Page 4 of What's the time, Mr. Wolfe
Victim.Monica, who the dementia charity had sent, used to chastise me for using that word, but it was exactly what I thought of Grandma. Dementia was a terrible illness, and shewasa victim. She hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t sought it out, it had chosen her. But every now and again, like half a minute before, the cloud in her brain would clear briefly and the old Grandma would reappear.
I angrily wiped at my tears knowing my eyes would be red rimmed. I was an ugly crier, for sure. I’d always longed to be the Disney Princess type, one that could just dab a delicate piece of material to the corner of their eyes. No, me? I’d have a red nose, snot, and blotchy cheeks. And if I really got going, puffy lips and eyelids to boot.
As Isat at the kitchen table, I slid one of my college books towards me. I wasn’t in the mood but knew I had to catch up on a day missed. I had an assignment to hand in. Instead, I moved to my drawing pad and flipped it open.
All the drawings were of buildings. All different types from my dream cottage in the woods, a residential home (the one I’d buy with my lottery win so my grandma and others like her could live in luxury), to the skyscraper in the city.
I turned to my dream cottage in the woods.
Solitude should have been my middle name, and I wondered if my fondness for all things dark and quiet were because my childhood was so loud. My parents argued like the proverbial cat and dog. There were always parties and drunkenness. They often left drugs just in reach of childish hands, and houses, not homes, were a constant mess. It was no wonder my mother eventually died. Why I hankered after a father that facilitated her drug and alcohol abuse was beyond me.
My cottage in the woods was peaceful, surrounded by nature and the protection of trees—the lungs of the earth, I called them, and ones that cleansed. It was the cleansing that I needed for a long time.
At my birth, drugs and alcohol had flooded my system, not that I remember, of course. As a child, I had ingested cocaine and was rushed to the hospital. SocialServices was non-existent back then, or they certainly were in my case. It was only when my grandmother intervened, I started to live a normal life. I’ll forever be grateful to her. If she hadn’t, I’d be dead, too.
As I sat with my drawing pad, I drew internal rooms. I wanted a large kitchen to be the heart of the home. I planned Grandma’s room and her ensuite bathroom knowing she’d never use it. And unless I got my money, I’d never build it, either.
I was so engrossed in my fantasy home that I when I heard a knock on the door, it startled me. I picked up my phone automatically, knowing the shattered screen wouldn’t show me the clock clearly enough. I frowned.
I crept to the front door and listened. A second knock came, more forceful than the first. I pulled the front door open fast.
“What?” I demanded before I clocked who was standing there.
“And a good evening to you,” he answered.
“Huh?”
“Good evening,” he repeated.
Standing on my doorstep with a brown paper bag smelling of hot food was Mr. Wolfe.
“What’s the time, Mr. Wolfe?” I demanded.
“What’s the time?” His brow furrowed in confusion.
“A simple question.” I placed my hands on my hips to show I wasn’t messing around.
Mr. Wolfe looked at his watch. “Just gone ten.”
“Do you think that’s an appropriate time to knock on my door? I could be in my pyjama’s, or in bed.”
I grew frustrated at the smirk that grew across his face and once again, noticed his perfect teeth.
“I hadn’t realised the time. Please, accept my apologies.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I was working and hungry and wondered if you might like to join me for dinner.”
“It’s too late for me to leave the house,” I said, and as much as I didn’t want to, I looked over my shoulder.
“Your grandmother is sick, I hear?”
“Well, I don’t know who you heard that from and I’d ask you to tell them to keep their nose out of my business, although I assume it’s yourstaffreporting back. Why?”
“Because I asked them to. Now, this is getting cold, would you like to join me in eating it? I’m happy to sit on your doorstep, if you’d prefer.”
Although I had already eaten, whatever was in the bag was calling to me and I wasn’t wealthy enough to turn down a free meal. I stepped aside and let Mr. Wolfe enter.
Squeezing past him, I led the way to the kitchen. He placed the bag onto the kitchen table and picked up my drawing book before I could get to it myself.
“This is really good,” he said, his voice rising slightly, as if in surprise.
