A FAINT SOUND OF THUNDER
by
Owlcroft
Sarah removed her shawl, folding it carefully and draping it over the back of the armchair in her bedroom. Honestly, she thought with a hint of irritation, another ex-con and this one in the gatehouse! She shook her head, fluffed her pillow, then made the noise commonly written as "tsk".
Forgot to plug the gatehouse refrigerator in. Oh, well, she sighed and reached again for her shawl. Sarah hesitated, considering. The boy probably doesn't even know there's a kitchenette there. I can fetch him over here for breakfast tomorrow. She pondered briefly, then conscience and responsibility won over tiredness and the late hour. At least, she told herself, this one doesn't seem as sly as that Beale. He was fairly polite toward the end. Saying 'thank you' and wishing me 'good night'.
She navigated the back steps carefully in the dark, holding on to the handrail. As she trudged up the slight incline dividing the main house and gatehouse she noticed a repetitive noise. His Honor shooting his baskets again. At this hour. I swear, the man's more stubborn than . . . than I am." When she then heard a grunt and a muffled curse, she realized the judge had company on the court.
That boy is playing basketball with His Honor? That McCormick? Sarah stood motionless, listening to the shuffling and panting from the far side of the gatehouse.
"Two!" shouted Hardcastle.
A breathless, higher-pitched voice answered, "Twenty-eighteen" and the scuffling began again.
Sarah pulled her shawl a little closer. The refrigerator can wait until tomorrow, she decided. No need at all to disturb them while they work things out between them.
She turned and walked back toward the kitchen steps, hearing the jubilant shout from McCormick, "Twenty all!" and the reply from the judge, "Gimme that ball!"
No need at all for anyone else, she thought. And she smiled.