Breaking Point

by Jon Demartino

  Maybe the woman didn't want to meet me after all. Or maybe this wasn't the one Maxine wanted to introduce me to. Either way, it made this mystery woman from the forties all the more interesting to me. Now I wanted to meet her. I cut across the aisle to my right and walked to the back of the store. I could see Maxine's broad back at the far end of the aisle and the top of the blue hatted lady on the other side of her. I sauntered the hundred feet or so toward them, pausing to look down at the occasional pseudo-interesting item on one of the tables.

  "Hi, Max," I said cheerfully as I got close to them. "Who's your friend?"

  When my sister turned to look at me, I could see a pained look in her eyes. She looked like she was about to burst into tears.

  "Rudy, I didn't know she would be here." She started to speak, closed her mouth and then tried again. "I really didn't know. I promise."

  I had looked past her and was now staring at the woman's outfit. The dark blue hat did indeed match the dark blue suit. The only decoration she wore was a large silver crucifix that hung from a matching chain around her neck. An alarm went off somewhere inside me, like an electric shock. It wasn't the gray coat and slacks she'd been wearing at the convent, but I knew, in that moment before I looked up, whose face I would be looking into.

  I glanced first at her hair, still dark brown, shorter than I remembered and flecked now with a few strands of gray. Her eyes were brown, so dark they appeared almost black. They were more beautiful than any I'd ever seen. I don't know how long I stood there staring at her. I'd known the truth for fifteen years and had even seen Caroline from a distance at her convent, many times over the past five months. But I still wasn't prepared to meet her face to face. Caroline. Now Sister Mary Grace. But still Caroline, my Caroline. I stood there, aware of a lump where my larynx used to be.

  "Hello Rudy," she said, smiling up at me.

  I swallowed hard. I could feel Maxine's sturdy presence beside me, pressing tightly against my right side in the narrow space. Time seemed to stand still around me. I don't think I could have moved if I'd had to. My voice sounded strange to me, tight

  "Caroline." I cleared my throat. "Or what do I call you now?"

  "Sister Grace is what most people call me, but if Caroline is more comfortable for you right now, that's fine." She smiled again and I felt some of the tension leave me. I felt a lessening of pressure against my right arm, as Maxine moved away from us. My mind felt heavy and slow, as if it were immersed in molasses. I couldn't seem to think fast enough to plan what I'd say next. I just had to wait until I heard myself saying it.

  "I knew you were here... around here, I mean. I wasn't expecting to see you today, though." At least my voice was beginning to sound more normal to me.

  "I know. Your sister was just telling me that you came along to help her with some donations. She said that you knew I was in Iowa."

  "Yeah. She saw you at some retreat last Christmas, at your, um, convent. And she called me and told me about it. I don't think she was sure it was you at first, until she thought about it. But, yeah, I knew." I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. God, soon I'd be peeing my pants.

  "Man, is this awkward or what?" I shook my head and tried to laugh.

  Caroline nodded, smiling. "I know. I've had the same problem with other old friends. They don't know how to talk to me. I recognized Maxine at the retreat last Christmas, but wasn't certain if I should approach her, for the same reason. Today, I saw her again and just decided to say hello."

  I'd stopped processing information at that line about "other old friends." I hardly considered myself like her other old acquaintances back in Pittsburgh. I had wanted to marry her, for God's sake. I realized that Caroline was still speaking.

  "Rudy? I asked you what you're doing now. Are you all right? You look sort of funny."

  "No, no I'm fine. Listen. Can we talk sometime? Maybe I could come out to the convent or something or can you meet me for lunch? Oh, that's probably not allowed, is it?" I was digging myself into a deep hole of stupidity and yet, I couldn't shut up. "Maybe I could call you. Should I ask for Sister Mary Ellen?"

  Caroline stifled a laugh. "It's Sister Mary Grace, Rudy. Mary Ellen was on the Walton’s. And yes, you can call anytime at the convent and ask for me there. I'd be happy to visit with you. It's always nice to see old friends again."

