Chapter 5 - Friday Morning
On Friday, I parked outside Sophie's elementary school with the model duplex buckled into the passenger seat like a very fragile child.
The first two parents talked about nursing and repairing airplanes. I was third. When I stood up in my blue button-down shirt, Sophie sat straighter in the front row.
I showed the class a picture of a worn-out front porch before its repair. Then I asked what might happen if the railing broke. Six hands shot up. I showed them a copy of a simple repair checklist with no tenant names or private information.
"My job is to keep track of homes," I said. "I work with people who fix things, and I make sure there's enough money to maintain the buildings. A lot of that planning happens at my kitchen desk."
"Do you make houses?" a boy asked.
"I don't build them. I manage the ones we own. Builders and repair crews know things I don't."
The cardboard doors became a hit. Sophie explained the difference between a tenant and a landlord better than I could. I didn't say the portfolio's market value. First graders weren't there to hear a financial speech.
Afterward, Ms. Nolan thanked me, and a parent asked whether I could recommend an electrician. I gave her Luis's business number after checking he accepted outside referrals.
In the parking lot, I found Patricia standing beside Rachel's car. Rachel had arranged to attend the final presentations between patients, and Patricia had arrived without an invitation.
"I suppose that went well," Patricia said.
"It did," I answered.
"Rachel, I hope your brother's future matters as much as this little project."
Rachel opened her mouth, but Sophie reached us first, carrying her paper career-day certificate.
"Grandma! Dad showed everyone how to fix a house!"
Patricia smiled without looking at the paper. "How nice."
Sophie lowered it.
For the first time, Rachel witnessed the exact moment her mother made our daughter feel small. She took the certificate and read every word aloud, then told Patricia we were going home as a family.
Patricia's smile disappeared.
"Saturday," she reminded Rachel. "Trevor needs that signature."
"He won't get one," Rachel replied.
May you like
Patricia stared at her as though she had heard the wrong language.
