Mark slept in the recliner that night, but by the next afternoon, he'd moved to Sarah's old room for a nap, lying flat in a real bed. Milt kept a close eye on him, giving him the antibiotic every 4 hours as ordered by Charlie, and generally hovering enough to ensure that Mark drank lots of liquids and at least tried to eat.

For his part, Mark watched with amusement, the contrast between Hardcastle's grumbling about the chores that weren't getting done and the obvious concern he had for his resident ex-con. While anyone would've given him time away from the chores and a chance to rest, Mark found it very hard to believe that the average employer or parole officer would be setting timers so his medicine would be taken on time, or making sure that his water glass was always full of cool water. And Hardcastle was never far away either. Oh, he would say he'd be working on something in another part of the house, but he managed to be passing through whatever room Mark was occupying on a fairly frequent basis.

Within a few days, Mark felt completely normal, and was back to doing some light chores. Charlie finally cleared him after a week, and that was when Hardcastle gave him the news.

H&M

McCormick stood behind the backboard of the basketball court, under his bedroom window and clipped the hedge along with the beat of the music that blasted out of his bedroom window.

"Hey?" he complained loudly when the music was turned down.

Hardcastle leaned out the window of the gatehouse, "we've got neighbors ya know."

"Don't I have any privacy? You think you can just walk in there any time?"

"You'll have privacy as long as you don't give me a reason to go into the Gatehouse, hotshot."

McCormick's frown slid sideways as Hardcastle appeared beside him.

"It's 11 am on a Saturday morning judge, I guarantee your neighbors won't make a fuss. If this isn't a time I can play loud music, then there never will be."

"On the nose," Hardcastle returned, touching his.

"Give me a break! You're saying I can never point my speakers outside again?"

"Now you're cookin."

"Un-friggin believable judge."

Hardcastle smiled a fake smile.

"I'd love to stand out here and talk about this all day long kiddo, but I've got something to tell you."

"What's that?" Mark answered, turning back to finish clipping the hedges.

"We're going to have a house guest."

"Not Sandy again!"

Milt smiled and then chuckled, "no not him again." Sandy had stayed at Gull's Way for a few days last month while some water damage in his apartment was being repaired. Neither man had enjoyed the visit.

McCormick looked at the judge and furrowed his brow. "Who then?"

"My son," Hardcastle said over his shoulder as he headed back toward the main house.

McCormick's jaw dropped open. "You have a son?" he whispered.