  While I was mulling over that "old friends" remark for the second time, Caroline found a piece of paper and a pen in her purse and wrote down the telephone number of the convent for me. I glanced at it and stuffed it in my jacket pocket.

  "Well, Maxine is probably ready to go," I said.

  "It was good to see you, Rudy. Please do phone me and we can get together." Caroline smiled but didn't offer her hand, for which I was grateful. I didn't know if I could touch her at that moment. If there is such a thing as an out-of-body experience, I think I was having one.

  We said goodbye and she walked toward the front of the store, while I spun around and quickly returned to the safety of the outside and Maxine's Oldsmobile. My sister was already there and had the engine running. As I sank into the passenger seat, Maxine began talking as fast as I'd ever heard her speak.

  "You know that woman I wanted you to meet, well she was working at the check-out and I was going over there and somebody called my name and it turned out to be Caroline and, oh Rudy, I feel just awful."

  "No harm done, Sis," I answered mechanically. "I had to see her sometime and this was as good a time as any. Let's just get out of here."

  Max drove back to her house while I sat slumped in the seat, my eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond the windshield. I had some thinking and re-grouping to do. 'Old friends,' my ass, I thought. Will the real Caroline Bennett please stand up?

  I retrieved my own car at Max's place and started to unwind a little in the familiar comfort of my personal automotive space. When I got back to Oak Grove at four thirty, the sun was already down and the living room furniture appeared only as shapes in the nearly dark room. Without turning on any lights, I dropped my coat onto the couch, flopped down on top of it, and fell asleep.

  Chapter 11

  By pressing the little button that lit up the face of my watch, I was able to see that it was a little after six PM. The room was now completely dark, but having been asleep for over an hour, my eyes easily adjusted. I was better able to see now than when I'd come in from the lighted street a while ago. I could feel a cold draft from someplace, like I'd left a window open. Sitting up I pulled my coat around me and reached for the lamp beside the couch. That's when I saw the mess.

  The three boxes I'd left neatly stacked had been dumped out and the contents scattered around, beside and behind the couch. I stepped over them and went out front to the office. I'd walked through it on my way to the living room, but had been at least ten feet behind my chair in doing so. I hadn't even looked toward the desk in the darkened room. Now, flipping on the overhead, I could see that everything on my desk had been pushed around, some of it spilling onto the floor. I quickly scanned the jumble trying to assess the damages. Charlie Wilson's wallet was there, but it was ripped apart, the credit cards, insurance cards, old lottery tickets and other useless junk were all strewn across the desktop and floor. Both the sales book and his address book were still there but the leather covers on each had been torn off and slashed at the seams.

  The framed picture of the Wilsons from last Christmas had been disassembled. The photograph, glass, and cardboard backing were in a lopsided pile at one side of the desk. Charlie's briefcase had been carried to the desk, opened and the contents smashed. The lining was slit at various places and ripped loose. Every conceivable hiding place had been torn into.

  All of my carefully disorganized stacks of papers, letters, files and magazines had been swept onto the floor around the desk. It looked as if I was going to have to get organized whether I liked it or not. It was going to take me awhile to find anything in here. On my hands and knees, I sifted through the papers on t
he floor. It was getting really cold. I needed to find where the burglar had come in and close whatever it was he'd left open.

  The window beside my workbench was broken and the cold wind was blowing in from the west, through the workshop and down the hall into the rest of the building. I felt pretty smart. If I hadn't put that barrel bolt lock on this back door, the guy could have just turned the broken doorknob and walked right in. Lucky for me I'd put the lock on so he'd had to break out one of the windowpanes to unlock it. Now I'd have to replace the glass and freeze in the process. I did a quick job with some cardboard and plastic sheeting, closed the doors leading from the shop to the hall and kitchen and went back to the living room.

