Simple Man (7 page)

“Oh.” She swiped his card and lowered her face, eyes wide. What was that look about?

Shane looked around and spotted a father and son. That dad wore a sweater vest and khakis. His hair was short and spikey in a totally manicured way. Shane looked down and took in his own appearance. Jeans, work boots, a worn cotton T, coupled with his thick, dark hair hanging past his shoulders—he was definitely not meeting society’s standard of fatherly figures.

He frowned. Was there some rule if you were a dad you had to look like a Circuit City sales associate? He didn’t fit that bill, nor did he want to. There was no way he was going to change to meet some social standard. He’d be a cool dad and little Shane would be a cool kid. End of story.

Once his purchase was bagged, he headed back to the truck. Did two month olds crawl? If so, he probably should clean up his place a bit. He should probably do that anyway. He headed home and began doing the usual Sunday bag up of trash.

As he worked his mind went to thoughts of his sister. What kind of mother was she? Did she like having a child? Was it hard? Was she good at it? He wanted to be a good dad. His father was a good dad, always making him feel safe and confident.

Shane remembered being a little kid and thinking his dad could do anything. Shane was seventeen when the train derailed, and his first thought was why didn’t his dad do something to stop it? Thirty some people injured, four dead, and his parents were half of the casualties.

In terms of the accident, he’d been able to think of his father, but never his mother. She was so delicate and soft. She always smelled like cookies and sunshine. Her hugs were the best and what he missed most. Even at twenty-seven he missed his mom’s hugs.

Did Noel give good hugs? Shane decided he would hug little Shane as much as he could since his little counterpart probably missed his mom’s hugs too.

It was nine o’clock by the time he got the trailer somewhat clean. By the door was an enormous pile of laundry, but he didn’t have the energy for that. Shane grabbed a beer and the remote and settled onto the couch.

Sniffing the air, his lip curled. There was a silent but deadly smell coming from one of the cushions. He really needed to get new furniture.

Before he forgot, he texted his foreman and told him he’d be out tomorrow. His eyes drooped as he stared at the television and, before he knew it, annoying infomercials were waking him up. He shut off the television and curled onto his side, wincing and gagging when his face brushed against the unidentified smell on the couch.

The following morning was strangely anticlimactic. He dressed like he always did, wondering if there should be some sort of flare to a wardrobe when one was picking up a child. He opted for his normal, jeans, a t-shirt, and boots.

His hair was tied back and his face freshly shaved. He grabbed his keys, his phone, and his book. Something told him it would be his bible over the coming months.

It was strange that babies were exchanged at the same courthouse he paid his parking tickets. The waiting room smelled like stale coffee. Various civilians sat in the blue plastic chairs along the wall. The paneling needed updating and there was a watermark on the ceiling.

Phones rang on the other side of the glass divider as women efficiently went about filing paperwork. A man was called up to the window and Shane watched as he discussed an agreement advised by his parole officer.

A young pregnant woman came to the window. “Shane Martin?”

He stood. “That’s me.”

“You need to sign in. Joanne and Tabitha from the DPW are already here. They asked that I send you back.”

He scribbled his name on the clipboard and looked expectantly at the girl. This was it. His gut pinched with a cross between excitement and anxiety. Aiming for nonchalance, he wiped his clammy hands down the front of his jeans. She came around the counter and led him to a door marked Room C. Inside sat Joanne and Tabitha. No baby.

His head was clouded with too many thoughts. He’d been on a two day adrenaline rush and was crashing hard. He was stuck somewhere between hyper and exhausted, which caused his pulse to beat rapidly no matter if he was moving or sitting still.

“Hi, Shane. How are you today?”

They exchanged niceties as he awkwardly lowered himself into the chair across from them and waited. Finally he asked, “Where’s the baby?”

“Oh, the baby’s with one of our advocates. You need to speak to the judge first.”

Was there a chance he’d be shot down? “Should I have brought anything?”

“No, we have all your paperwork,” Tabitha said.

“Tabby’s going to speak on your behalf. You just need to answer any questions the judge directs to you. It’s basically everything we already went over. Don’t be nervous. Everything will be fine.”

He didn’t think he was nervous, just unsure of what to expect. He was anxious to get to the next stage of the game, whatever that might be.

There was a knock at the door and a uniformed officer stepped in. “The judge will see you now.” In such a stuffy office setting, the officer’s holster and guns seemed obtrusive.

He followed the women into the courtroom. It was smaller than Judge Judy’s court, which he found disappointing because he was ready to blow this shit up like Johnnie Cochran.

There were four rows of wooden chairs, two on each side. A meager railing divided the floor from the onlookers, but there were no onlookers—just them.

The entire room was carpeted. It was basically a glorified office with a fancy flag and the big desk for the judge. They shuffled behind one table and stood there. A beaten Bible rested forgotten on the surface.

