A Row of Ducks

T.J. hoped he was old enough now to just blend in with the other men as they paraded into the back room like a row of ducks.
Usually at family events a few of his uncles would gang up on Victor, who drank too much. Just as often, they would pile on Bije, who provided Victor –- and every other so-inclined man up and down the Big and Little Tallapoosa rivers – with liquor. But today would probably be a little different.
From what T.J. had pieced together, his father was going to be asked to take over the family farm. Now that Pappy was dead, there was no one to oversee the stables and the crops, the negroes and sharecroppers. Tom's brothers either lived out of town or were too slack or disinterested. Tom had run all the way to Milledgeville to break free from those ties, but now that he was back, he would make a too-easy target for them.
After his father and all of his uncles filed in, T.J. tried to hide in the corner, in Hoke's shadow. But Edgar, the eldest, pressed a firm palm to T.J.’s breast.
“I’m sorry, T.J.,” he said, pushing him as he shut the door.
T.J. spun around. The girl with the faded pink flowers was working her tongue around a red lollipop while she waited for Hoke.
T.J. thrust his hands into his pockets and slunk out to the porch without saying a word.