Oranges. Or grapefruits. Something round and yellowish in color. They were moldy. Sinking in the center under the weight of their rot. Justine fought the urge to gag. She went straight for the cabinet under the sink and, by some miracle, found garbage bags there. She had brought some, but they were still in the car with her other cleaning supplies. Justine dumped the overripe fruit into the bag where it made a slick thunk. She returned the cut glass bowl to the counter, then changed her mind and put it near the sink.
There were dishes in the sink. Not many, but enough to block her. A mug. A plate. A knife fork and spoon. On the other side of the double sink were the cooking pan, a spatula, and a pair of tongs. All had been rinsed, but not washed. Justine braced herself and then opened the dishwasher. Empty.
Interesting.
She made the rounds looking for other trash but she found little. Some old junk mail. A mailer or two with no return address, empty, some back issues of manly magazines. Field and Stream. Tractor Today. Men’s Health. Only one Playboy.
She went back to the kitchen and washed her hands. Opened the fridge. Same story. Fairly empty. She didn’t smell the milk but dumped it down the drain. Everything else she tossed in the bag. She might have to wipe down the shelves, but this wasn’t going to be a big cleaning job either. In fact…
Justine looked around again, more carefully. She didn’t see much in the way that did need to be cleaned other than a good freshen-up. She could be done with this in an hour. A wave of relief washed over her. She would leave the dishes and any supplies he’d had and tell the complex to deal with them as they would. She would take nothing. She would clean and turn in her key and leave this place and never look at it again. She would forget this day and that phone call and that anyone by his lousy name ever existed.
Justine marched back out to her car. She used her keyfob to pop the trunk and retrieved everything she thought she’d need. If she found duplicates in the apartment, so be it, she’d use them and save her own, but she was not about to tromp out here every time she needed something. She managed to get the trunk closed without dropping anything or locking her keys in, and she made a crooked hobble back to the apartment hauling too much stuff.
After she’d locked the door behind herself again, she stripped out of her winter gear and surveyed the space. She washed her hands again and donned cleaning gloves. She wasn’t touching anything that belonged to him. Next, she put on her headphones and pushed her hair back from her face with a workout headband. She got down to work.
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