Usually, I believe strongly in telling the truth, especially to one's children. It ensures that one appears trustworthy, and trust is essential to any parent-child relationship. Most of the time, being honest is not a problem. Most of the time. Some secrets are made to be kept.

Some secrets, however, are meant to be locked away for all eternity in an airtight room buried miles underground, untouched by anyone who is not involved, and definitely never mentioned at any cost to anyone whom it does not directly affect. I am sure that everyone has at least one of these secrets at some point in their life, but I believe I have more than the average human.

One of these deep, dark secrets of mine involves a certain Arthur Radley.

This secret was especially difficult to keep due to my children's acute interest in the life of 'Boo' as they called him. But there was no way I would ever tell Jem or Scout how much I really knew about Arthur. It's best that no one ever knows.

The truth is that he has nearly no social interaction outside of the family, except for three hours every Saturday. Those are the times when I mysteriously disappear from my home for a few hours. Yes, I have been visiting Arthur Radley once every week for the past three years.

Despite my memory fading with age, I still remember how those visits started. It was the summer of Scout's sixth year. She, Jem, and Dill Harris had gone into their phase of re-enacting the adventures of the monster, Boo Radley. I had finally managed to stop their game, and had managed to shoo them away from the property. The next day, I was walking home from the courthouse. I was passing the Radley house, as per usual. But that day, something somewhat less than usual occurred. As I walked by, I thought I heard some kind of rustling in the foliage. Ignoring it, I kept walking. I would have continued on my way, had I not heard a quiet, almost inaudible:

"Excuse me, Mister Finch?"

I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Mister Finch?"

I turned to face where the sound was coming from. I noticed a man, so pale he almost looked sick, peering out shyly from behind a bush.

"Mister Arthur!" I replied, "How can I help you?" I decided not to question him as to why he was outside for fear I would scare him off.

"Uh… I…" he mumbled, "I just wanted to ask you if those were your children playing here…"

"Two of them were, yes," I said, "Sorry about them, by the way."

"No… It's okay… Really, I'm fine with them being here… I like having people around; I get rather lonely on my own…"

"Oh, alright," I responded.

"Well, uh, thanks, Sir."

"You're very welcome. Goodnight!"

"Goodnight."

I walked off, thinking that bizarre and unforeseen conversation would be my only one with him. However I was wrong, as the next day, I heard an already familiar call of:

"Excuse me, Mister Finch?"

This time, we talked for a bit longer. I supposed I didn't mind our talking, he was alright to converse with after he stopped being so shy. I eventually said goodbye and walked home again.

The next day, he didn't call me, so I supposed that this strange habit was already broken. But the next day, Arthur stopped me once again. We talked for at least twenty minutes, before I finally returned home.

This went on for about a week, until our conversations became so lengthy that Jem and Scout began to question where I had been. I obviously couldn't tell them the truth, that wouldn't be right. After I had alerted Arthur of this fact, we had decided to limit our visits to Saturdays.

So our tradition began, with our weekly encounters something for both of us to look forward to.

I am still not exactly sure why he took such a liking to me in particular. Why did he enjoy my company instead of the company of others? Was it my children? Was it something about me? Regardless, of the reason, we had our routine. I would arrive at the Radley House at precisely 7:30 pm, Arthur would let me in, we would talk for three hours, I would leave. Our visits were friendly and nonchalant.

Of course, all that changed on the night Bob Ewell was killed.

It all happened so fast. First, I was sitting at home, listening to the radio. Next thing I knew, Jem was unconscious, Scout was in shock, Bob Ewell was dead, Heck Tate had left in a huff, and Arthur Radley was on my property.

I sent Scout to bed, staying a moment to talk to my secret friend, who had just saved the lives of my two children.

I stared at that man who I had come to know so well for a moment, seeing the moonlight reflecting off his grey eyes. He was a hero now.

"Why, Arthur? Why did you save them?"

He avoided making eye contact, shuffling awkwardly. "I… couldn't watch them die."

"That took a lot of courage, Arthur. Thank you," I told him sincerely.

He finally met my gaze. A small, appreciative smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You really think so?"

I nodded, smiling back.

"I… love you, Atticus," he muttered, approaching me. I had no time to reply before his soft lips were pressed gently against mine in a chaste, inexperienced kiss. But it was over before I had the chance to reciprocate; Arthur was scampering off as quickly as he had approached me, leaving me in complete shock.

I spent the rest of the week pondering what it meant, why he had done it, whether or not it would be alright for me to go see the man who had kissed me. But when Saturday came, I decided to gather up every ounce of my courage and pay Mister Radley a visit; though I was plagued with another question. Why was that tingling feeling I got when he kissed me vaguely reminiscent of that which I had when I kissed my wife all those years ago? I ignored that thought and knocked on his door at precisely 7:30 pm that day. It took Arthur almost a minute to answer the door, and when he did, he did so slowly and timidly.

"Atticus?" he muttered incredulously, "Why are you here?"

I smiled. "Is this not our usual meeting time?"

He still looked slightly shocked as he smiled back and let me in. I decided to launch myself right into inquiry.

"So… what was that night about?"

He blushed. "Uh… Well… I…"

I looked at the man who had become one of my best friends, waiting for him to respond. He was still timid around me, like a small, skittish child. But he was not a child. He was Arthur Radley, the brave hero who had saved Jem and Scout.

I don't know what made me reach out and touch his cheek, but I didn't regret it. His skin was pleasantly soft to the touch. I couldn't help but lean in and give him a swift kiss on the forehead. He closed his eyes, relaxing for what seemed like the first time since we started these visits. I looked at him for a while, surveying his admittedly adorable features. I felt the butterflies again. I kept still for a moment, before I finally succumbed to my urges and kissed him. My eyes closed as I felt the warmth of his mouth against mine. The kiss wasn't passionate; it was gentle, closed-mouthed, and tender, but I firmly held his slim frame close to me. When I finally pulled back, he looked up at me.

"Do you love me too, Atticus?"

"Yes, Arthur."

Since that day, our visits have become decidedly less friendly. Not a Saturday has passed when I don't find myself at Arthur Radley's place with us both curled up in an armchair, his head nestled into my neck. We still talk, but our conversations are often interrupted by kisses. I have taken a liking to threading my fingers into his thin blond hair, pulling him close, and gently touching our mouths together. He definitely enjoys it too, as he often reminds me in a hushed tone when we sit together.

I love him. He loves me. We are shameless to admit it to each other, but we have both agreed that if anyone found out, it would be tragic. We have therefore decided to keep our relationship a secret.

This is one secret that will always be kept.