“I decided I would give you time.”
“Time for what?”
“To stand up again.”
I stared at him.
“Then why make me write the checks?”
“Because I didn’t want you to feel like a charity case.”
The answer landed harder than I expected.
He pointed at the box.
“You paid your rent every month. You did your part. What happened after that was my decision.”
I wiped my face.
“Nearly $29,000 is not a small decision.”
“No.”
“You could have used that money.”
“I have enough.”
“You wear the same shirt every day.”
“I own seven of them.”
I laughed through my tears.
For the first time, his mouth lifted slightly.
Then he reached into the shoebox and removed a white envelope from beneath the checks.
He slid it across the table.
My name was written on the front.
I opened it.
Inside was a letter from his bank.
It confirmed that the money in my account was mine. Mr. Alvarez had no intention of collecting the checks.
There was also a second document.
I read it twice.
Read also
Then I looked at him.
“This can’t be right.”
“It is.”
The paper said he was transferring ownership of the garage apartment to me.
Not the blue house. Not the entire property. Just the converted unit and a narrow piece of land around it.
I shook my head.
“I can’t accept this.”
“You can.”
“No, I can’t. You barely know me.”
“I have watched you for three years.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“I watched you leave for work before sunrise. I watched you come home and help Trixie with her reading. I watched you pay every bill before buying anything for yourself.”
I looked away.
He leaned forward.
“You never asked me to lower the rent. You never spent the money. You kept every dollar ready for me.”
“It belonged to you.”
“It never did.”
I started crying then. Not quietly. Not neatly.
