Overdue

by Bill Bernico

“We've got to stop meeting like this,” I told Lisa. I had both hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. We'd parked in our usual spot and sometimes I felt uneasy about facing her directly. This was our favorite spot in the middle of town, parked along a row of bushes that lined the back boundary of a local bowling alley. No one could see the car from the street and we never stayed long enough to pose a threat. We often referred to our secret meetings here as “going bowling.”

“Why?” she said running her fingers through my hair.

I thought about the situation for a moment, letting my mind wander as little tufts of my hair wrapped around Lisa's finger. “Never mind,” I said. “It just sounded like something I'm supposed to say.”

Lisa slid her fingers from my hair down to my neck and played with my right ear. “We don't have to keep meeting like this,” she said in a whisper.

I knew what she was talking about and I didn't want to address the matter just yet. I wasn't ready to leave my wife, Jane and Jane had brought the subject up on several occasions herself but I'd always managed to put those ideas out of her head. The thought of a messy divorce grated on me like fingernails on the blackboard. “I have to wait for just the right time,” I said. “We'll work it out.”

Lisa had heard excuses like this for the past six months. She had been patient and had been able to keep our relationship to herself. She had to go on living life with the outward appearance of a divorced gal with no attachments.

“When?” she said. “You keep saying you'll tell her but you don't. I love you, Kenny, but I can't hang on forever. Not knowing what my future holds is tearing me apart.”

I hugged her and whispered into her ear. “I love you, too, Lisa. Please be patient. We'll end up together, I promise.” I pulled back and kissed her hard. It was a passionate kiss like Jane and I once enjoyed many years ago. The passion had long since gone out of our marriage along with any flame that may have smoldered. Now ours was just a marriage of convenience and I had to find a way out.

I'd met Lisa at the library one winter evening as I was returning my overdue books. She was in the fiction aisle scanning the shelves for another of the Sue Grafton alphabet mysteries featuring Kinsey Milhone. She'd finished A is for Alibi and wanted to check out B is for Burglar but I had the last copy in my hands. I hadn't noticed her staring at me and when I put the book back on the shelf she reached for it and our hands touched briefly.

“Excuse me,” I said as my eyes met hers. Then my mind went blank and I was at a loss for further words.

She smiled and my heart melted. “Excuse me,” she said apologetically. “Were you finished with this?”

“Yes,” I said, not looking at the book. I couldn't take my eyes off her. “Have you read any other Grafton books in this series?”

She looked up from the pages and smiled again. “Actually, I just started to get into Sue Grafton's work. I'd seen many of her books in the stores over the years but held off reading any of them. Then two weeks ago I found one of her books on tape at a garage sale and decided to take a chance for fifty cents. It was D is for Deadbeat and when I finished listening to it, I wanted to know more about Kinsey Milhone so I started with the first one, the Alibi book and now I want to see where it goes from there.” She held the face of the book up for me to see.

“ B is for Burglar ,” I said. “Good choice. Now you only have about a dozen more to go to catch up. I think she's up to P already.”

Lisa looked surprised. “I knew she had several books out there, but I had no idea she was already up to P. Wonder what P is for.”

“Well,” I said, “If she'd used you for the inspiration, I'd have to say it stood for Pretty.”

Lisa flushed and looked away. I could see her smiling and I felt a sudden rush flow through my body as the words left my mouth. I was flirting and it was a foreign experience for me. I hadn't talked with a woman like this since Jane and I began dating almost two decades earlier.

“You come here often?” I said. I immediately felt embarrassed by what I'd just said and tried to quickly explain. “I mean, oh heck, there's no taking it back now. Sounds like a pickup line at a singles bar. I didn't mean to…”

Lisa placed her hand on mine and said, “That's all right. I knew what you meant. I like to come here. I live just a block and a half away and I spend a great deal of time here, browsing the aisles and sitting at the reference table with the oversized volumes. I could get lost here for hours.”

“Me, too,” I said. “There's something fascinating about having all this knowledge at you fingertips and free for the asking.”

Before we knew it, half an hour had passed and we were still standing in the aisle talking and enjoying each other's company. I eventually excused myself and took my selection to the checkout counter. I drove home feeling better about myself than I had in a long time. Lisa was on my mind all through dinner and for the rest of the evening. Jane had managed to make dinner a nondescript event once again. She usually read her gossip magazine or watched the television while we ate. I'd have preferred some intelligent conversation but we'd run out of things to talk about years ago.

