Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
“Set it by the window,” I said.
We lowered the table onto the light pine floor. It sat straight and level, the polished surface catching the gray light from the glass. The room was small, but it was quiet, the sounds of the street muffled by the double-paned windows.
“The silence here is different,” Keith said, looking around the room.
“There is no television through the wall,” I said.
“Your sister is still at the apartment?” Keith asked.
“She was sleeping when I left,” I said. “She has a lunch date with our mother at noon.”
“That gives us three hours,” Keith said.
We went back to the truck and carried in the boxes of books, the kitchen crates, and my small collection of potted ferns. Keith did not rush, but he did not stop to rest, moving with a regular, heavy rhythm that filled the empty room with boxes.
“The kitchen cart is next,” I said.
“I can get that alone,” Keith said. “You should start on the old place.”
“I want to finish this room first,” I said.
