Brake Failure

by Alison Brodie

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say - it won’t affect you.’

  ‘Well, if the worst happens, you can come live with me.’ His eyes were in shadow, watching steadily for her response.

  She felt the blood hammering in her ears. For a second she pictured herself among his people. The mate of an Indian Chief. God, how romantic. Could she give up everything to become a squaw? To lie naked with this man? She could only dream of such a thrilling fate.

  Now, facing up to his dark, questioning eyes, she felt a sudden panic. Like a child, she’d been drawn to a bright tantalising flame and put out her hand. Now she withdrew it sharply from the heat. ‘Would you like another cup of coffee?’ she asked politely, once more the colleague’s wife.

  ‘No thanks, Ruby. I’d better get back while I can.’

  Beyond the window, the snow was coming down thick and fast. He gave her a card. ‘This is my home number. Any problems give me a call.’ His voice dropped low. ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’ As she opened the front door a corridor of icy air raced through the hot house. Outside, the world was blanketed in white.

  ‘Ruby …?’ he stopped. Then his voice came low. ‘I think you’re special.’

  Then he was gone.

  My God, she thought. He’s in love with me!

  She sighed luxuriously as she watched him walk to his car, his boots crunching on snow. She would get a photo of him so that when she was in Paris, she could look at it and yearn for what might have been …

  She came in and closed the door.

  Suddenly, she saw Hank’s blue eyes sparkle with laughter, felt his hands pulling her against his body. She squeezed her eyes shut against the yearning. How could she get him out of her head?

  She would take Rowdy for a walk.

  She hurled herself into her coat, dragged a woolly hat over her head, put Rowdy on his leash and banged out of the door. Away from the shelter of the house, the wind was fierce. Snow stung her cheeks like needles. Rowdy - who had been taken from the warmth of the house - stood stiff-legged, refusing to walk.

  She marched along the icy path, pulling on his leash, and he slid behind her as if he were on skis. ‘For Heaven’s sake, Rowdy! You’re behaving like a pedigree!’

  Her mind once again focussed on Hank. How could she be attracted to a man like that? But she knew the answer, remembered the spark, the shiver that went up through her body when he pulled her to his chest. Why did this have to happen? Her life had been firmly within her control; then this man had come along and unbalanced everything, made her yearn for something she could never have.

  And she hated him for it.

  ‘Rowdy!’ He was making the walk impossible. ‘At least, have a wee-wee.’ It was as if he understood. He cocked his leg, urinated, and turned for home. It was then she noticed Mr Schoettler’s house.

  One by one the lights went out, as if the old man was making preparations to retire to bed. The illuminated Mr Frosty and Santa Claus on the lawn were the last to go, and the house and garden plunged into blackness.

  It’s only eight o’clock, she thought; no wonder he’s able to get up at the crack of dawn if he goes to bed this early. She remembered all the pleading notes she’d written to him; remembered his sneering contempt. Horrid man! Just because he’s got a chainsaw he thinks he can terrorise the neighbourhood whenever he wants. She stopped and narrowed her eyes.

  Well, I’ve got a chainsaw, too.

  *

  I don’t care if anyone’s watching me! She wrapped Scotch tape round the “on” button on the chainsaw to keep it running; and then did the same with the hedge cutters, chain saw and lawn mower.

  Mr Schoettler’s bedroom light came on. ‘Oh, dear,’ she snickered. ‘I think I’ve woken him up.’ One by one, his house and garden lights snapped on. Mr Frosty and Santa Claus seemed to leap out of the blackness, they were so bright.

  With all the machinery working, the noise was deafening. Snowflakes stuck to her eyelashes but she blinked them away.

  She felt crazy!

  Oh, but the pièce de resistance, the tour de force, was her leaf blower! She ran the cable out from the garage across the snow and plugged it in.

  ‘You want noise, Schoettler?’ she shouted, cupping her hands to her mouth.

  Schoettler’s lawn decorations lit her up like daylight. Mr Frosty was smiling widely at her, but she didn’t see him as a friendly Yuletide character; she saw him as the enemy. As she was wrapping Scotch tape round the strimmer, she saw the flashing lights of a police car coming up the hill.