Two weeks later I found myself back at the library again, returning the book I'd checked out the day Lisa and I had met. I dropped it in the return slot and walked back to the aisle where I'd first touched Lisa's hand. I leaned against the shelving and closed my eyes, remembering the sights, sounds and the heavenly smells of that fateful day. I whispered, “Excuse me,” mimicking the first words I'd spoken to the lovely woman who'd made such a lasting impression on me.

“No,” the whispering voice behind me said. “Excuse me.”

I turned around to find Lisa standing behind me, smiling that same heart-warming smile she seemed to have a patent on.

There was nothing I could do to stop the smile from playing on my face, either. My heart skipped a beat and suddenly I felt like a giddy schoolboy again. My palms were wet and my ears were hot.

“Hello again,” was all I could manage to say.

Lisa returned the greeting. “Hello yourself. You come here often?”

It was all the icebreaker I needed. We both giggled like a couple of kids. I pointed to the reference table at the end of the aisle of books. “Care to join me over a volume of Chandler ?” I was referring to the book in my hand, Raymond Chandler's Poodle Springs . Actually it was a book started by Chandler in 1958 but not finished until thirty years later by the contemporary author, Robert B. Parker. Chandler had left just the first four chapters of the unfinished book. He died the following March.

Lisa joined me at the table, laying her own book down in front of her. I noticed it was Sue Grafton's E is for Evidence.

“You finished B and C already?” I said.

“Couldn't put them down once I started,” Lisa said. “I skipped D because I'd already heard the tape so that would make E the next logical selection.”

I held up my book. “This is my favorite Chandler book, even though most of it was written by Parker. He did a terrific job of finishing Chandler 's last book. I couldn't tell where Chandler left off and Parker began.”

“What's it about?” Lisa asked.

“Well,” I said, “Mainly it's about Philip Marlowe's investigation into one of his neighbor's husband's gambling debts. Turns out the guy is a bigamist. He has a wife in Los Angeles and another in Poodle Springs, which is actually Palm Springs in disguise. You'd think one would be enough for any man.”

Lisa sensed something in my voice. “You're married, aren't you?”

It was a simple question but the reality of it hit me like a ton of bricks. I nodded.

“But not happily,” she finished.

I nodded again.

“Then why do you stay?”

It seemed like a simple enough question, but the answer was more complex than I could imagine. Why did I stay? Was I that insecure about being alone or was there more to it that even I didn't realize? Was it a matter of convenience or comfortable familiarity? It could take a battery of psychologists to figure it out.

“I really don't know,” I said. “Part of me feels a sense of responsibility but another part of me is dying inside. I've been married for more than twenty years and the continuity of that seems reassuring in a weird sort of way. On the other hand, she's suffocating the life right out of me. I don't know what to do.”

“Well,” Lisa said, placing her hand on mine, “What price do you place on your happiness?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, what is more important to you, your own happiness or the security of familiar surroundings? Think about it in simple terms. Imagine what life would be like without her and then imagine life continuing as it is. Which would you rather have for yourself?”

I had to admit there was logic in her words. “Just like that?” I said. “Can it really be boiled down to those two simple choices?”

“Why not?” Lisa said. “People have gotten divorced for more trivial reasons than that and they've all managed to carry on with their lives. What do they say are the statistics on divorce these days? I think it's something like fifty percent.”

“What about you?” I asked. “You married?”

Still smiling, Lisa shook her head. “Nope. I made a clean break almost two years ago and I've never looked back. That's not to say it wasn't hard at first, but I knew that if I stayed I'd be miserable. Once I realized that, the decision was easy. Wayne must have felt the same because he didn't offer any resistance. We've remained good friends, but that's it.”

By the time we walked out of the library that night, I felt I'd known Lisa all my life and yet the newness and the excitement of being around her thrilled me to no end. I knew I'd found someone that I could be comfortable with, but now what would I do?

“Will you be here again soon?” I asked, perhaps a little to eagerly.

“Depends,” Lisa said.

Oh great, I thought. She's already at a crossroads about us and I wasn't ready to make a move. “Depends on what?”

She held up her book. “Depends on how long it takes me to get through E.”

A weight had suddenly lifted off my shoulders as I realized that Lisa expected nothing more than friendly conversation from me. No pressure to commit. No pressure to promise to do anything other than to show up at the library again sometime. I couldn't wait for that time to come again.

We met occasionally at the library over the next few weeks, exchanging book reviews and small talk about how our lives were going. I still felt that same tinge of excitement whenever I saw her but it really wasn't until our fourth meeting at the library that I realized I was in love with her. All the signs were there. I thought about her constantly during the day. I sometimes dreamed about her at night and on one occasion as Jane and I made love, I imagined that it was Lisa next to me instead of Jane.

