Just a Dose of Parker Luck

Abhaile

A gentle breeze wafted through the sky, stirring wee Peter's brown curls as he watched from the low branches of the tree. Soft brown eyes drifted across the landscape around him, brushing over the rolling green hills that fell gently into the sandy beach below. Rays of gold stretched across the small town, seeping through cracks under doors and into windows, warming the little boy's face before they slipped below the horizon. 

It was like an elf had blessed the land with her magic, letting it shine in the setting of the late summer sun. Peter had lived here his whole life. The whole four years. And he wouldn't change it for the world.

"Peter!"

He looked over to the sound of his mother's Irish lilt, hopping down from the boughs and running over to where she waved from the door of their cottage. Mary smiled, tousling his locks as they walked inside.  "Dinner's ready." They sat down at the table with Richard and began to eat, Peter talking wildly about the adventures he had that afternoon in the garden and showing his father the shell he and Mary had found. Richard chuckled softly, inspecting the shell with his intelligent, dark eyes.

"It's quite stunning, isn't it?"

Peter nodded, running a finger over the pearly coating. "You can hear the sea in it," holding it up to his father's ear.

" I can!"

Mary laughed, her green eyes lighting up. "Have you heard anything from your brother yet?" she asked, putting her cutlery down neatly.

"Ah, yes." He swallowed the bit of food in his mouth and continued. "The house has been bought."

Peter, who had been studying the shell, suddenly perked up. "Hmm? What house?"

The two adults exchanged a glace, Mary's eyes probing Richard to tell. He sighed and pushed his chair back, inviting Peter to sit on his lap. The small boy obliged, looking up into his father's face. "I recently got a new job offer... in America." Peter blinked, waiting for his father to continue. "This means that we're moving to the US, near where your Aunt May and Uncle Ben live."

Peter had only met Ben and May once or twice when he was little. He hardly remembered them at all, and he certainly didn't want to leave his home. "When are we coming back?" he asked innocently.

"We don't know. It might not be until your older." Mary took his hand, rubbing the back with her thumb. It was evident that she didn't want to leave her home country either, but the offer had been too good to turn down. Peter's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to think. They were leaving home, their country, and might not even be coming back.

"I don't want to go."

Richard sighed, giving Mary an "I told you so" look. She rolled her eyes. "I know baby," she said softly, picking him up and putting him on her lap so that he faced her with his legs dangling over the sides. "I don't want to leave either. But, we can have lots of adventures in America." 

She leaned in close, their foreheads touching as she whispered. "I don't know much about America either, so it'll be a new experience for both of us. Ceart go leor, mo ghrá? (Ok, my love?)"

Peter nodded slowly. "Tá, mama."

She gave him a smile, running her fingers through his hair. "Oh don't look so sad, we still have time before we leave! Richard, where's the fiddle?"

Peter perked up at the mention of the fiddle. That always meant his father would play while his mother sang. Mary picked up her son and rested him on her hip, grinning as Richard tuned the old fiddle. The mellow strains filled the room, slow and enchanting as the candles flickered around them. Mary began to hum and the pace picked up, Peter joining in. He loved this song.