Frank felt comfortable living alone and enjoyed the calm. When a knock interrupted his peaceful one Saturday morning, he was more annoyed than intrigued.
He left his comfy recliner with a sigh. A sixteen-year-old girl stood there when he opened the door.
Frank rudely dismissed her. “Not interested in buying anything, not joining any church, don’t care about homeless kids or environmental issues.” He closed the door.
However, the doorbell kept ringing, irritating him. While turning up the TV to drown out the noise, he saw a hurricane warning but ignored it.
“Doesn’t concern me,” he mumbled, certain their well-built basement could weather any storm.
The doorbell persisted. In frustration, Frank threw open the door again. He yelled, “What do you want?!”
His fury didn’t bother the teen. “Are you Frank? I need to talk.”
Frank demanded her purpose. “Who are you and where are your parents?”
Zoe, the girl, replied quietly. My name is Zoe. My mom died recently, so I’m alone.”
Frank was about to close the door again, unmoved. Zoe’s perseverance halted him. “Aren’t you curious why I’m here?”
Frank ejected her again, furious. Zoe saw her efforts go in vain as the door thudded shut.
When Frank went to get his newspaper the next day, he was astonished by the mess someone had made of his residence. An egg fight and obscene graffiti were plainly directed at him.
“What on earth?!” he raged.
Frank felt he was done cleaning up after a long day, but his yard was full of trash that night.
Frank, furious, found a message on his mailbox: “Listen to me and I’ll stop bothering you. Zoe, signed off with her number.
Unwilling to bend, he crumpled and threw it away.
The next morning, environmental protesters in his yard held signs and made noise. Enraged, he broomed them away and found a self-parody on his driveway.
This time, Zoe’s note threatened further problems unless he listened. Frank finally contacted her and demanded she come over, frustrated.
Frank quickly took her away, smugly believing the trouble was over, when police came.
However, the city’s hurricane warning changed things swiftly. After making preparations, Frank saw Zoe again, fighting against the wind and seeking shelter.
He called her inside over the howling gale. “You need shelter! Come in! he yelled.
“No chance! I’d sooner face the storm than enter with you, she said.
Frank dragged her inside for her safety. It was evident they had to ride out the hurricane in his safe, pleasant basement.
Zoe told Frank she was his grandchild and brought emancipation papers for his signature when they settled.
Frank was shocked by the claim. “Granddaughter?” he exclaimed.
Zoe said that her mother died recently, leaving her alone.
Frank struggled to accept her revelations, feeling guilty over past actions and family alienation.
He remembered his artistic goals, selfish choices that destroyed his family.
Frank realized Zoe’s creativity far beyond his as she sketched throughout the hours.
Frank gave him the signed papers upstairs after the storm. He apologized for his mistakes to help her.
“Stay here,” he said. “I can’t change the past, but maybe I can help someone’s future.”
Zoe accepted with a quiet “Thanks,” starting a new chapter with Frank, who was willing to learn and possibly redeem himself.
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