“These are the house rules,” she said, her voice clipped. “We expect the common areas to be vacuumed by noon on Tuesdays, and the lawn needs to be raked before the weekend trash pickup.”
She placed the paper on the small wooden dresser beside my box.
“If you are going to live under our roof, you will have to earn your keep,” she said.
I did not argue. I reached out and took the paper, feeling the cheap texture of the copy.
“I will keep to the schedule,” I said.
Vanessa looked around the small room, her eyes lingering on the cardboard box where the corner of my old leather ledger was sticking out.
“We do not keep clutter in the hallways,” she said. “Keep your things in here.”
She turned and left, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor downstairs.
I sat alone in the quiet room. I unfolded the yellow sheet of paper, reading the list of daily chores she had printed out in neat, black letters.
I folded the paper back into a small square and slipped it into the front pocket of my flannel shirt.
