She was walking with an extra spring in her step and when friends called
-- it seemed like everyone was calling that day -- they were uplifted by
her spunk and cheer.
"You win a lottery or something?" Donna Trumbull asked.
"Why's that?" Cassie pretended not to notice the melodic sing-song
sound of her voice.
"My, aren't we happy as a lark today," Gloria said when she heard
Cassie's lively trill.
Around one o'clock she turned on one of the soap operas she followed
sporadically and for the first time in months Cassie was not annoyed by
the poor reception she'd always endured with this television set. She especially
hated it that when people walked around in certain parts of the room the
color would fade; the set belching fuzzy static sounds.
At six, Carl called Cassie to apologize for being late, but said he'd be
home by seven and that she should go ahead and eat. And for the first time
in months she didn't mind his long hours or his busy schedule.
Friday, too, was a nice day. There was a light rain in the afternoon, but
the farmers need it, Cassie thought, and the forecast for the weekend is
nice weather ahead. Around four that afternoon, the phone rang and it was
Carl. "What do you say we get a sitter tonight and go to a movie?"
"Is there anything playing? I don't think I want to see Dick Tracy,"
Cassie answered.
"We'll find something," Carl said, and Cassie said she'd try to
find a sitter.
She always hated the way Carl never planned anything ahead and lived
life on the fly. It's hard enough to find sitters on Fridays without having
it be the last minute, but this annoyance, too, seemed to diminish when
she thought of the new TV and the possibilities of romance returning to
their flat, listless relationship.
At six, Carl phoned again. "Sorry. I'm a little behind. I've been breaking
my ass to fix a busted gear on this new unit. I'll be home in twenty."
It was six-forty when he came through the door, the house smelling aromatic
from Cassie's homemade stew.
Cassie rushed through the agenda as she ladled the stew into his bowl. "We've
all eaten. The sitter will be here at seven. Movie starts at seven-twenty.
I'll go get dressed."
Before seating himself, Carl unbuttoned his shirt, gave his wife a peck
on the cheek and fixed himself a drink. While he was finishing his dinner
the sitter arrived, ten minutes early. Cassie showed the girl around while
he washed and changed upstairs.
"What movie are we seeing?" Carl asked as they pulled out of the
drive. Cassie said the one she wanted to see was at Cinema Five, but if
he didn't want to see that one, there were two other movies that looked
interesting.
Afterwards they went to Bridgeman's for ice cream.
"We should do this more often," Cassie said.
"I know."
She was surprised when he didn't add, "I just hate spending the money."
His traditional tightfistedness with money had often made her wish she'd
started earlier with a career. Because Carl was bringing home the bacon,
Carl always had final say about how it was sliced.
They talked about the movie and about the kids and about how busy their
lives seemed. They didn't talk about birthdays or how frustrated Cassie
was that he seemed lost in his own thoughts, not hearing a word she was
saying.
After the sitter had gone, they prepared for bed. Although Carl's distractedness
at Bridgeman's had bothered her, she chose to overlook it, and she gave
herself to him with a passion she hadn't yielded in ages. He purred, she
laughed and they held each other tight.
The weekend was hectic, as usual. On Saturday, Carl wanted to go fishing
but grumpily agreed to finish painting the garage. It was fall and good
painting days were numbered. Cassie drove Thad to little League practice,
and Lisa to dance lessons, then picked up some groceries, picked up Thad,
scrambled home put the groceries away, got the ice cream into the freezer,
fixed a quick salad and sandwiches, then rushed to fetch Lisa, returning
straight home to remove the shirts from the dryer. Hectic as it was, she
was whistling the whole while.
Twice Carl became bothered with her that afternoon for one reason or another,
but instead of Cassie reacting with her normal hostility, she overlooked
his insults and even managed to project warmth and charm, which she held
in check to some degree lest she appear too out of character.
Around four o'clock her sister Val called.
"I'm afraid I'm giving myself away," Cassie confided. "The
way he's been acting I'd normally be climbing the walls, but I find myself
almost oblivious. I don't know. He's a pain sometimes, but he can be a sweetheart,
too."
"Last week you were talking divorce. What's gotten into you."
"I guess this is something I've always wanted... for Carl to care again,
to do something special without my begging for it," Cassie said.
"Maybe he just feels guilty about something," Val said. "Men
are like that sometimes."
"And women aren't?" Cassie said, laughing. She was not interested
in having her bubble burst yet and turned the insinuation into a joke.
Her sister backed off and let Cassie, ever the optimist, cling to her hopes.
Cassie not only had hopes, she had fears, at this moment the largest being
that she may have tipped her hand that she knew about the anticipated gift.
