Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
“I have my ways,” she said, giving a small, dramatic shrug of her shoulders. “And I wanted us to have a real dinner together, like we used to back in college.”
She reached for a loaf of crusty bread on the counter and began slicing it into thick, even rounds.
“Our mother called me this afternoon,” she said, without looking up from the cutting board.
My hand went back to my watch dial, clicking it twice against my wrist. “What did Helen want?”
“She was just checking in on us,” Vanessa said, placing the bread slices on a baking sheet. “She wants to make sure we are getting along, and she said she wants us to be happy here.”
The oven timer chimed before she could finish her sentence, its shrill ring cutting through the warm, garlic-scented air of the kitchen.
“Go sit down,” Vanessa said, pointing the wooden spoon toward the small dining table. “I will bring everything over.”
We ate in the living room, our plates resting on the stained oak coffee table while the television played a quiet news broadcast in the corner.