  Whoever had been here while I was in Iowa City had been looking for something smaller than a breadbox. The things he or she had cut open were tiny enough to conceal anything from an aspirin to a postage stamp. It looked like somebody besides me had an interest in Charlie Wilson's personal life. I turned up the thermostat to warm up the place while I straightened the papers and boxes as best I could. I wanted to ascertain exactly what had been searched and what, if anything, was missing.

  I used a coffee bag to make myself a cup of semi-real coffee and sat at the kitchen table to take stock. This had been an unsettling day, so far. And I hadn't even caught up with Talmadge yet. That experience still lay ahead of me. The nap and my discovery about the break-in hadn't changed anything about my meeting with Caroline, but they had put a block of time as well as a distraction between us and I needed that for the moment. I couldn't believe she had lumped me in with her "other old friends" like that. I drained the coffee mug.

  Hunger wasn't an issue after the disturbing events of the day, but I'd need a snack before going down to Keokuk to look for my brother-in-law and his lady friend. The kitchen had little to offer besides the sugar cookies and some stale beef jerky, but I made do with those and a Coke for the road, which I carried out to the Grand Am. I was hoping that Tal would show up at the Eagle Motel again tonight. Besides not wanting to waste the trip, I was anxious to cause somebody else some pain tonight. Maybe it would relieve my own.

  With the sun's heat gone for the day and the wind moving briskly, it felt pretty cold outside. I fiddled with the car radio and found the Cedar Rapids station, where the announcer said the wind chill was six degrees. I cranked up the Pontiac's heater and headed due south for Keokuk.

  The closer I got to Keokuk, the more I realized I'd need another jolt of caffeine to set me up for the evening's work. I spotted a mini-mart and gas station that I hadn't noticed on my first trip down this way, and pulled in to park in front. It was warm inside the small store, where the sole occupant was a young girl behind the counter. She looked to be in her twenties, but barely. I poured myself a giant cup of coffee and thanked the patron saint of Juan Valdez that the shop offered cream from a pitcher in the cooler, instead of the powdered variety. I'd always thought that stuff was of dubious origin and probably consisted of chalk dust and oil.

  Setting the oversized Styrofoam cup on the counter, I fished for my wallet. The clerk shook her long blond hair back from one side and smiled at me. "Hi. How are you tonight?" she asked.

  "Um," I muttered, as I slid a dollar bill out and laid it on the counter. She didn't pick it up. I raised my eyes to meet hers and she was smiling into my face, apparently awaiting my response.

  "Fine." I smiled. "I'm just fine. How about you?"

  She rang up the sale as she replied, "Oh, I’m good. Not busy enough to keep me awake, though. Is it getting colder out there?"

  "Yeah, in the wind it feels pretty icy. I think the wind chill is six above."

  "Where you headed?"

  "Down to The Eagle Grill," I said and reached for my change. She dropped the coins in my palm and I transferred them to the side pocket of my coat.

  "Uh, Mister? the girl said. "Did you know the Eagle is over near Route 51? You must have turned onto Route 2 at the intersection a couple of miles north. It's easy to do there if you're not paying attention. I think you wanted to stay on 218 for a few more miles." I knew she was right as soon as she'd said it. No wonder I hadn't noticed this store the last time I'd been to the Eagle. She pointed me in the right direction and I silently vowed to pay more attention to my driving. The level roads around here seemed to be conducive to daydreaming and I'd have to be more careful or I'd end up in Missouri, or maybe Nebraska, before I knew it.

  I thanked the young lady and said good night as I walked back out into the night, realizing once again how helpful and friendly these Iowa folks are. Not that people back in Pittsburgh weren't friendly, but this was different. Here, when a store clerk or bank teller asked how you were, they had time to wait for an answer. I hadn't experienced a sense of urgency or a rushed transaction since I'd crossed the Mississippi into Iowa last May. In Pittsburgh, it seemed that everyone, including me, always was in a hurry. We were constantly in transit from one important locale to the next and even when we weren't rushed, we seemed to resent any impediment to "making good time." We all seemed to have a certain edge of haste about us. I'd become more aware of that edge here, in its absence, than I'd been when I was living with it every day. This would take a bit of getting used to, but I liked the slower pace of life in the Midwest, and the friendliness that the pace permitted.

