Justine sat in her car. The engine ticked and pinged, cooling down. Her breath was slow and shallow. The vinyl seats creaked with her shifting. She tightened her scarf and sat. It was quiet. Cold out. Not much traffic. Everybody was snug at home or at work or out shopping. A slow time of day. Justine should be at work herself, would be, under other circumstances, but here she was. Just sitting here.
For the thousandth time, Justine wished she could talk to her mother. She would know what to do. How to handle this. Plus, Justine had a few choice questions for her, not least of which was how Justine had ended up in the parking lot of this apartment complex on a winter afternoon. Why she had lied. When she had planned to tell Justine. Questions that probably had no answers in this world.
Justine checked her watch. She’d have to start soon. She couldn’t stay out here. It had to be done and she was the only one to do it. That’s what the lawyer had said. Justine tossed her keys into her purse so she wouldn’t start the car again. Wouldn’t drive away and forget the whole thing. Make it someone else’s problem. Still, she sat.
She’d passed by this particular complex nearly every day of her life. First going to school, then work, then home from Mom’s. Then back again when Mom’s became Home again. She’d never noticed it before that she could recall. It looked ordinary. Aging, but habitable. A shade of gray that used to be white. Sagging corners and steps. A place where anyone could live. Or no one.
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