“The lease on this apartment ends in four weeks, Adam,” Lauren said, her voice dropping as she looked at the calendar on the wall. “We have to focus on finding a permanent place. Your grandparents are going to help us look at our options.”
“I do not want to move again,” Adam said.
Lauren walked back into the kitchen to find Ruth standing in front of the open refrigerator. The low, labored hum of the old compressor filled the small room, struggling against the heat of the stove. Ruth held the door open with one hand, her other hand clutching her black leather purse tightly against her stomach.
The light from the refrigerator bulb was weak, casting a pale yellow glow over the wire shelves. There was no brand-name butter, no fresh meat from the butcher, and no organic berries like the ones Ruth used to buy for the children when she visited them in Columbus. Instead, there was a single plastic jar of generic mayonnaise with a plain yellow label, a carton of store-brand milk, and a plastic tub of margarine that had been on sale for ninety-nine cents.
