Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
I knelt by the cabinet doors, my knees pressing into the hard linoleum. I pulled the coffee can out from behind the pipes. The rusted handles inside were heavy and smelled of old iron and dust.
“I bought these brass pulls with my own money,” I said.
I turned the first screw on the drawer face. The brass handle came off easily, leaving a clean, pale square of wood where the grease had not reached. I took one of the rusted steel handles from the can and held it against the wood.
The old screw holes did not align perfectly. I had to force the screw through the back of the drawer, the wood creaking as the threads bit into the pine. The rusted handle sat slightly crooked, its rough edges catching the light.
I did three more drawers, my hand getting black grease on the palm from the old steel. The kitchen was losing its bright, clean look, turning back into the dark, neglected rental it had been when I first signed the pink lease.
