Annie rolls off the pillow she’s been lying on and looks back at me, and I get one of those unexpected blasts of déjà vu, when her mother’s soul looks out of her eyes. “Quentin is actually more heroic than Atticus,” I tell her, trying not to think about her mother. “Atticus Finch is always seen as brave, and he was. But Atticus was white. Part of the dominant class. All he really risked by defending Tom was being spit on by trash like Bob Ewell, or not being invited to some fancy parties. But when Quentin was a young lawyer, he literally risked his life every time he took on the system. That took real bravery.”

“And what about now? Is Mr. Quentin brave now?”

I’m not sure I know the answer to this question. “Well . . . the world has changed a lot. Quentin’s made a lot of money, and in some ways that makes him part of the dominant class. Although to some people, he’ll always be just a black man, no matter how rich he gets.”

“But as a lawyer, I mean. Is he as good as you?”

“That’s hard to say. I was a prosecutor, but when Quentin took on criminal cases, he mostly defended people.”

Annie groans in frustration. “Could you beat him? That’s all I’m asking.”

“I never had to go against him, so I don’t know. I’m glad I never had to. I think the outcome would probably have depended on the evidence. Whose side it favored.”

“Whose side does it favor in Papa’s case?”

“That’s hard to say, since nobody’s sure exactly what all the evidence is. There may be witnesses none of us knows about.”

Annie crosses her legs Indian style, then props her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “Well, I know something’s wrong. Ya’ll can’t hide that from me. Mr. Quentin’s upsetting everybody. Gram and Miriam, but you especially. I can tell. And I think there’s only one thing to do about it.”

“What?”

“You have to take over Papa’s case, like Mr. Rusty said. You have to defend Papa.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you’ll do the right thing. Like Atticus.”

“Annie, these days, a lawyer like Atticus Finch wouldn’t be able to win many cases. These days it takes a smart, slick lawyer like Quentin to do it.”

“But Atticus didn’t win his case, Daddy. He just did the right thing. My teacher would call that a moral victory.”

This simple assertion of what should be obvious stuns me with the force of an epiphany. “Have you thought about what you’re saying, Boo? Atticus didn’t just lose his case. He lost his client. Tom Robinson died.”

“But only because Tom hung himself. Papa wouldn’t ever hang himself.”