As her time with us increased the number of crimes diminished. These days I only received the dreaded phone call about once a week, thankfully sometimes not at all. We've gone through the blaming me for everything stage, the blaming everyone else for everything stage, the taking the blame for everything herself stage and we've arrived at, the let's sit down and discuss the problem without recrimination stage. Her period is due in two days, it's Friday, she'd made it blatantly clear that her mind wasn't on schoolwork as she left for school this morning and the first two double periods this morning were Maths and Algebra with the same teacher, so I was expecting the phone call. I've learnt to recognise the symptoms. The phone rang about 10am at almost exactly the same time I heard the front door opening. I answered the phone and it was as per expectation. Mel just stood in front of me staring at the ground, shoulders shrugged in submission, her hands tying knots in front of her overly. Much to his surprise it fit. He went to the middle drawer of his kitchen cupboard removed the hammer and flat head screw driver went back to the box. Carefully he placed the screwdriver between the frame of the box and the lid; he took a heavy swing at the end of the screw driver. The corner of the lid popped up. Just then he reeled to the back door being slammed opened by a gale forced wind. He turned his head back into look at the surroundings of his living room. Something looked out of place. Then a voice out of the shadows, it was trembling a bit. The figure took a seat in his arm chair that was a few feet away. "That's a nice view you got there." She said in and easy, soft knowing tone. He stared long and hard at her, without speaking he put his hammer and screw driver down. She started to speak. "You know; you do not have to open every package that is dropped off on your door step." Her voice had a matriarchal tone that he remembered from his childhood. She was the kind of lady.
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