“Melissa is in a hard spot,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Her landlord is raising the rent, and she has the kids to think about.”
“Melissa has a job,” I said. “And we have a mortgage that comes directly out of my personal checking account.”
He did not look at the brass key. He slipped his arms into his jacket sleeves, his shoulders hunched as if he were trying to dodge a blow.
“We need to help her, Nora,” he said, walking past me toward the garage door. “She is my sister.”
“And I am your wife,” I said.
“You are being difficult about this,” he said, his hand resting on the brass doorknob that led to the garage. “It is only temporary until she gets on her feet.”
“Melissa’s lease is ending on November first, Eric,” I said, holding the key tighter. “That is not temporary. That is a permanent move.”
He did not answer. The garage door opened with a slow, grinding groan, and he stepped through the threshold without looking back.