  She glanced over to see Mr Schoettler in a dressing gown huddled just inside his doorway. That sneaky son-of a-bitch had called the police! She grabbed up the chainsaw and walked towards him, Rambo-style, and he backed into the house. His cowardly reaction made her bold. Ha! Well, if I can’t get him … I’ll get … Whoosh! Her chainsaw cut through Mr Frosty’s neck, the grinning head toppled to the ground and the body short-circuited.

  For a split second, she was caught in the full beam of headlights as the police car swung to park at the curb. Quickly, she switched off the machines until there was silence. The first cop was tall and burly. The second was Joseph Branagh. They both looked irritable.

  ‘Causing a bit of a ruckus, ma’am,’ said the burly cop.

  ‘I’m just doing a little garden maintenance.’

  ‘Yer English!’

  ‘Her name’s Ruby.’ Branagh eyed her maliciously. ‘So, this is where you live…?’ He scanned the house as if storing the information to memory.

  ‘SHE’S A MANIAC!’ Mr Schoettler stood just inside his garage, holding his chainsaw defensively. ‘SHE WANTS LOCKING UP!’

  A second police car pulled up and the driver jumped out. It was Hank. ‘Hey, guys,’ he called, striding towards them. ‘They’ve just scored. It was Miller on touch-down, five minutes in.’

  The burly policeman frowned. ‘Just our luck to be called out,’ he muttered, throwing Ruby a resentful look.

  ‘You two go watch the game,’ Hank offered. ‘I’ll take over here.’ When he saw her, his eyes widened in astonishment. ‘Ruby?’

  The burly cop was back at the car, but Branagh hesitated, obviously torn between watching the game and seeing Ruby punished. ‘You gonna bring her down to the station?’ he demanded.

  Hank surveyed the machinery scattered in the snow. ‘Depends on what she did.’

  Schoettler yelled: ‘She decapitated Mr Frosty, that’s what she did!’

  The burly cop shouted from the car. ‘Come on, Joseph, we’re going to miss the game.’

  As the police car drove off, Mr Schoettler shouted again. ‘She wants locking up!’ With a cop present, he evidently felt safe because he stomped forward, started up his chainsaw and cut through her bay tree. Seeing this, she cranked up her chainsaw and advanced on his Santa Claus.

  ‘Stop!’ Hank thundered. ‘Both of you! Switch your machines off. NOW!’

  They switched off their machines and there was silence.

  ‘Put them on the ground. ON THE GROUND!’

  Schoettler and Ruby eyed each other as they finally lowered their chainsaws. Hank turned to the old man. ‘Right, sir, can I ask you your name?’

  ‘Jessup Schoettler.’

  ‘Mr Schoettler. Ruby. What’s this all about?’ They both answered at the same time, their voices garbled and heated. Hank put up a hand. ‘One at a time. Let the lady go first.’

  She saw his expression: stern and unforgiving. She took a deep breath. ‘Every morning at six o’clock Mr Schoettler has garden machinery roaring away. I’ve sent him notes, I’ve gone to him and begged him to be more considerate, but he just sneers at me. So, tonight, I thought he should know what it feels like to be rudely woken up.’

  ‘Oh, officer.’ Mr Schoettler cradled Mr Frosty’s head in his arms. The old man had lost his vitriolic tone and now sounded hurt and feeble. ‘Look what she did to my Mr Frosty.’

 
Hank turned to her. ‘Did you do this?’

  She looked up at the sky then down at her boots. ‘Yes,’ she mumbled.

  ‘That’s wilful damage of a neighbour’s property. That’s serious.’ Shivering, he stamped his boots, his breath vaporising in the cold air. ‘So, folks, we have a choice: we spend the evening down at the station or we sort it out, right here, right now. Mr Schoettler?’

  The old man ruminated. ‘How?’

  ‘First, Ruby has to offer to pay for distress and damage. It’s up to you to fix a fair price, Mr Schoettler.’

  ‘Four hundred dollars.’

  Ruby gasped. ‘What?’

  ‘You will have to agree,’ Hank stated, ‘otherwise Mr Schoettler has every right to press charges. So, what will it be?’

  She scowled. ‘Alright.’

  Hank turned back to the old man. ‘Now, Mr Schoettler. Making a loud noise at an uncivilised hour? That’s disturbance of the peace. What I want from both of you is to agree on what you think is a civilised time.’

