Chapter 3 - The Model House
The teacher, Ms. Nolan, wouldn't tell me who had called. She didn't have to.
"Is there a concern about the subject?" I asked.
"Not at all. We just need to keep presentations age-appropriate and focused on the work."
I carried the cardboard duplex home on the passenger seat, feeling ridiculous for being hurt by a phone call about a first-grade classroom.
That evening, Rachel found me testing the little cardboard doors.
"Mom contacted the school," she said. "She admitted it."
"What did she say?"
"She told them you were unemployed and might confuse the kids by calling property ownership a career."
I bent a paper hinge until it tore.
Rachel sat beside me. "I told her to stop interfering."
"Did you tell her how she knew about career day?"
Rachel watched my hands. "I mentioned it last week. I thought she'd be proud that Sophie wanted you there."
I didn't blame Rachel for sharing good news. I blamed us both for continuing to hope Patricia would turn good news into something kind.
"We keep handing her a doorway," I said. "Then we act surprised when she walks through it."
Rachel's eyes flashed. "Don't make me the enemy because my mother is impossible."
"I'm not. I need us to decide where the door is. Together."
We repaired the model with packing tape. Before bed, Sophie helped me paint the roof gray. I showed her how a tenant called about a leak and how a manager decided whether to send someone immediately.
"So you help people have houses?" she asked.
"I try to help them keep their houses comfortable and safe. I also have to make sure the bills get paid."
"That sounds like a lot."
"Some days it is."
She considered the miniature front steps. "Can I say you're my dad first?"
I swallowed. "You can say whatever you want."
After the kids slept, Rachel admitted Patricia had been pressuring her about a different matter. Patricia wanted Rachel to cosign a loan for her brother, Trevor, whose restaurant had lost money for two years.
"She said if you have all this property, helping him would be easy," Rachel said.
"She knows about the properties?"
"Only that we have rentals. Not how many."
I thought about the way Patricia had kept asking whether I was an actual provider. The insult had been personal. The questions had been financial.
"Have you agreed to anything?" I asked.
"No. But she wants an answer by Saturday."
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Saturday was Trevor's bank appointment. Suddenly Friday's school visit didn't feel like the only test ahead of us.
