Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
“I can have the revisions finished by noon,” I said.
“There is no rush today,” he said, rising and buttoning his coat. “Take your weekend. You earned the transition.”
He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the brass handle to look back at the small shelf where my books were lined up in alphabetical order.
“Your father called my personal number as well,” Keith said, his voice quiet. “About an hour after your mother called the main line.”
I stood by the counter, my fingers tightening around the edge of my coffee mug.
“Did he want the address too?” I asked.
“No,” Keith said. “He just asked if you were safe. I told him you were.”
He let himself out, the heavy door clicking shut behind him with a solid, metallic sound that did not rattle the windows.
I carried the empty mugs to the kitchen sink and washed them with the orange-scented soap I had bought at the corner market, letting the warm water run over my fingers until the skin turned pink.