  Ruby stared defiantly at Schoettler. ‘Nine o’clock.’

  Hank turned to the old man. ‘Is that okay with you, Mr Schoettler?’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon.’

  Hank nodded. ‘Think of it this way,’ he said lightly, evidently trying to lighten the mood. ‘Your wife will be grateful.’

  ‘She’s dead. She passed last summer.’

  Hearing this, Ruby felt a wave of compassion for the old man. ‘Do you want to come in for coffee?’ she asked kindly.

  ‘At this time of night?’ Mr Schoettler sneered at her stupidity then stomped back to his house. ‘But I’ll see you tomorrow. For the cheque.’

  Hank began picking up the garden machinery. ‘This your house?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Nice place.’ He towed the lawn mower towards the garage, the strimmer and leaf-blower under his left arm. ‘You go on inside, Ruby. And I won’t say no to a coffee.’

  The warmth of the house was bliss. Rowdy stood with the teddy in his mouth, wagging his tail. ‘We’ve got a visitor,’ she told him, feeling scared yet excited. She slipped out of her coat and quickly removed all evidence of Edward; the wedding photograph, the tube of athlete’s foot cream, the pile of Purdy’s brochures. She switched on the radio to fill the silence. Realising she was wearing her sexy red jumper, she ran upstairs and changed into her thick, hairy, green cardigan. She didn’t trust Gephart. But more than that, she didn’t trust herself.

  *

  Ruby was setting out cups and saucers when Hank came in from the garage. His great bulk seemed to fill the room. Rowdy trotted up to their visitor with his teddy.

  ‘Hey, fella,’ Hank greeted. ‘What’s your name?’ Rowdy promptly flopped on his back at Hank’s feet, in an embarrassing show of wanting his belly scratched.

  ‘His name’s Rowdy,’ Ruby answered, feeling envious of all the attention Rowdy was getting.

  How should she talk to her guest? Like he was Gephart the Kansas sheriff, or Hank the helpful friend, or a man with steady blue eyes. ‘He’s not meant to be in the house but I made an exception because he was scared of the thunder.’

  ‘My dog, Rex, is the same.’ Hank took off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair. His powerful shoulders rippled under his shirt. ‘Do you hunt?’ he asked.

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘The deer in the garage.’

  ‘A friend gave it to me.’ She poured coffee into a cup. ‘How do you like your coffee?’

  ‘Black, no sugar.’

  She put his coffee in front of him and backed off. ‘Thank you for not carting me off to the police station tonight,’ she said.

  ‘No problem. But you can’t go taking the law into your own hands.’

  ‘What else could I do? My mother has been plagued by a neighbour’s yapping dog for years, yet the authorities refuse to help.’

  ‘Well, here, we help.’ He pulled out a chair for her. ‘Hey, Ruby, come sit down here. You don’t have to stand all the way over there.’ He gave her a rueful look. ‘I won’t kiss you, I promise.’

  She ignored the chair and sat at the far end of the table, side-on, studying her Snoopy slippers. A Country and Western song played on the radio.

  ‘I’m sorry about that kiss,’ he began. He pressed a hand to his cheek. ‘But, boy, you sure pack a punch.’

  She blushed. Hank and Rowdy were now playing tug-of-war with Rowdy’s teddy. ‘Dogs seem to like you,’ she murmured.

  ‘Dogs do. English ladies don’t.’ Hank smiled up at her. ‘What are you two doing for the Millennium?’

  ‘Not sure. What about you?’

  ‘Staying home. I’ve got two brothers and a sister. Though, since ma and pa died, I’ve been more like a father to them. We live just outside Vassar.’ He talked about his uncle Max who came in to help around the house. ‘He’s eccentric,’ Hank added ruefully. ‘Likes to take a bath in a tin tub in his yard.’

  Ruby laughed. ‘My grandad is eccentric, too. He’s the only person I know who’s hoping the Millennium bug is going to destroy civilisation.’

  ‘Heaven’s name, why?’

  ‘He’s anti-establishment. When I lived with him, I thought the Queen’s Speech at Christmas was all about hurling abuse at her. And like all anarchists, he detests authority figures. He told me to shout out ‘no blood for oil’ whenever the teacher gave me a hard time.’ She chuckled. ‘That really confused her.’

