The Breaking Point (Part 4)

SHORT STORY MONDAY

If you've been following along, this is what you've been waiting for.


The Breaking Point
Part Four

9:00 A.M. If you had been seated in Cassie Hedberg's kitchen the morning after her birthday, this is the phone conversation you would have heard: "Hello, this is Cassie Hedberg. I was wondering -- yes, I can hold... Hello, this is Cassie Hedberg. I was wondering if I could talk to someone in customer service... Thank you.... Yes?... Hedberg.... H-E-D-B-E-R-G... Right....
"I'm inquiring about a bill we received here sometime last week for a color television set... Just a second.... Here it is; our account number is four-five-five-zero-zero-dash-two-seven-four-five-two.... Right... No, that's four five two... Yes, that's right. My husband's name is Carl.... What's that? Do you know when it was delivered?... It was a birthday present, but I believe there's been a mix-up. Do you have the address it was delivered to?... Just a second, let me get a pencil. O.K., yes, one-seventeen Johnson Street... Is there a record of who signed for it? ....No, that's O.K. I guess this should be fine. You've been a big help.... Yes, thank you. I think we can take care of it."
~~~

Val showed up at ten thirty to watch the kids. Cassie hopped into the Dodge and sped off to make a service call.

Johnson Street is a mixed neighborhood of newer family homes and run down flats that have been turned into apartments. For this reason, Cassie could not anticipate what awaited her at the aforementioned address until she reached the dirt brown house bearing the signature one-one-seven in faded black numerals above the door.

Cassie shut down the engine, but did not leave the car. Instead, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, opened them slightly and stared at the small chapped hands, barren of all but a thin gold wedding band that was near to wearing through, that were now gripping the car's steering wheel in the ten and two positions. She thought of her husband, wondered what he was doing at that exact moment.

Finally, Cassie emerged from the car, walked back and opened the trunk. A light breeze tugged at the loose sleeves of her robin's egg blue blouse. Out from the trunk she lifted an orange tackle box with the set of tools which she usually stored at home under the sink. Slowly, at first, and then with increasing determination she strode up the walk to the two steps that put her on the front landing. She pushed the button for the door bell and waited.

A dog was barking back behind the house. She listened for footsteps or any kind of activity inside. Then once more she rang the door bell."I'm coming!" she heard from somewhere inside. Then a clamber of feet descending a flight of stairs. The large wooden door opened six inches. Half visible and peering out suspiciously from the safety of within was a barefoot young girl in her teens wearing a dark brown tank top and cutoff shorts.

"Your mother home?" Cassie said, thinking the girl no more than fifteen.

"My mom lives downtown. Who you looking for?" the girl said.

Cassie was conscious of her own breathing, the air rushing through her nostrils, her mouth trying to form words, to keep calm, to maintain continuity, equilibrium. "Are there two apartments here? I'm from Montgomery Wards. There's a color television set at 117 Johnson Street that's needs an adjustment."

"This is the place. The other half of the house is 115. The set works fine though."

Cassie stepped forward, pushing her way into the house, the girl now offering no resistance. The girl pointed and said, "It's in here," and together they walked through an arched opening into the living room. "It's really nice. My boy friend gave it to me."

"Oh, really?" Cassie said with her back to the girl, her head pounding, her face becoming hot and flushed. Cassie's back was to the girl as she walked forward and placed the toolbox atop the TV set. Hands trembling, she unlatched and opened the lid, found the hammer and felt the weight of it in her hand.

The girl was standing back about eight feet studying her. For one split second she sensed what was coming but, disbelieving, said nothing and watched in unspeakable amazement.

With one hand sheltering her eyes, her other hand gripping the end of the handle, Cassie whipped that hammer through the air with a force she didn't know she possessed. The screen exploded and the watching girl jumped.

"What the hell are you doing!!?"

Cassie slammed the set two, three, four more times, crushing the dials, breaking off bits of plastic and fake chrome, till she considered it adequately damaged.

"Good thing that wasn't Carl's head."

"You know Carl?"

"Know the bastard!?? I'm married to him."

"I don't believe it."

"Believe what you want, kiddo. There's only one Carl Hedberg and I swear to God..." Cassie was standing with her arm extended, emphatically punctuating her words with the extended hammer, "I-swear-to-God," as if pounding home in the most forceful way possible the meaning of her words.

The girl turned and left the room. "I'm calling the police."

"Go ahead. You want to see your boyfriend in jail for statutory rape? You're barely old enough to tie your shoes."

The girl stopped in the hallway, whirled and shouted, "Get your fat ass out of my house!"

Cassie was already heading for the door.

~~~

Later that afternoon, Carl bursts into the house. "Are you nuts or what? You smashed your own TV!"

"After that little tramp had it, I don't want it."

"Honest, Cass, I was just storing it there till your birthday."

"Get out of here. I don't want to hear it."

"I lost track of the days, that's all. You know how weekends are. I swear, that was your TV."

"Is this some kind of a joke? Where did you meet this girl anyways?"

"She's a kid sister of a buddy of mine."

"Which buddy?"

"You don't know him."

"Oh Carl, for crissake can't you be straight about anything?"

"I don't have anything to hide."

"What's his name? What's his phone number? I'm sorry, I can't believe this is really happening."

"Shit, man, get off my case, all right? She's just a girl I met at the tavern and she was helping me out by storing it for a couple days so I could surprise you on your birthday, all right? So it slips my mind. Come on, I'm absent minded but I'm not an idiot."

Cassie turns away disgusted, shaking her head. "You're so stupid, Carl. What makes you think you can get away with a thing like this?"

"Come on, Cassie," Carl pleads. "I wanna know why you won't believe me. Can you tell me that?"

Cassie is staring out the window at a grassy hillside that sits partially visible just past the back end of the neighbor's garage, holding her breath, her jaw tight, her mouth small with the tightened features of her face. Finally, she exhales through her nose, takes another deep breath and tilts her head to one side, the muscles slowly loosening, the pressure easing from behind her eyes. She rocks her head back; she closes her eyes and opens them, looks again at the rolling hillside and the hills beyond, then slowly nods her head. The grass looks lush and green. Yes, the grass is very green.

THE END
Copyright 1991, Ed Newman