With his electric screwdriver, my big brother Lyle is tightening the hinges on the saggy composite doors beneath the sink in the kitchen of the minimalist apartment I rent from Barbi. One of Lyle’s cast-off high school love interests, my landlord harbors few ill feelings toward the person Lyle was twenty years ago. For me she has only sisterly affection, a lavish wardrobe of hand-me-down T-shirts, and expert haircuts strictly off the books. “I’m pretty sure,” I say, “that the … Read on…