There's a new title on my resume, and it is that of "landlord." The house that The Boss, The Partner and I used to live in--the one that's been on the market for 7 months with several bites but no digestion--is now inhabited by a band of siblings between the ages of 15 and 25. The story seems to morph with each telling, but the gist of it is that their mom ran off with her boyfriend, leaving a pregnant 17-year old, another 17 year old (this one adopted) and a fifteen year old without any adult supervision. Their oldest sister, whose name is on our lease, came back from upstate New York to take custody of the children and to move them into suitable housing.
A credit check determined that she had none--good, bad or indifferent--but she struck The Partner as responsible and motivated when he met with her earlier this week. A day later, the group moved in. We stopped by on Sunday to make a few repairs and found the place cleaner and more homey than we had left it. There was talk of a lease-to-own arrangement, which we said we would be happy to consider. We left feeling as encouraged as we could have hoped.
I had a bad feeling about this in the beginning and I can't say that that the vibe has been significantly altered. But now I'm content to hope that I was wrong. The place is, after all, a starter home, and it's been a strong foundation underneath many, many feet for more than two hundred years. I hope our new renters find as much happiness and support within those walls as we did.
And I hope they pay the rent on time.