7
Dany
Two weeks pass. I rest. I get my drains removed. I have physical therapy. I start to feel almost myself again. My mom hints that I need to find another domicile. My dad hints how much he’d like Shawn as a son-in-law. Shawn ignores my calls.
On a dry but blustery early spring Tuesday, I call about an apartment.
It meets my single criteria—available immediately. Surprisingly, there’s a severe shortage of housing in Stanton.
The landlord says to swing by at ten. There’s something familiar about his voice. But I ignore the niggle. Last night at dinner the tension with my mother and father was palpable. They must be desperate to enjoy solitude during their “second wind.”
The taxi pulls up to the house on Rose Street five minutes before ten. Karl, our driver, asked if I needed a rid
