Page 68 of Everything Under the Sun

Thais stared across the room seemingly at nothing, her gaze fixed on the window over the kitchen sink. I did the same; the pinkish-purple sky in its transition from day to night blurred in my vision.

She broke her attention from the window. “Nothing to do about it now,” she said, pretending to be indifferent, I knew—I had mastered that game.

I hopped down from the counter and went over to her, bothered by her lack of emotion—if it were me, there might be a new hole in the wall, or I would’ve already stormed out of the house to find and kill the ones who destroyed my life. But Thais and I were like night and day, darkness and light, hard and soft; I embodied violence and retribution, while Thais, she seemed to personify…hope.

“It’s okay to be angry,” I said, standing tall over her small form. “If you need to take it out on me, I welcome you to.” (I want you to!) I crouched in front of her, eye-level, forcing her to look at me. “If you want to hit me, or claw my eyes out, or”—I reached behind me, balanced on the toes of my boots, and pulled the gun from the back of my pants—“if you want to shoot me, I won’t stop you.”

She looked down at the gun, and I urged her to take it, but she pushed my hand away.

“I could never kill a person in cold blood,” she said. “Least of all you.”

“Why not me?” Why would she say such a thing?

“Because you’re not the man you believe you are.”

Taken aback, I rose into a stand.

“I’m every bit the man I believe I am,” I said, and then slid the gun back behind me. “I could’ve left Lexington City a long time ago…” I turned my back to her and went slowly over the yellow-tile floor toward the counter again. “Whether or not you can kill me, you can’t think that way about everyone, Thais. You’re not in the forest anymore; you don’t have a town full of people with weapons to protect you. You’re out in the open now, and like animals in hunting season before the world went to shit, you’re fair game, and every season is hunting season.”

“I know,” she said simply.

“Then don’t ever say you could never kill a person,” I scolded.

Thais sighed.

“You don’t understand,” she began. She stood from the chair. “I would defend myself, Atticus. If I had to, if I was forced to, I would kill. But I hope it never comes to that.”

I didn’t believe her. I didn’t think she really believed herself.

She lowered her eyes. “It just doesn’t seem right to take someone else’s life if I can’t even take my own.”

I shot her with a reproving look.

“So, you’re back to that again,” I accused. “Don’t make all this be for nothing.” I pointed at the floor, gritted my teeth. “You’re too strong for that; you deserve better than whatever waits for you on the Other Side—there’s nothing over there but darkness. Take your own life, the cowardly way out, and that’s what you’ll get—darkness.”

I didn’t realize how deeply my words cut her until it was too late to take them back. Thais’ shoulders stiffened; her pale, freckled face, tempered by anguish.

“So that’s what you believe?” she said critically. “You think my mother and my sister were cowards, and they’re just out there somewhere, floating around in nothingness? No absolution? No peace?”

I sighed. Why the fuck did I say ‘cowards’?

“I didn’t mean that—look, I don’t know what happens after we die, but…” Something occurred suddenly. I stepped up closer to Thais. “Your mother committed suicide, too?” I didn’t know an easier way of asking.

THAIS

Reluctantly, I nodded, and a darkness swept through me as I remembered that day.

Atticus placed his index finger underneath my chin and raised my face to his. His eyes were so intense, full of compassion and heartache and understanding. I knew he wanted me to tell him about my mother, but I couldn’t. I had admitted that she had taken her life, and that was enough. I could never tell Atticus why she did it: she had been attacked by men in the woods; I’d overheard her telling my father. I could never tell Atticus the things my mother told me and Sosie before she died, about letting no man take from us what wasn’t theirs. I could never tell Atticus these things, because then he might’ve known. He might’ve figured out that I had never been with a man before, and it frightened me to think he might turn out to be like all the rest, and want from me what any man would want from a virgin.

I moved to stand beside Atticus near the kitchen window. We looked out together at the darkening horizon looming over the open field.

“Do you think they’re looking for us?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered. “They wouldn’t waste time or resources sending out a big party just to find two people, but they’ve sent someone—I have a feeling Marion probably volunteered.”

I sighed.

“I hope that other man, Edgar, was telling the truth. I really hope that, more than anything.” There was a nervous tenor in my voice; I glanced at Atticus at my side, his tall form a strange comfort next to me.

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