DUE DATE

Warning: Some explicit language.

DUE DATE

Joanne slammed the book shut with an echoing thud. Amid the hushed sounds of the library, it may as well have been a gunshot.

Nope. No way. Not possible.

People gave her side glances as they wondered why a petite woman in her 70s looked like she had just seen a ghost.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She opened the book and checked it again, not believing her eyes. She tried crossing out the number that glared back at her. But nothing appeared when the pen moved across the page. Of course, it didn’t work on her own name. It never did.

Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe there’s still time. She flipped to John’s number. Still as she left it - at least something good came out of this.

But wait, that means - the thick pages of the book rustled as she frantically leafed through them. She stared, stunned, at the number beside Marianne Kingsley’s name. That was most certainly not what Joanne had left in there. She uncapped her pen and nearly scratched it out…then hesitated. Maybe this was the cost. Maybe this is what she deserved. Nothing is free, after all and perhaps this is what the book charged for its use.

Her pen paused millimeters from the page. She could do it. She probably just missed a zero somewhere. But she couldn’t, not again. Her hands shook as she carefully placed the red book back in the empty space. Then she slowly turned and grabbed her cart. As she pushed the cart forward, she kept an eye on the red spine. She waited until she reached the end of the aisle and looked back.

It was gone, as always.

Joanne pushed the cart mechanically through the halls of the bustling library. The local elementary school had just let out and the kids went straight here for the various afterschool programs the library offered. Parents rushed behind the children like farmers chasing wayward sheep. Usually, she loved watching the kids scurry about with reckless energy, but today she glanced right past them. She still had over eighty books to re-shelve before her shift was over.

As her eyes scanned the crowd, Joanne wondered if John would be coming today. His mother had said it was getting harder and harder for him to leave his bed, although the recent treatments had been surprisingly effective at this late stage. A shame, she would loved to listen to that silly kid prattle on one more time about dinosaurs or helicopters or whatever he was obsessed with this week.

As she rounded the corner, she heard the loud clicks of heels on hardwood floors. Marianne. Her lilting voice snuffed out her numbness and replaced it with a growing rage. Probably yelling at the kids in that horrible fake voice of hers.

Actually, fuck this. She wasn’t going to spend the last hour of her life acting as a glorified robot or thinking about some pretentious witch of a woman.

Joanne left the cart where it was and walked in a straight line to the vending machines, not caring who was in the way. She pulled out her card and bought four Snickers bars and three cans of Diet Coke. Sitting at the small table in the alcove, she proceeded to methodically tear through them.

She slammed an entire can down without breathing. Oh god — was there anything better than that comforting fizz? The artificial sweetness perfectly masked the nausea creeping up her throat.

She had just wanted to help. John had only just turned eleven. She tore into a Snickers. Too young to die.

The candy bar resisted as her sensitive teeth bit into it. Good lord, she missed chocolate. Why the fuck had she listened to that idiot doctor for so long? First the cigarettes, then the alcohol…she wished she had time to go by the liquor store.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She had seen his name in the book and just had to do something. He was such a nice boy. She had just wanted to give him a few more years.

She threw the wrapper on the ground and started on the next one. It had worked just fine with Artie and Isabelle and that annoying Megan.

Plus Marianne was such a bitch. Who would have noticed her absence anyway? People would have thanked her if they knew she was responsible.

Why now? Had she done the math wrong?

She kept eating, surrounded by candy wrappers and shame.

She was a good person. Joanne knew it at her core. Who could have blamed her?

Joanne froze as she suddenly realized nobody would ever know or care. Nobody looks into the death of a 70 year old woman. But maybe that’s okay. When you get to her age, you realize that being a good person matters much less than doing the right thing.

Before she knew it, the final bites were gone and she was left with the emptiness of her demise.

Joanne kept her eyes away from the clock. She put her head between her arms and went quiet. Her heart beat faster and faster and faster.

She thought of John’s smile. Would he even remember her? The library hummed around her. Then—silence.

//

Marianne whistled as she walked between the shelves. Nope, not here.

Her sparkly heels tip-tapped as she rolled her cart to the next aisle. It’ll show up, it always does.

She dodged a few kids as they ran between the narrow aisles. “Oh, do be careful, sweethearts! You wouldn’t want to trip and fall, now would you?”

They paid her no attention and she resumed carefully scanning each shelf.

There you are! She almost giggled as she spotted the red velvet cover. Unmistakeable.

That uptight old crow thought she was so special. But Marianne had worked for years in public accounting - she knew when someone was cooking the books. But unlike Joanne, she knew how to do it right.

She used a long, bedazzled nail to follow the list down.

Jennifer Toole - 167,368 hours : 47 minutes : 45 seconds

Jeremy Tone - 897,643 hours : 43 minutes : 39 seconds

…

Joanne Tomlin, 0 hours : 0 minutes : 2 seconds

The number blurred imperceptibly

Joanne Tomlin, 0 hours : 0 minutes : 1 seconds

Joanne Tomlin, 0 hours : 0 minutes : 0 seconds

Marianne smiled.

Right. On. Time.