“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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