Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
“It is exactly the size I need,” I said, pointing toward the single wooden chair by the window. “You can sit there, Dad.”
He walked over to the chair but did not sit down, instead placing the yellow grocery bag on the kitchen counter.
“Your mother does not know I came here,” he said, keeping his voice in that slow, apologetic murmur. “She is still looking for the warranty cards for the refrigerator.”
“The cards are in my desk,” I said. “I bought the refrigerator, so the warranty belongs to me.”
He looked down at his shoes, then pulled the stack of mail from his coat pocket and laid it next to the yellow bag.
“There was a bill from the water department,” he said. “And three circulars.”
“Thank you.”
He did not move toward the door, nor did he look at the boxes of books.
“I am sorry I did not say anything on Thursday, Lauren,” he said, his voice dropping another octave. “About the deed. I did not know Helen was going to do that until the papers were already signed.”
