Page 12 of Worth of Waste

There had been a time once when Karen didn’t mind talking to herself; she hadn’t minded her own company.

Those days were long gone.

On the drive home, Karen turned the radio up loud enough to drown out her own thoughts. She certainly hurt, but she wasn’t going to add to the pile with her own guilty conscience.

Thankfully, the drive home went by far quicker than she thought it would. It was only when her apartment building was in sight did she start to feel slightly normal again, a calm sense of relief sweeping over her senses.

Strange, how that worked …

A person didn’t know how much they should appreciate freedom until they were forced to see what it was like for those who had their freedom taken away.

Karen shook her head to rid those thoughts, parking the car in her allotted spot and making her way to the building entrance. She unlocked the entrance door, ignoring the slight tremor rocking her hand from the emotions still building up steam in her body. She’d done well to pretend on the drive home that her life wasn’t falling apart.

Now that she was almost home, those traitorous emotions were beginning to spill over.

She barely noticed her neighbor balancing two brown bags of groceries just across from her own apartment as she fumbled with the lock.

Just a couple more seconds, and she could … do whatever she needed to do.

Cry.

Break down.

Wallow for a while.

“Oh, Karen!”

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one with attention that was elsewhere. Her neighbor only noticed she was unlocking her apartment as she pushed the door open.

Karen cursed inside her head, wishing the older woman hadn’t stopped her, if only because she wanted to get the hell inside her apartment and hide away from the rest of the world for a while. She couldn’t exactly be rude to an old woman—it wasn’t Karen’s style.

Bess was in her late fifties, and lived alone. She rarely had guests, except for the occasional yearly visit from her daughter who had moved to Colorado years ago. She did well for being older and living on her own, barely asking for help and only if something was very important. However, she did invite Karen over for dinner or tea occasionally.

Karen never said no.

She didn’t want today to be the first day when she had to refuse Bess.

Clearing her throat and hoping the emotion was gone from her tone, Karen turned slightly and asked, “Yes?”

“Here, take these a moment.” Bess pushed both bags of groceries into Karen’s arms, shooting the younger woman a warm, but apologetic smile at the same time. “Damn key keeps sticking.”

“You should talk to the building manager about that, Bess.”

“I am—I will. He’s a tad useless, though, isn’t he?”

Karen found herself smiling at Bess’s mutterings. The older woman fumbled with her key and the deadbolt for another ten seconds before she finally got the lock to unlatch. Bess pushed open her door and turned to take the groceries from Karen with another sheepish smile.

“Thank you, dear.”

Karen shrugged. “No problem. I’m just going to—”

“Well, wait a moment,” Bess interrupted, “so I don’t forget again.”

Forget what?

Karen was too tired to voice her confusion, but since Bess didn’t invite her inside when the old woman disappeared into her apartment, she figured it didn’t matter. If Bess had wanted her to come over for dinner or tea, she would already be in the lady’s apartment.

That was just how Bess worked.