Haroldine stumps up the path to the house after midnight. In the mudroom Hal is leaning his back against the dryer and Grace is laid out along him, face tucked under his chin. There are streaks of mud from the garden on their clothes.
Hal opens an eye. “Just resting. The heat feels good, my back is killing me.”
Grace doesn’t even open hers. “Waiting for the washer to stop spinning. Goodnight, Aunt Frog.”
Haroldine chuckles as she makes her way upstairs. She’s going to take her aches and pains to bed; she’ll get another batch of pots thrown tomorrow.
100 Word Drabble