That was over four months ago and here we were parked in our favorite hideaway dancing around the issue that had bothered us both for months. I couldn't have it both ways but either choice scared me to death. I tried to imagine life without Jane and I tried to imagine the same scenario without Lisa. Somehow life without Lisa seemed more like a sentence while life without Jane felt more like a reprieve. I knew what I had to do.

“I've been giving this thing a lot of thought lately,” I said, holding onto both of Lisa's hands.

She pulled her hands away and started breathing hard. Her face took on the look of someone who'd just learned that a relative had died.

I pulled her hands back toward me and smiled. “I'm telling Jane tonight,” I said. “I want out. I can't stop thinking about you. I've come to realize that I can't live without you and I want us to be together.”

The worry fell from Lisa's face and her eyes welled up with rears. It was a strange sight to see her crying and laughing at the same time. She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly.

“We'll be together soon,” I told her.

“When?” She almost whimpered and my heart melted.

I mustered up all the nerve I could and blurted out, “I'll tell her tonight, darling. And I'll find a place of my own in the morning.”

Lisa smiled broadly and kissed me again. “I can't wait,” she said in a tone that made me wish I'd come to this conclusion months ago.

“I'll meet you tomorrow, right here,” I said. “Same time.”

“Bring your bowling shoes,” Lisa said, as she opened her door and stepped out. She walked the three steps to her own car and crawled in behind the wheel. She waved once more before pulling out of the lot and back onto the street.

On my way home I stopped at the Y.M.C.A. and put down two months deposit on a room. I left there and drove to the super market a few blocks from our house and asked for several boxes. I opened my front door a little after seven and walked in, carrying the boxes.

Jane was sitting on the sofa watching the television when I walked past the living room door with the boxes in hand. “What do you have there, Kenny?”

I kept walking and headed straight for my den where I proceeded to clean out my desk and load my papers and books into one of the boxes. I took another box and set it on the floor in the family room and loaded it with my favorite albums and CDs, along with a few classic videotapes and DVDs I'd collected over the years.

Jane came into the room while I was loading the box. “Finally getting rid of some of those movies you never watch?” she said.

I kept packing and tried not to engage her in conversation. I stopped in our bedroom with still another box and filled it with the contents of my sock drawer, shirt drawer and personal items from the bathroom cabinet.

Lisa followed close behind me as I carried the box out of the bathroom. The tone in her voice had changed dramatically. “Where are you going with all that stuff?”

I set the box down near the front door and turned to face her. “It's over, Jane. I want a divorce. I'm moving out—tonight, right now. You've brought up the subject of divorce so many times and so many times I've managed to talk you out of it. Well, now you'll finally get your wish. I'm leaving.”

“What brought all this on so suddenly?” Jane said, this time in a more subdued voice.

I loaded the boxes into my car and returned to the bedroom where I retrieved my large suitcase from the closet shelf and threw it open on the bed. Jane moved around from behind me and was now standing right in front of me.

“Just like that?” she said. “You've decided you've had enough and now you want out? Well, what about me?”

“What about you?” I said. “You never cared before. Why should you care now?” I continued filling the suitcase and slammed it shut and carried it to the foyer.

“Where will you go?” Jane said. “What will you do?”

I couldn't resist. I stopped long enough to look back and say, “Frankly, my dear, I didn't think you gave a damn.”

I took one more look back at the house I'd lived in for eighteen years and suddenly any apprehension or doubts that I had fell away. I closed the door behind me and drove away.

It took me an hour and fifteen minutes to get settled in my room at the Y. I just had to tell Lisa the good news. I needed to see her and probably to reassure myself that I'd done the right thing. I drove to drugstore and walked to the back of the store to the phone booth and dialed Lisa's number.

After two rings I heard the voice. “The number you have dialed has been disconnected.”

I hung up the phone and looked at the row of buttons, my eyebrows turned up and my mouth pursed. I must have misdialed. I punched the number again and after two rings got the same recording. I hung up the phone and left the store.

It took me tem minutes to drive to Lisa's apartment. I took the elevator to the third floor and hurried down the hall to apartment thirty-four and rang the bell. There was no answer. I pressed the bell again and waited. Still no answer. I told myself that Lisa was probably out shopping or at a movie.

I'd waited six months. Another day wouldn't matter to me now. I'd call her at work in the morning. I found it hard to sleep that night. I kept tossing and turning and thinking of Lisa and how our life was going to be. I finally fell asleep around three in the morning.

I awoke at seven-fifteen feeling like a troop of Boy Scouts had camped on my eyelids. I yawned and stretched and sat up and stared for a few seconds at my strange surroundings before I realized where I was. As tired as I was, it somehow felt refreshing as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had no more responsibilities to Jane and was looking forward to seeing Lisa.

