of my thighs, hooking my waist on both sides with his hands.

“Look at me, Thais.”

I wouldn’t look at him.

“I said look at me,” he ripped the words out, shaking me.

Reluctantly, I raised my eyes.

“I want you to promise me something,” he said. “Can you promise me, Thais, whatever I ask of you?”

No, I can’t. I can’t because whatever it is, in my heart I know it’s something I won’t be able to do—it’s something you’ll think is best for me, but my heart will think otherwise and I won’t do it. Because I always listen to my heart. Always…

“Thais?”

I shook my head; my eyes began to well up with tears.

(I cocked my head to one side, studying her, debating her defiance and what I would do about it, what I could do about it.)

“If you can’t promise me this,” he said, “then no matter what happens to me, or where I am, whether I’m alive or dead in the ground, I won’t be at peace. I’ll never know peace again like I’ve known it since I’ve known you. I’ll toss and turn in my grave, Thais, if you can’t promise me this one thing.”

Please, Atticus, don’t make me promise this!

Salty tears streamed down my cheeks; he wiped them away with his thumbs, then he kissed my lips.

“It’s the only thing I’ll ever make you promise me.”

“What is it?” I said, but could hardly get the words out.

“Make the promise first,” he said, his hands resting at the sides of my neck, his fingers splayed to touch my face.

After a moment, I nodded with reluctance.

“I promise,” I said, and regretted it.

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