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true blue ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ chapter two. ❛ SOONER THAN LATER. ❜
Hazel Ulbrickson sighed heavily at the silence that hung heavily in the dining room—her husband and niece sitting across from her, both silent as they slowly ate. Looking to her husband, his eyes were trained on the little notebook beside him, scanning the notes he had taken earlier that day. Then she looked to Eleanor, who was staring out the window to her left, to the river. Al Ulbrickson had been very persistent a few years earlier that their house would have to be near the river—and they has struck gold. Not even fifteen feet from the backdoor was the river—the same one the Washington Huskies had been treading over endlessly through the past couple of days.
Hazel smiled. "How's your chicken?" she looked to either one of them, beaming as she waited for an answer.
Al looked up, smiling a little, head clearing from his focused daze. "Oh, it's good sweetheart, thank you." Al said, emphasizing it with another slice popped into his mouth, a content hum. He then looked to Eleanor. "Ellie?"
"It's good, Aunt Hazel, thank you." Eleanor said, doing the same as her uncle. They had always been so alike—attatched at the hip, even. When Eleanor's dad was still around, Al had taken care of her a lot when he had been sick. So, when he passed, Eleanor and Al only got closer. It was often Eleanor was mistaken for Al's own daughter—Hazel didn't think he thought of her in any other way, however.
"Yeah, that's a pork chop you're eating," Hazel said, still smiling as she cut away at her food, the sound of her knife scraping away at the plate filled the silence.
"Oh," both Eleanor and Al said in unison.
Hazel laughed, standing from the table and walked the short distance to the kitchen sink. "How's the team?" she asked, begging to know what was plaguing the minds of her family.
"It's too early to say, but...good." Al said, almost questioning his own words as they came out.
"I see some potential," Eleanor shrugged, washing her own plate in the sink before grabbing her uncles plate. "I can't wait to see how many dropped out by tomorrow's practice."
Al Ulbrickson rolled his eyes at this.
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Eleanor had her nose in a book as she waited for class to start when quiet wincing reached her ears. Brows furrowed, she looked around, and quickly found the source. Joe Rantz and Roger Morris slid down the aisle towards their seats, faces distorted with discomfort and pain. Roger held onto the wall behind him, while Joe held onto his back. Eleanor had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh—they were definitely feeling the extent of yesterday's rowing practice.