To compensate, she decided to get stewed about his being late for dinner
that night, which he always was anyways. When he came into the kitchen at
suppertime, she was standing with her hands on her hips, a convincing outrage
scrawled across her face.
One glance told Carl the story. Without a word, he slapped off the radio
and stalked redfaced back out to the garage, slamming two doors along the
way.
An hour later he returned to the house to say he was going out with some
friends.
"Aren't you going to have something to eat?" Cassie said.
"I'll grab a bite somewhere. Don't worry 'bout it."
"I'm not worried about it," she snapped. "Just seems
like you should eat something, that's all."
Carl cursed under his breath as he left the room.
The Sunset Lounge was crowded, but unusually subdued for a Saturday night.
At the table where Carl sat with Ben Hinklow and Arnie Barnes, two buddies
from work, the subject of women was active in everyone's minds and spilled
easily from their mouths.
"Man, has my wife been acting weird the last few days," Carl finally
said when his turn came to speak.
"Women can be like that sometimes," Ben agreed. "You can't
figure 'em out and it don't matter much whether its ten years or thirty."
"Yeah, but I don't know. Cassie's really weird like she knows something.
Know what I mean?" Carl tapped his fingers in a rolling rhythm, his
head tilted to the side and lips compressed in a semi-disgusted expression.
"Knows about...?" Arnie asked, cocking his head to one side, not
knowing whether Ben knew or not.
"You mean-" Ben knew, but didn't know whether Arnie knew, so he
didn't say anything more.
"Oh, I don't know," Carl said, "She's just been acting so
bizarre."
"Women are always acting bizarre. What's bizarre about that?"
Ben said. "That's what it's like to be a woman. My daughter's hardly
fourteen. She's gets weird sometimes, you know. Then the wife says 'It's
that time of month,' and you know, that's just what it must be."
"I don't know. Maybe I'm just a little paranoid, I don't know."
Ben and Arnie each nodded indicating they understood. Ben then said, as
if required whenever the mystery of Woman was discussed in any measure of
solemnity, "Women! Hell, you can't live with 'em-"
And as if mandated, Arnie cut him off. "And you can't live without
'em." Carl rose to find a restroom.
"Hey, where ya goin' man?" Ben said, grabbing his arm.
"I'll be right back," said Carl.
On the way back from the restroom he saw a pay phone. After checking his
watch to make sure it wasn't too late, he slid his hand down into the pocket
of his jeans to find a quarter. Carl picked up the receiver, slid the quarter
into the slot, and listened to the clicks, the dial tone and then the rings
at the other end of the line, counting them one by one, till at last he
knew there would be no answer. He hung up and returned to his friends who
were in the midst of some heated bickering.
"How late you guys planning to stay?"
"What's your hurry, Carl?"
Carl seated himself as the waitress brought the next pitcher of beer.
Sunday was no better. From Carl's reactions, Cassie could do no right.
She didn't like it but wouldn't say anything. He didn't like being unreasonably
irritable either, but he also didn't like the idea of being the cause of
a bad atmosphere and kept trying to blame Cassie for his bad temper.
Most of the day they managed to avoid having to speak to each other directly.
Three children in the house makes that an easier achievement. They
both knew intuitively that any effort to begin a discussion would soon be
diverted to disagreeably chilly terrain.
The evening proved to be more hopeful. The fear of hostilities having diminished
somewhat, they decided to rent a movie so as to keep the need for any real
personal communication at a minimum. They did not voice it this way exactly,
but they knew each other well enough to know that if one suggested a movie,
the other would agree.
"Would you like to maybe rent a movie tonight?" Carl said off-handedly.
Thad and Lisa looked up, first to dad and then to mom to see her repsonse.
After exhaling deeply, Cassie took the cue. "Is there anything we'd
like to see?"
"Batman!" Thad asserted.
Carl pretended not to hear. "No, you pick something this time,"
Carl said, speaking directly to his wife. He didn't really care. He simply
wanted their discord to go away. "In fact, why don't I do the dishes
and you run pick something up."
Cassie paused, amazed, stood up and walked to the counter where she kept
her purse. "I'll be back in ten minutes," she said, smiling genuinely.
When she returned, Carl was still a bit sulky, but that hard edge which
he had carried all day had softened.
"Do you like musicals?"
"How long have we been married? What did you get?"
"Just kidding. These two wanted to see Honey I Shrunk the Kids."
"I wanted to see Batman." Thad whined.
"Well, Lisa wanted --"
"I don't care, really," Thad said, and they went into the living
room. Carl didn't care either.
