The house was quiet when Richard returned. Jimmy was at his father's house, meeting with those still involved with the ruins of the conspiracy. It meant Clara was left without a vehicle, but she had insisted she was going to stay at the house and try to finish her book.
Standing in the sunroom he could see their towels on the sand and Clara and Tommy playing in the surf. They both looked happy. He wanted to go to them but decided to start dinner. They'd be hungry when they came in.
Even with the ocean breeze coming in it was still warm. He took off his jacket, vest, and tie, and rolled up his sleeves before opening the icebox and seeing about dinner. The mask was bothering him. He'd hear Clara bringing Tommy in, he decided. He could take it off.
Dinner was well underway when he heard someone outside the house. He had a split second to decide between grabbing his gun or grabbing the mask. The gun. Leaving the kitchen he crept through the service porch door and went towards the beachside of the house to make sure no one got near Clara and Tommy. One man stood looking towards them, and Richard couldn't see his face. The man didn't know Richard was near him until the barrel of the Glock pressed against his head.
"Harrow," an Irish voice said.
Damn it, Richard thought. He lowered the gun and covered his face.
"Mr. Thompson is here to see his daughter. Are you going to shoot us?"
"You shouldn't. Creep around. The house. I'll let you in the front door."
Richard went back through the kitchen, slid his mask on and turned the burners off.
Nucky Thompson glowered at him from the front door. It was the first time Richard had seen him since he and Clara married. Richard had wanted to go to Mr. Thompson and tell him in person about marrying Clara, tell him that he would always do his best to take care of her, and apologize for not asking him in advance.
Clara's eyes flashed when he told her. "No thank you. I don't require my father's permission to get married. No one expected me to trek to Wisconsin and ask your father, did they? So why would you need to ask my father about something I'm quite capable of deciding for myself?"
Jimmy looked at him like he had just started speaking Russian. "Jesus, Rich, are you trying to make Clara a widow? You can't go to Nucky's. It's amazing you and the Irishman didn't end up in a shootout when you went to get her. Let Clara handle this. There's enough going on with Nucky."
"Mmm. Mr. Thompson, please. Come in."
"I see this farce is continuing," Nucky said, gesturing towards Richard's left hand.
"I'm sorry. I didn't ask..." Richard started.
"Why? So I could have told you no to what's left of your face?"
The Irishman coughed but Richard could hear the barely disguised laughter. The side door creaked open.
"Richard's home!" Tommy's voice reverberated through the half-empty rooms. Another voice could barely be heard answering him. "'Cause dinner smells good!"
Tommy ran in wearing only a towel. "Clara says she has to wash the salt out of her hair. I helped Clara and was good all day but I didn't get one Oreo for lunch so can we make shortred cookies?"
Tommy stopped and stepped closer to Richard, who put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're Clara's daddy," he said finally after staring at Nucky.
"That's right," Nucky said, using the affable voice he saved for children and voters.
"My name is Thompson like yours. Clara lived with you in a big hotel and we ate waffles in her room when her name was Thompson but now it's not."
"Yes, Clara used to live with me," Nucky answered. "But now she lives with you."
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Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow
FanfictionEvery Greek tragedy needs an Antigone or a Danaë. Every King Lear needs a Cordelia. Boardwalk Empire positioned itself as both a Greecian tragedy and Shakespearean, and yet forgot that key player who binds everyone together. Not a Boardwalk fan? Don...