Tad's insides began churning at Jimmy's words. He could see the scene so clearly: Mummy sprawled on the kitchen floor, Daddy standing over her, his eyes angry and red-rimmed. Tad hadn't been crying, though. Men don't cry. His eyes had been watering because the maid had been cutting onions several hours before, that was all.
So when Derby leaned close, his suggestion just confirmed what Tad was already thinking. He didn't bother to question Jimmy's motives, or wonder if maybe Jimmy had been making assumptions again. It didn't matter that Jimmy's assumptions always tended to have a grain of truth about them. Tad was coiled, and he sprang.
"DON'T BE RUDE ABOUT MUMMY!" he shouted, rushing toward Jimmy. "IT WASN'T HER FAULT THAT THE LID ON THE VODKA BOTTLE WASN'T SCREWED ON TIGHTLY ENOUGH!"
He grabbed Jim's collar and, with all of his strength, pushed him off the edge of the boardwalk.