Monday. Cassie' birthday. Carl was gone with the dawn, like those vampire's
of old who disappear with the break of day. It was impossible, of course,
for Cassie to sleep in, and she immediately went down to make coffee after
hearing his pickup pull out the drive.
"What are you doing up, Mom?"
After exploring for a minute -- in the living room, then the kitchen and
all the closets, yawning and bleary-eyed, pushing back the curtain of sleep
-- she began wondering the same thing. How could she explain that she was
looking for, expecting, something special; like maybe a banner? a card?
a signal of remembrance? ...that it was her birthday.
Hasn't your dad told you it's my birthday? Are you playing a game with
me? Is this charade going to last all day? She was quickly in a frump.
"Mom, can Rick come over today?"
"Why don't you go to Rick's house?"
"Rick's mother is kind of mean sometimes."
"That's not very nice," she said carefully. She was glad her kids'
friends didn't feel that way about her. "Your friends can come over,
but only if you play out in the yard today"
"Thanks, mom"
Noon. No special calls. No flowers. No mention of anything from anyone.
Two o'clock. Call from sister Val. "Did you see As the World Turns?"
"This old TV set is practically --"
"Oh, Happy Birthday!"
"Yeah, yeah."
"Hey, what's up?" Val had already expected the worst; never did
trust Carl; called him Carl the Cad when Cassie first met him years earlier.
Cassie was confused. "I don't know." She wanted to tell Val she'd
been crying. "I feel like such a heel. Here it's my birthday, and Carl's
probably surprising me with this nice present and I'm all peeved because
I think he's forgotten. It's like I have this dread he's forgotten my birthday
and I can't explain this damned receipt from Montgomery Wards."
"Give it time, sweets. He's probably trying to build some excitement
for you." Val's attempt to sound sincere was taken at face value. Cassie
was looking for even the least shred of comfort and Val was not about to
dish out her own unpalatable interpretation of Carl's actions.
"Thanks, sis." Cassie said, and then, "Thad's outside crying
about something. Gotta run."
Five o'clock, Carl walks into the kitchen, sees Cassie leaning on the
counter, staring out the window; she hesitates, then turns and studies him.
Come over here you big sweet lovable jerk, she wants to say, but the words
don't come; she's holding out limp hands, but it's only a half-hearted gesture
of invitation, and he fails to notice its significance, peeling off his
shoes and kicking them into a corner.
"What's up, hon? No dinner tonight?"
You're just putting me on, right, big guy? "You don't have to
play with me, Carl. I already know. I just can't stand having to wait any
longer and--"
"Know about what?" Carl pulled back his head a notch as if peering
through the lower lenses of a pair of bifocals, his chin jutting out, lips
parted slightly.
"You know," she said hopefully.
"Hey, really, I'm lost. I mean I am toe-tally in the dark. So where's
the eats? You gonna starve the kids, too, or what?"
"I'll pick something up at MacDonald's while you take a shower."
"Like what's the occasion?" Then he covered his face with his
hand and mumbled, "Oh shit."
"What?"
"I'm sorry, God, I'm sorry. Today's your birthday! Where do you want
to go eat. God, I don't know where my head is at sometimes." It was
a tradition of theirs to take each other out to eat on their birthdays.
Cassie turned away and looked out the window again. For what seemed like
a very long time she watched her son romping in the back yard with a soccer
ball. Carl stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen. He knew Cassie
well enough to know this wasn't a time to leave. She's unpredictable, that's
certain. He was stupid to be so forgetful; that was certain, too.
Without speaking, Cassie grabs her purse and shoves her hand into the middle
of it, feeling around for a thin piece of paper which she has kept folded
in her checkbook. She pivots to face her husband and holds out the bill.
"Do you know anything about this?"
"Hey, cool your jets," Carl says, stepping forward to examine
the paper she is holding out to him. He sees the Montgomery Wards logo on
the bottom and says, "It looks like a bill."
"Know what it's for?"
Carl scrunches up his face to read it, shrugs. "How should I know?"
"It's on our account. I didn't buy it." She makes the I emphatic.
"Why would I go out and buy a color TV? We've already got one."
"I just thought--"
"Honest, Cassie, I really don't know what this is about. I'll call
the store tomorrow. I'm sure it's some kind of mistake." Trying to
smooth things over he says, "Let's try that new place, what's it called?
Finnegan's?"
Cassie mutters "Sure, Finnegan's" through clenched teeth and they
both go through the motions of letting the mix-up be nothing more than that.
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 in 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 a 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.
PERMISSION TO REPRINT GRANTED if attribution is cited. Could you send me a note telling where you shared it?ennyman@cp.duluth.mn.us