The night before we had arranged to “go bowling” tonight, but somehow it didn't seem necessary. After all, now I didn't have to sneak out to the private spot behind the bowling alley to meet Lisa. I could be freely seen with her in public or continue our liaisons at her apartment with no pressure to be discreet.

I showered and dressed and prepared myself to drive to work as usual. I figured could call Lisa at her job when I got to mine. That way, neither one of us would have to drive to the bowling alley parking lot.

I settled in to work behind my desk and waited until nine o'clock when I knew Lisa would be at her desk. Although she'd made it clear that she wasn't to receive calls at work, I felt this one time was an exception. I was sure she'd want the good news right away. I nervously dialed the number and waited as it rang in my ear.

“Peterson, James and Tiply,” the voice said. “This is Emily. How may I help you?”

I cleared my throat. “Could I please speak to Lisa Chambers?”

There was a pause on the other end. “Whom did you wish to speak with,” she said in a no-nonsense, professional voice.

“Lisa Chambers,” I repeated. “She works there.”

Again a pause and the sound of a hand being placed over the mouthpiece on the other end.

A few seconds later the voice came back. “I'm sorry, sir, but there is no one here by that name. Are you sure you have the right number?”

“Listen,” I said. “I know Lisa said she couldn't receive calls at work, and I'm sorry to have to call like this, but it's kind of an emergency. Could I please speak with Lisa for just a few seconds?”

“Sir,” the voice said sternly, “I told you there is no one here by that name. We do not now nor have we ever had anyone named Lisa Chambers working for us here at Peterson, James and Tiply. Good day, sir.”

The dial tone rang in my ear like the final bell of a ten-round prizefight. I hung up the phone and left my office. I stopped at the reception desk and found my receptionist jotting down notes on a legal pad.

“Carla,” I said, “I'll be out for about an hour. Hold my calls, will you?”

“Certainly, Mr. Buckman.”

I drove back to Lisa's apartment building and rode the elevator again to the third floor. I pressed the bell at apartment thirty-four again and waited. No answer. I knocked on the door, lightly at first, then louder. A door across the hall opened and an old woman's face peered out at me. I turned toward her and pointed over my shoulder at Lisa's door.

“Have you seen Lisa?” I said. “The woman who lives here? Lisa Chambers?”

The woman looked at me as thought I'd poked a live mouse in her face. “There's no Lisa Chambers living here,” she said. “That apartment has been vacant for almost six weeks now, ever since poor Mr. Edwards died in his bed in that very apartment.”

“Are you sure this was his apartment?” I said desperately.

“I think I would remember a man who lived across the hall from me for thirty-six years, young man.” With that she closed her door.

I stared for a moment at the numbers on the door. This is where Lisa told me she'd lived for the past six months. I'd never thought about it before, but now that I did, she seemed content to meet behind the bowling alley and the thought of us spending time in her apartment never came up. I'd have thought that she would have suggested it sometime in the past six months.

I took the elevator back down to the lobby and exited to the street. I didn't know which way to turn next but I knew that I had to speak to Lisa one way or the other. I drove back to the drug store and found the phone booth again. I closed the door behind me and plucked the phone book from the shelf below the phone. I opened it to the yellow pages and found the number of the phone company.

I retrieved Lisa's number from my wallet and looked at it. When a voice came on the other end I said, “Can you help me? A strange phone number showed up on my bill and I'd like to find out who it belongs to.”

I read her the number and waited. A few seconds later the voice returned and said, “that number is for a cell phone and it has been disconnected.”

“I know that,” I said. “But who did it belong to?”

The operator searched her reference source for a few seconds and than announced, “The name listed on this account is for the Pinkerton Detective Agency out of Chicago .”

I stood dumbfounded, saying nothing until the line went dead. If Lisa was not Lisa, who was she? Where was she? And why was she doing this to me?

Shortly after noon Jane took the call at home.

“Mrs. Buckman? This is Lisa Culhane from the Pinkerton Agency.”

“Yes, Lisa,” Jane said in a happier-than-usual voice. “How did everything go?”

“I think he'll go quietly now, Mrs. Buckman. You'll have your divorce.”

“He's already gone,” Jane said. “He packed his bags last night and moved out. The last thing he said to me was that I'd get my divorce. Thank you, Lisa.”

“Don't thank me, Mrs. Buckman, until you see the bill.”

“Whatever it is,” Jane said, “it'll be worth it. Thanks again. Good-bye.”

Jane continued with her duties of packing the remainder of Kenny's things and setting them out at the curb.