Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
I took my green folder from the truck cab and laid it on the oak coffee table. Inside were the receipts, each one taped to a sheet of white paper and marked with the date. I had the receipt for the light fixtures, the kitchen faucet, and the three wooden shelves in the hallway closet.
“You are being very thorough,” Keith said, standing in the doorway.
“My mother is a thorough woman,” I said. “She taught me how to keep records, even if she did not mean to teach me this.”
“I will return the truck by three,” Keith said.
“I will be at the old apartment,” I said.
He nodded, turning back toward the alley. I watched him walk down the steps, his gray jacket damp from the mist. The alley was quiet again, the sound of his boots fading into the distance.
I walked back into my new room and closed the door. The latch clicked into place with a clean, metallic sound that did not echo. I stood by the window for five minutes, watching a crow land on the power line across the street.