  Hank fell back in his chair. ‘That explains everything, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Your hostility. You’ve got a problem with authority figures, yeah? Like law enforcement officers? You saw me and couldn’t separate me from my uniform. That’s why you keep giving me the round-around.’ He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Girl, you treat me real mean.’

  There was something so absurd about his expression, she burst out laughing. Then he, too, was laughing.

  She was viewing him afresh. His uniform had, indeed, triggered hostility and mistrust. Now she saw him as a kind and considerate man, whose great bulk and broken nose she had mistaken for aggression. Right from the start, she had not been prepared to give him a chance; but now she would.

  ‘Tell me more about your family,’ she coaxed.

  He compared his family to a nest of magpies, always searching and hoarding. His brother, Tom, was a “rock hound” hunting for stones and fossils. His aunt Clovis in Emporia was in stiff competition with a neighbour to see who could amass the biggest cookie jar collection in the States. Ruby listened avidly. Hank had an attractive intelligence, and a way with words that made the most mundane sound amusing.

  Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and turned up the volume on the radio. A husky female voice filled the kitchen: “And never do what you say. I’ll never hear you and never do what you say.’ The music was slow, sexy; strangely melancholic.

  Hank unbuckled his belt and dropped it on the table.

  What is he doing? Ruby thought wildly. Undressing?

  He approached her, took her hands and pulled her gently to his feet. ‘Dance with me,’ he whispered.

  ‘Well … I …’

  He pulled her towards him and began to move, his hips swaying to the music. ‘Do you know the song?’ he asked.

  ‘Um … no ...’

  ‘It’s called Twisting My Sobriety.’

  ‘It’s … nice.’

  She attempted to dance but she was too stiff and embarrassed. He held her loosely at the waist, his hands guiding her to move to the music with him. This was more than a dance, she realised; this was him showing her that he was the male, the boss. Slowly, he drew her closer, the palms of his hands on her back. They were so close, she could feel the hardness of him. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her breath caught in her throat.

  He moved back and slid off her cardigan in one easy move. ‘Do you mind? It’s like holding a Brillo pad in my arms.’

  In a daze she watched him
drop the cardigan on the table and then he took her into his arms once more.

  The woman’s voice washed over them like warm honey: “Look, my eyes are just holograms. Look, your love has drawn red from my hands.”

  Hank swayed, so comfortable in his body, in his sexuality. She felt the rhythm of him, and a need so strong, that she closed her eyes against her desires.

  As the music ended, he let her go and turned to the table. ‘I’d better get back. They’re probably rounding up a posse thinking I’ve been cornered by that crazy English lady.’ He grinned, and she tried to smile, but a bitter disappointment sat heavily on her chest. He was leaving.

  He strapped on his belt, shrugged into his jacket and headed into the hall. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’ At the front door, he turned to her. Their eyes met and held. She felt the warmth, the affection, the bond between them. It seemed so right when he bent his head to hers, his words breathing softly over her lips.

  ‘Can I kiss you?’

  Her belly tugged with a delicate anticipation. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re not going to punch me?’

  She shook her head, a chuckle low in her throat.

  Slowly, but possessively, he drew her to him. She felt the roughness of his lips caressing hers, and immediately a ball of flames ripped up from between her legs, fanning out across her chest.

  ‘God, Ruby, you are so beautiful,’ he murmured, his mouth brushing down over her throat. She desperately wanted more of him – all of him. It was like an addiction; as if a drug had been pumped into her veins. She had always had a need to be in control but now that need was dissolving, replaced by a wild desire that coursed through her body.

  ‘Ruby …?’ He glanced away as if trying to find the words to say to her.

  As she watched she saw a frown slowly pucker his brow. What was he looking at? Only the Weavers cardboard box. Then he was studying the row of Wellington boots. He stepped back, viewing the house as if for the first time. ‘Where’s your friend?’

  ‘Friend?’

  ‘Molly told me you shared with a friend.’

  ‘Oh ... um … she’s out.’

  Ruby felt a twinge of guilt, knowing she was being dishonest. She also knew that a man like Hank would have nothing to do with her if he knew she was married. But what was wrong with a harmless dalliance? After all, Edward had Donna.