Vance, my landlord, was waiting by the mailboxes when I returned to my apartment building at five o’clock.

He was holding a clipboard and a blue ballpoint pen.

“Mara, I am glad I caught you,” Mr.

Vance said, stepping out into the courtyard.

“We need to discuss your lease renewal.”

“Is there an issue?” I asked.

“An older gentleman came by the rental office this morning,” Mr.

Vance said, following me up the concrete stairs to my door.