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Lucille
Lucille eyed Tommy as they walked toward watery lane, his hand holding onto Adds as she prattled away about the horses they'd seen at uncle Charlie's yard. The three had walked the whole way back, and in that entire time, Lucille could look at nothing other than his distracted face.
It wasn't that Tommy was visibly upset or moody or anything like that, in fact. He smiled away, whispering jokes that he didn't want Lucille to hear. If anything he seemed happy. But she could tell better. Preoccupied. Tommy's jaw would clench every so often, as if remembering something he'd tried so fiercely to forget.
"Are you alright?" She asked, nudging his arm as Adds trailed closely in front.
"Yes," he said, before sighing. "Well something new had come up that needs our attention."
Tommy paused, his face twisting. If Lucille hadn't known any better, she would have said he looked rather embarrassed. But he shook his head, nodding to the end of the street, to his home.
"Seems like Arthur Jr, has dragged in Arthur Sr," he said, his voice gruff as he pushed out the words.
She turned, almost as if in fright. "Your father?"
He nodded. "Yes. Unfortunately."
For the few minutes they walked toward the house, the small family were in silence. She had never met his father, and in turn Adds had never met her grandfather. And yet, Lucille couldn't say she ever wanted to, from the terrible stories she'd heard from Polly, and sometimes even the boys. It seemed that only Arthur had the patience to tolerate him- but perhaps that was only naivety. Lucille didn't think she would ever be able to find something within her that would force her to respect the man.
As they came up to the house, Tommy paused for a minute. His hat was in his hands, hanging from his index finger, his lips thinned.
"You go in for a minute," he said.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'll be right behind you."
Lucille opened the door quietly, hurrying Adds through in front of her. The faint sounds of cups clinking and a fire crackling echoed through the empty silence that graced her ears upon shutting the door.
"Thank you. You're a good boy," a gruff voice said, a faint Irish accent. "Bless thee father, for these bounties we are about to receive."
"Jesus Christ." That was Polly.
"Please, woman, not in vain," the same, man's voice said.
"Finish your sandwich and sling your hook."
"Pollyanna. I'm the guest of the head of this family, so why don't you maybe tend to your mangle or your scuttle?"
Adds shuffled in the hallway, and Lucille shushed her, moving slowly around the doorframe of the kitchen, slipping through unnoticed
