Carmela Robles fumbled through the many keys in her key ring as she precariously balanced two bags of groceries on her lap, until she found the correct key that would unlock her front door. Impatiently, the twenty-one year old jabbed the key into the deadbolt, then turned it and shoved open the door, scurrying inside with her groceries before the door bounced off the foyer wall and shut itself behind her. As the door slammed shut, she cursed under her breath as she remembered her keys were still stuck on the deadbolt, then stomped through the small foyer and across the living room on her route to the kitchen table. Once she’d dropped off the two bags, including depositing the two gallons of milk into the fridge, she made her way back to retrieve her keys.
The water was running upstairs, she noticed, glancing at her watch to verify the time. It was a quarter past one, still too early for Frankie, her husband, to come home and pick up his lunch before he went out for his second job. Perhaps he’d gotten an early out from the restaurant, she figured, wondering if they might have time for a quickie once he got out of the shower, before he went out on the road again. Even as the words ran across her head, she frowned. Frankie wouldn’t take the time out of his busy schedule for her, she knew, he’d just pick up his customary turkey sandwich, bag of chips and cold soda, and wave goodbye like he always did. He’d be in the house for eight minutes, tops, before the front door would close and she’d be left all alone, just like always.
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