Heirlooms

"I swear, if I hear that telephone ring one more time, I’ll snap!”

Delia crossed the cramped, stuffy, little room in three steps.

“What?!” she shouted into the old receiver.
Knowles stirred at neither the ringing of the phone nor Delia’s waspishness. He just looked serenely out the window, an unnoticed book open on his lap. He blinked slowly above his foolish, vacant grin.

Delia frowned at him, absently wiping away a spot of his drool.

“What d’you think I’m trying to do, play cribbage with him?! ––Well, I don’t know, Denny, let me ask him.” Her tone was sarcastic and condescending.
She simpered at the old man. “Mr. Townsend…? Knowles? DAD!” Knowles blinked, licked his lips like he was anticipating a tasty supper, absently patted his pockets. In his vest, he found the comb he was looking for. He turned to Delia and held it out to her with his optimistic, idiotic grin widening hopefully.

Delia pushed his hand away with gentle irritation. Mocking cheer back into the phone: “Gee, no, Denny. It doesn’t appear that he DID talk to the notary…you GIT!” A pause. “I know—I KNOW what you want, Denny! But he’s not gonna sign it. Not now…not ever. This is just life now, I guess…” she finished in a defeated voice.

Delia sighed, suddenly tired. “Just take care of Mum, Denny, best you can. Give her my love, if she remembers who I am any more than this idjit does. And do the best you can. I’ll cancel the probate appointment tomorrow. …Okay.”

Delia hung up the phone and retrieved the comb from Knowles’ pocket. She soothed it through his fine, white hair, trying not to love him anymore, and failing miserably.

With each stroke, the old man’s vapid smile widened a little more.

300 Words