Re: Carriage House: Atticus & Billy
Yeah, Billy’s eyes definitely narrowed at that suggestion, though they were on the contemplative-slash-skeptical side of assessment. Sure, he lied sometimes as a means of self-preservation, but he wasn’t a bullshitter as a general rule. And he already knew that Atticus wasn’t the sort of guy who regularly went on the offensive. He said some things that were probably questionable, but not meant out of any intent to wound.
“Hmm,” was the quiet contemplation as Billy leaned back and considered the implication, reaching out to gather one of the entire lobsters onto his plate. He didn’t go to work at cracking it yet, just considering it from one leaning angle and then the other, with a gaze the flicked temporarily up towards Atticus’ side of the table before he grasped the body and one of the claws in each hand and gave a practiced twist.
He hadn’t been kidding about having his share of experience at eating lobster. The triumphant little grin was fixed in place as he dropped the tail and focused on the claw. “I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with being adopted. I just want to make them happy. They’re so good to me, they gave me all kinds of opportunities that I never would have had otherwise. So if I had no clue what I wanted to do in college, who was I to say no to their ideas if they wanted me to get a degree in economics and then go into law school?”
Billy’s incisors scraped over the fleshy meat of his lower lip as he focused on the claw, cracking it open before he poked the business end of one of the slender forks in and used it to scrape out the meat from the claws, swallowing it down before he went to work on the knuckles.
“You still haven’t told me about the fishing boats. And actually, the only other thing that I’ve heard about you is that the sheriff said you lack social skills.” With it, the glimmer of amusement in Billy’s eyes, and he matched the easy-going slant of Atticus’ mouth with his own. “Is that right? Does he know you that well?”
And then he was actually laughing, half-surprised and the lowered arch of eyebrows that meant he was also confused. “What? No, of course not. I just mean your hands are bigger than mine.” And he held one up for example, shining with butter, slender fingers wriggling but also a proportionately narrow palm. “I don’t see a part of you that could be called fat, why do you seem so dead-set on that?”
But he didn’t necessarily wait on an answer to that, because Atticus didn’t seem particularly inclined towards that end, so he settled for wiping his proffered hand on a wad of napkins while Atticus gave his toast. “Who said that?”