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The cover of the novel was faded green and orange with a crude brown tree taking up space. He’d mentioned this book to her the day they first met. Her lips curved as she recalled the arrogant way she’d talked to him, thinking he was just some punk trying to steal her shoes.
“Well, the story takes place around the thirties. There are two kids and their father’s a lawyer. He’s trying to teach the kids that you always fight for what’s right even when you know you can’t win. The main character’s name is Scout.”
Scout turned and looked at him. “Like me.”
“Yes.” He smiled and pressed her back into the curve of his shoulder. “Atticus, the father, gave Scout a small gun, but he told her she couldn’t shoot the mockingbirds because they’re harmless. That’s where the title comes from. As the story goes on, Atticus takes on a trial defending a black man accused of raping a white woman. The kids go to the trial and are convinced of the man’s innocence, but Atticus loses because the world is unfair.”
“It’s a book about crime?” Scout asked, confused. By the title she’d thought it would be about birds.
“It’s a book about people and understanding others. Boo, the neighbor, is a recluse. He’s terrified of the real world because he was never allowed to be a part of it, but he isn’t a bad man. Scout’s father tries to teach her about life, but there are so many miscarriages of justice along the way.”
Parker shrugged and slid his thumb from between the pages. “That’s it basically. Scout learns life is unfair and good people protect those more vulnerable than the rest.”
She scowled at the plain cover and eerie tree. “Do you like this book?”
“Not particularly.”
“Then why are you reading it?”
“I like Scout and Atticus.”
She smiled. “Why do you like Scout?”
His thumb rolled over the beveled leaves of the cover. “She’s tough. She doesn’t care about social niceties, but is fascinated by human nature. She defends those who can’t defend themselves. And she’s fun.”
Heat crested her cheeks. He was describing her. “And what about Atticus?”
“Atticus is great. His moral compass leads the story. He holds respect for anyone that deserves it, even the poor. He’s . . . consistent.”
“Was your dad like Atticus?” They rarely spoke of his family, but she was trying to understand why he would like such a story.
He laughed without humor. “No, my father was nothing like Atticus. My father was greatly influenced by others’ wealth, and he had about as much moral fiber as a rock. Atticus believed that a person’s nearness to evil destroyed innocence.”
“Do you see me as that Scout?”
His lips curved slightly. “In some ways. Sometimes I guess I think of you as Scout and myself as Atticus. I want to protect you from evil and keep you innocent.”
Her brow knit at his words. She wasn’t expecting an answer like that. Leaning back, she scowled at him. “I’m not a child, Parker.”
“I know.” His agreement was quick and somehow sad.
Just once, she’d like to point out to him all the not-so-childlike things she’d done in her life. Maybe then he would stop acting like her keeper. Her anger quickly dissipated. She didn’t want to fight. “Are you going to finish it?”
He looked down at the book, its frayed, yellowed pages smoothed into a thick block. “Eventually. I’ve read it so many times I can just enjoy parts here and there. I don’t need to read it through. Did you want me to read it to you?”
“No.”
His expression appeared crestfallen, but his mouth curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you want me to read something else?”
Her mind played over everything he’d just said, his words about poor little Scout trying to make sense of the unfair world, how majestic and wise Atticus was. She thought back to an argument she and Lucian had not too long ago. Her eyes narrowed. “Why don’t we read The Great Gatsby?”
She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly in such a prickly mood. Perhaps she was just poor Scout trying to make sense of it all.
His brow lifted. “We’ve read that before and you didn’t like it.”
“I know, but like boats and all . . .” she loosely quoted.
“Are you making fun of me, Scout?” His expression was playful, but she saw a flash of insecurity in his eyes.
“Were you making fun of me when you said that?”
“When I quoted Fitzgerald?”
“Yes. ‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.’”
He frowned. “No, I was merely pointing out that we all are meant to be a certain way.”
Lucian’s words fell from her lips. “Maybe we’re all meant to choose who we are, but we have to break out of the mold we were born into to get there.”
