Six Pairs of Thick Gray Socks Saved My White House on Elm Street

worked with his back to me, blocking my view of the bottom hinge as he rasped a flat metal file against the wood.

“The wood is swelling in the damp, Martha,” Greg said, his voice slow and heavy. “This frame is completely rotted on the exterior side.”

“I had it painted last summer,” I said.

“Paint only hides the rot,” he said, clearing his throat before continue reading …