Calm. Unhurried. He moved to stand beside me.
“Sir,” he said. “I need you to listen carefully.”
My father drew himself up.
He’s six-two. He was a linebacker at Appalachian State in 1976. He’s used to being the biggest man in the room.
“I don’t care who you are,” he said. “I’m not leaving my own child’s house.”
Deputy Hale opened his folder.
He took out a document. Two pages. On letterhead.
OKAFOR & ASSOCIATES, PLLC — ATTORNEYS AT LAW — RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA
Ezoic
My father saw the letterhead.
Ezoic
He saw the name.
Ezoic
His face changed.
But before the deputy could say anything, Melissa shouted.
“You can’t throw us out! We don’t have anywhere else to go!”
Everybody turned and looked at her.
She was standing in the middle of my living room. In my eight-hundred-dollar silk robe. Her arms wrapped around herself. Her face red. Her eyes wet.
