The quiet peace of the humid August evening was abruptly shattered when Cal stormed into the kitchen. He pulled up short, slammed his fist into the ice-box and roared at his young bride. “You slut! How dare you let Rusty see you like that! You stupid, or something?” When he puffed out his chest, folded his arms across it and glared at Billie Jean, his hooded brown eyes blazed with anger and his nostrils flared, pulsing to the beat of some hidden rage.
Billie Jean couldn't believe Cal could be so cruel. His drastic mood-swing terrified her. As a tremor shook her slight frame, an odd observation slashed through her mind: Cal looks madder'n that old bull on Uncle Bob's farm.
She flashed back to earlier in the evening when Cal had seemed so happy and carefree. They had enjoyed a peaceful, relaxing supper with his young brother, Rusty, followed by a refreshing run through the lawn sprinkler; it had been a swell day. Then he had driven Rusty to a friend's house and returned home in a rage.
So what had happened between now and then? Why was Cal being so mean and hurtful? He was like a different man.