  I bent my face against the wind and moved quickly back to my car, ignition key in hand. I may as well have left the key right there in my fingers for all the good it was about to do me. The car's starter hummed but refused to turn over. I pumped the gas pedal twice and coaxed the engine to start. It politely refused. The empty silence in the Grand Am had all the earmarks of a dead battery under the hood. I checked my watch. It was already after eight-thirty and Talmadge was probably arriving at his little love lair. Damn. Well, I had a set of jumpers in the trunk. Now all I needed was for another car to pull into the lot. I'd get a jump and be on my way. I propped the hood open and sat in the car, waiting for a car to turn in. By nine PM, my feet were numb, and not one of the five cars that passed had even slowed down. One driver, in an older looking pick-up truck did tap his brakes a few times after he'd gone by and I thought he might turn around and come back. But he was apparently looking for a turnoff somewhere up ahead. I saw his brake lights brighten again a mile or so down the road and then I thought I could see the whitish glow of headlights playing over the trees on the east side of the highway. I figured he'd found his side road but I couldn't be sure, at this distance. Watching the truck was just a temporary diversion, though, to keep my mind off the freezing temperatures.

  The highway was lightly travelled at best and this evening it seemed all but deserted. I stomped my feet on the floor of the car and felt nothing. I now had two big fat pillows at the ends of my legs where my feet used to be. I was going to have to remember to wear some of the new thermal underwear and stuff that Maxine had given me for my birthday. Finally, ready to give up and call for help, I pried my frozen legs out of the car and shook my feet as I stepped onto the asphalt.

  Slamming the car door, I stalked off, as best I could, toward the warmth of the little convenience store. At least the girl behind the counter was friendly. I thought that was a positive thing, given the fact that I might be spending some time with her.

  An hour later, I had used the pay phone to arrange for a tow truck and Emma, the clerk, and I had run the gamut of forced conversation. Her dad had dropped her off and wouldn't be back until his shift ended at midnight, so she had no car to offer. We'd discussed the weather, Iowa basketball, her studies as a part-time student at the University and everything else I could think of. She had no opinions, that I could discern, on meatier topics such as politics, crime, racial tensions in the area between white Midwesterners and the influx of Mexican immigrants, or the effects of genetically-altered crops. She did, however, think that country music was over-rated, but I'm not much of a music aficionado at best, so that conversation was self-limiting. I didn't have anything else to say, and eventually
excused myself and sauntered over to the window, wedging myself between two metal racks, one filled with magazines and the other with Iowa Hawkeye car fresheners and ice scrapers. Traffic on the highway was still very sparse and didn't have much to offer in the way of entertainment but I watched anyway.

  Finally, at ten-fifteen, a big green tow truck rumbled into the lot and stopped beside my car. The passenger door had a magnetic sign stuck to it. "Ron Green's Garage and Towing" was printed in black letters on the sign's white background. I went outside, waving a quick goodbye to Emma, and strode quickly across the asphalt to meet Ron.

  "Cold night," he said with a grin.

  "Too cold," I replied, offering my name and a handshake.

  "Ron Green is my name," he said cheerfully. "And towing's my game. Daytime or nighttime, the price is the same." Great. A rhyming tow-truck driver. This was what I needed all right. It was getting late. Talmadge was probably pulling his pants on in one of those cabins, getting ready to head back to Iowa City. And here I was, playing straight man to the tow truck poet of Keokuk.

  "Funny stuff," I said quickly. "Listen, I think I've just got a dead battery here. I'll pop the hood and we can jump it, OK?" Before he could start reciting a limerick, I was inside and had the hood open. To his credit, Ron deftly snagged his jumper cables from somewhere beneath the tow hook and in a very few seconds the Grand Am was fired up and ready to roll. Ron was reasonably priced, too and I tipped him five bucks for his trouble.

  As I was climbing back into the car, I could hear him shouting after me.