When a grumpy old man slams the door in the face of a pushy teenager, he thinks he’s rid of her for good. But when a hurricane catches them together, the storm outside reveals the truth about her shocking connection to his past.
Frank had lived alone for years. The silence suited him, and he had long since resigned himself to the lack of friends or family in his life. So when he heard a knock on the door one Saturday morning, he was surprised, but more annoyed than curious.
With a heavy groan, he rose from his chair. Opening the door, he saw a teenage girl, no older than sixteen, standing on the porch.
Before she could speak, Frank snapped at her: ‘I don’t want to buy anything, I don’t want to join any church, I don’t support homeless children or kittens, and I’m not interested in environmental issues.’ Without waiting for a response, he slammed the door shut.
He turned to leave, but froze when the doorbell rang again. Sighing, he returned to his chair, picked up the remote and turned up the volume on the television.
A hurricane warning for the city appeared on the screen. Frank cast a brief glance at it, then shook his head.
‘It doesn’t matter to me,’ he muttered. His basement was built to withstand anything.
The doorbell didn’t stop ringing. It kept ringing, over and over again. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Each ring got on Frank’s nerves. Finally, muttering to himself, he went back to the door. Frowning, he swung it open.
‘What?! What do you want?!’ – he bellowed, and his voice echoed through the quiet street.
The girl stood still, looking at him calmly. “You’re Frank, right? I need to talk to you,” she said.
Frank narrowed his eyes. “Let’s say I am. Who are you and why are you on my porch? Where are your parents?”
“My name is Zoe. My mum died recently. I don’t have parents now,” she said, her voice flat.
‘I don’t care,’ Frank snapped back. He grabbed the edge of the door and began pushing it closed.
Before it could slam shut, Zoe pressed her hand against it. ‘Aren’t you wondering why I’m here?’ – She asked in an unwavering tone.
‘The only thing I’m interested in,’ Frank growled, ‘is how long it will take you to leave my property and never come back!’ He shoved her hand away from the door and slammed it shut with such force that the frame rattled.
The doorbell stopped ringing. Frank peered through the curtains and surveyed the yard. It was empty.
Taking a deep breath, he turned away, feeling victorious. He didn’t yet know that this was only the beginning of his nightmare.
The next morning Frank woke up and grumbled as he dragged himself to the front door to grab the newspaper.
His jaw dropped when he saw the state his house was in. Broken eggs dripped down the walls, their sticky residue glistening in the sunlight.
Large, crude words were scrawled on the paint in uneven black letters that made his blood boil.
‘What’s going on!’ – he shouted, looking round the street, but it was empty.
Gritting his teeth, he stormed into the house, grabbed his cleaning supplies, and spent all day cleaning.
His arms ached, his back throbbed, and he swore at every movement.
By evening, exhausted but relieved to see the walls clean, he stepped out onto the porch with a cup of tea.
But his relief was short-lived. Scattered all over the yard were bins, old food and tattered newspapers littering the lawn.
‘Stupid girl!’ – He shouted, paying no attention to anyone, and his voice echoed through the quiet neighbourhood.
He walked down the steps, grabbed a few rubbish bags, and set about cleaning up. As he bent down to pick up a rotten tomato, a note taped to the mailbox caught his eye.
He tore it off and read it aloud: “Just listen to me and I’ll stop bothering you. -Zoe.” At the bottom, a phone number was written in bold numbers.
Frank crumpled up the note and threw it in the bin.
The next morning he was awakened by loud screams. Looking outside, he saw a group of people waving placards.
‘Who the hell are you people!’ – he shouted, opening the window.
“We’re in favour of the environment! Thank you for letting us use your yard!” – shouted a woman who looked like a hippie.
Enraged, Frank grabbed a broom and chased them away. As they left, he noticed that a caricature of himself was painted on the driveway with the words ‘I hate everyone.’
There was another note hanging on his front door:
“Obey me or I’ll think of more ways to get you.
-Zoe.
P.S. The paint won’t wash off.”
Again, there was a phone number at the bottom.
Frank stormed inside, slamming the door behind him. He grabbed the phone and with trembling hands dialled Zoe’s number. “Come to my house. Now,” he barked and hung up before she could answer.
When Zoe arrived, her jaw dropped. Standing on the porch next to Frank were two police officers with serious expressions on their faces.
“What the…? Are you kidding me!” exclaimed Zoe, looking at him.
Frank folded his arms and smirked. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Guess what, I’m not.”
The officers handcuffed Zoe. ‘You old twat!’ – she shouted as they led her to the car. Frank watched on, smugly believing that this was the end of his troubles.
The next day, a hurricane warning was issued for the city. The wind howled, bending trees and hurling debris onto the empty streets.
Frank looked out the window, about to head to his basement. His eyes widened when he spotted Zoe on the street, clutching her rucksack and stumbling out of the wind.
‘What are you doing out there!’ shouted Frank, swinging the door open. The wind nearly ripped it out of his hands.
Zoe turned round, her hair whipping across her face. “What does it look like! I’m looking for shelter!” – she screamed, her voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. ‘I have nowhere else to go!’
