About Time

Chapter 1 Lou turned into the driveway of the restored 1930s cottage that had been his home for ten years, hoping none of the neighbors were peeking at him from behind their curtains. The house had never looked better, with the tree twinkling in the bay window, a tasteful fir wreath suspended on the brass door knocker, and the stupid white lights he had strung on the bougainvillea bushes. He wondered again how long it would take to sell. No matter how warm and inviting the house looked, since Ann departed two weeks before—with no warning—Lou felt like a ghost in his own life. He was packing away the extra ornaments when she announced her decision, citing her inability to continue living with a failed real estate broker with a knack for attracting trouble. Then she stomped upstairs to finish packing. He assumed she was making some kind of half-assed protest about his infidelities, even though they had made their arrangement in the second year of their marriage and he was always careful to be discreet. He figured whatever she was angry about would blow over, but she left the next day. Not until he called her sister, did he learn that Ann had joined Philip the stockbroker, the longtime lover Lou had not known existed until that moment. He still couldn’t believe she hadn’t told him. Or that he hadn’t suspected. Traveling for business had given her the perfect cover. Her lawyer was coldly adamant. The house would be sold unless Lou preferred to contest the divorce. Given that he was broke and Ann offered to settle for half the proceeds from the house if he went along with the sale, Lou figured he would take the deal. He couldn’t afford the lease payments on his two-year-old Mercedes, let alone the pricey lawyer he’d need to fight Ann. His credit card debt was ridiculous, and if he didn’t make a sale soon, bankruptcy loomed. The word alone made him cringe. His Midwestern parents had raised him to pay as he went and owe no one. At least they were not around to see how much of a mess he’d made. Lou left his car in the driveway and went in through the side door. His footsteps echoed on the pink marble tile in the kitchen. He hadn’t spoken to Marta, their five day a week morning housekeeper. She still came every morning, so the kitchen looked immaculate, with no sign of the fast food and scotch he was subsisting on. Carmel was a small town, so anywhere he went, he met someone who asked about Ann. Lou avoided restaurants and settled for takeout Mexican and diner food. He wandered through the great room, decorated with fat red candles nestled in balsam branches and the ridiculous tree strewn with vintage ornaments—elves and reindeer, pine cones and hummingbirds. The eight-foot Douglass Fir filled the bay window. The first time Ann saw the house, she exclaimed, “It’s perfect,” and smiled at him. “The Christmas tree will go in that window. Everyone will see it as they drive by.” He shut down that memory and walked into the library, his favorite room. Lined with books on one wall, a TV screen covered a good portion of another. Comfortable chairs sat in front of the bookshelves, including a leather recliner Ann hated, but Lou refused to relinquish. In one corner sat the computer he had left on. The screensaver with the photo of seals basking on the rocks at Lobo Point mocked him with its serene beauty. He could check his email, but hell, nobody looked at houses on Christmas Eve. His phone had been silent since yesterday. “Time to come home, Lou.” “Shut up,” he muttered to the voice in his head. Lou didn’t see himself as a guy who heard voices. He had grown up in the stolid Midwest, raised by God-fearing parents who thrived on hard work and believed only what they could see. He had come a long way from his rural roots, but still, voices were over the line. Had to be a sign of something very wrong. The voice had made its appearance a week before Ann left. Standing in the shower, its clarity had startled him into dropping a bar of soap. “It’s time to come home,” it intoned, a pleasant voice in a low register. Female, he thought. No, male. Not from his phone sitting on the vanity, or the radio in the bedroom, it echoed inside his head. Not a voice he recognized, but still, familiar. It had plagued him ever since. A symptom of stress. He hoped. Financial ruin coupled with impending divorce probably caused all kinds of weird symptoms. “Lou, it’s time.” “f**k off.” He threw his suit jacket onto the couch and clicked on the TV. Old movies and Christmas specials. News, none of it good. He turned it off and went upstairs. In the bedroom, Ann had removed all signs of her presence, but he could still feel the past weighing on him. He had to come up with something to say about Ann’s absence. He opened the more than half empty closet and chose a fresh pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved dark green sweater that minimized the extra pounds around his waist. Now that he was single again, they had to go. Right after Christmas, he’d start running again. On the beach, which minimized the pain. Inspecting himself in the full-length mirror, Lou decided he still looked pretty good. No gray in his dark curly hair. Jawline still firm. Given that he was pushing forty, it could be worse. He sucked in his gut and squared his shoulders. He would pull out of this slump. Sell the house, pay off his debts, and pick up his hustle. He could talk anybody into anything; that’s how he got this house and all the trappings of a successful life in the first place. He could do it again, no problem. He just had to buy himself some breathing room. He grinned at his reflection. Okay, that was settled. Now, what was he going to do for the next couple of days while everyone else celebrated the holidays? Downstairs, he poured himself a scotch and drained it in two swallows. From a closet, he pulled a soft leather jacket that made him feel young. Added a red cashmere scarf so he would look festive. Glanced at himself in the hall mirror. Not bad. He was ready to find himself some Christmas cheer.