‘Then get in the house!’ barked Frank, stepping out onto the porch.
‘No way!’ snapped Zoe. ‘I’d rather face this hurricane than go into your house!’
Frank gritted his teeth. “Yesterday you were desperate to talk to me. What’s different now?”
‘I realised you’re a selfish, grumpy idiot!’ replied Zoe.
That was enough for Frank. He came down the steps, grabbed her rucksack and dragged her towards the door.
‘Let me go!’ screamed Zoe, breaking free of his grip. “I’m not going with you! Let me go!”
‘Are you crazy?!’ roared Frank, slamming the door behind them. ‘Stay in there and you’ll die!’
“Maybe that’s a good thing! I’ve got nothing left anyway! ” shouted Zoe, her face reddening. ‘And you think that your stupid house is some kind of fortress!’
‘My basement is fortified,’ Frank growled. “It’s survived more than that. Follow me.”
Zoe glared at him, but hesitated. After a moment, she sighed and followed him into the basement.
The basement turned out to be surprisingly cosy. It resembled a small, well-used living room. There was a single bed in one corner, and the walls were stacked with shelves of old books.
A stack of paintings stood by the far corner, their colours faded by age. Zoe looked around, unimpressed, and sank down onto the couch with a loud sigh.
“Did you want to say something? Now’s your chance,” Frank said, standing motionless by the stairs.
‘Now are you ready to listen?’ asked Zoe, raising an eyebrow.
“We’ve been stuck here for an unknown amount of time. Maybe we’d better get this over with,” Frank replied, leaning against a shelf and folding his arms.
‘Okay,’ Zoe said. She reached into her rucksack, pulled out some folded papers and held them out to him.
Frank frowned, taking them. ‘What are these?’
‘My emancipation papers,’ Zoe said, her tone very serious.
Frank blinked. ‘What?’
‘It’s so I can live on my own,’ Zoe explained. “Without parents. Without guardians.”
‘How old are you?’ asked Frank, squinting at the papers.
‘Sixteen… almost,’ Zoe replied, her voice firm.
‘And why do you need my signature?’ – Frank asked, looking at her sharply. asked Frank, looking at her sharply. asked Frank, looking at her sharply.
Zoe met his gaze without hesitation. “Because you’re my only living relative. I’m your granddaughter. Do you remember your wife? Your daughter?”
Frank’s face went pale. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘Quite possibly,’ Zoe said with a cold chuckle. “Social Services gave me your address. When Gran was telling me about you, I thought she was exaggerating. Now I see she didn’t tell me the half of it.”
“I’m not signing this. You’re still a child. The system can take care of you.”
‘You’re joking, right?’ snapped Zoe. “You were a terrible father and husband! You left your grandmother and mum to chase some painting fantasy. Your work isn’t even very good – I was better when I was five! And now, after all this, you won’t even sign a paper to help me?”
Frank clenched his hands into fists. ‘It was my dream to become an artist!’ – he shouted.
‘That was my dream too!’ replied Zoe. “But Grandma’s gone. Mum’s gone. And you’re the only family I have. You’re also the worst person I’ve ever met!”
They sat in silence after that, the room was tense. Frank knew Zoe was right. He had been selfish. All he saw then was his art, disregarding everything else.
After two hours, Frank finally spoke. ‘Do you even have a place to stay?’
‘I’m working on it,’ Zoe mumbled. “I have a job. I still have my mum’s car. I’ll manage.”
‘You should be in school, not figuring out how to survive,’ Frank said.
‘Life doesn’t work out the way we want it to,’ Zoe replied, her voice soft but firm.
Frank sat in silence for the next few hours, watching Zoe sketching in her notebook. Her pencil moved confidently, each stroke purposeful.
He hated to admit it, but her art was bold, creative and alive. She was far better than anything he’d ever drawn.
The radio came to life and a monotone voice reported that the hurricane had passed. The storm was over.
Frank stood up, his joints stiff, and gestured to the stairs. ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ he said. Once upstairs, he looked at Zoe and, without saying a word, handed her the signed papers.
‘You were right,’ he said in a low voice. “I’ve been a terrible husband. And a lousy father. I can’t change any of that. But maybe I can help change someone’s future.”
Zoe stared at the papers for a while, then slipped them into her backpack. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
Frank looked at her and nodded. “Don’t stop drawing. You have talent.”
Zoe slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘Life has ordered otherwise,’ she said and headed for the door.
‘You can stay here,’ Frank said suddenly.
Zoe froze. ‘What?’
‘You can live here,’ Frank said. ‘I can’t undo my mistakes, but I also can’t throw my own granddaughter out on the street.’
‘Do you really want me to stay?’ asked Zoe.
‘Not really,’ Frank admitted. ‘But I think we can both learn something.’
Zoe grinned. “That’s great. Thanks. But I’m taking all your art supplies. I’m so much better than you.”
She turned towards the basement. Frank shook his head. “Stubborn and arrogant. You got that from me.”
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