A man with a shiny bald head and a black robe walked in. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” they echoed.

The judge sat at his desk and sifted through papers hidden by the lip of his table. “We’re here to discuss the custody of a Shane Logan Martin, son of Noel Martin who is now deceased?”

“That’s correct,” Tabitha said.

“You’re Shane Martin, uncle to the baby?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Place your hand on the Bible.”

Shane did as asked. How did the judge know if he believed in that Bible? Maybe he followed the Koran.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”

“Be seated.”

They sat and Tabitha began a detailed explanation of his situation. The judge made very little eye contact as he scribbled down notes. When she finished her exhaustive synopsis the judge asked, “Has a new caseworker been assigned?”

“Yes, Your Honor. A woman from our Lakota office. She’ll be making her first visit this week, once Shane has a chance to get settled.”

The judge nodded. “You understand you are being charged with the responsibility of a human life? This child will be at the mercy of your good judgment. Do you feel capable of handling such a responsibility?”

Shane nodded. “I want to be a good parent. I don’t have any family left. My nephew’s it. I want to do this.”

“Plenty of people do it, son. It’s a matter of doing it well.”

“I intend to do my best.”

The judge nodded. “Then let’s hope that suffices. I have here your child abuse clearance papers and criminal record report. Thank you for that, Mrs. Laramie. We’ll reconvene in three months with an update, at which point I’ll hear from the caseworker assigned to Mr. Martin and he may petition for a more permanent arrangement.”

He tapped the gavel and Shane was childishly satisfied. Everything was so much more casual than what he’d anticipated and some juvenile part of him feared the judge wouldn’t use the gavel. Dear God. Could he actually be a parent? He was pretty much a man-child himself. Well, the time for self-scrutiny had passed.

“Congratulations, Shane,” Joanne said, holding out her hand. “I’ll go get Shane.”

She left and he looked to Tabitha. “Do we just wait here?”

She nodded. “She’ll only be a minute.”

The judge left and they were alone. He fidgeted anxiously. When the doors opened again, he turned. Joanne carried a mint green car seat. All he could see was soft blue blankets and a plush bumblebee dangling from the handle.

She hefted the seat onto the table and his heart stuttered to a stop. Like a sleeping cherub, his nephew rested, swathed in what looked like the softest blanket in the world.

He had dark hair like him. The lids of his eyes were so fair they seemed almost translucent at parts, darkening to deep pink by his perfect lashes. What color were his eyes? Were they brown like his? Blue? His cheeks were rosy and his mouth pursed as if sucking an invisible thumb. Suddenly his lips moved in quick suckling motions.

Shane backed up. “What’s he doing?”

The women smiled affectionately. “He’s just sucking. Babies do that in their sleep sometimes.”

The women gently touched the baby’s head and doted over him. Women were so natural with babies. Shane was suddenly terrified. He’d thought the baby would have been more…sturdy.

“While he’s asleep let’s go over some things,” Tabitha said in a soft voice. She slid him a pamphlet. “Here’s some information on SIDS—

“SIDS?”

“Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.”

His stomach bottomed out. What the fuck was that?

Tabitha, luckily, didn’t seem to notice his panic. “It briefly explains about how the baby should be put to bed, always on his back, never on his belly, where his soft spots are, and how to handle him. I’m sure after going through the reading material this weekend you’re familiar with the basics, shaken baby syndrome, testing the temperature of baths and bottles. Babies are basically fragile little eggs. So long as you’re gentle, you’ll be fine.”

The collar of his shirt seemed to be choking him. He swallowed and pulled at his neckline with his fingers.

Tabitha slid him another pamphlet. “This is about car seats. Your local police station can help you install one if you have trouble.”

She slid another brochure to him. How many fucking brochures did this woman have?

“This informs you about medical assistance Shane’s eligible for. This one’s for supplemental nutritional assistance—”

“What?” He was on overload.

“Food stamps. You’ll be eligible for a lot of government programs being that Shane isn’t legally identified as your child yet. Once we get to that stage, your income will have to be considered, but for now he qualifies automatically.”

Food stamps? They wanted him to go on welfare? Fuck that. He worked hard and supported himself for over a decade. He could do this without government aid.

“This is the help line for Care Works. They handle childcare assistance. They’d be able to help you place Shane in the right daycare for your situation…”

As she went on, Shane nodded dumbly and took each paper she handed him. He’d barely read the first book on the list. How the hell was he supposed to memorize all this other crap? These women were intimidating the shit out of him. He wanted to grab the baby and bolt. He’d figure this stuff out on his own.

Finally Tabitha reached the end of her spiel. “You have my number if you need anything. There’s also a list of numbers on the back of the DPW sheet I gave you. Katherine McAlester is the caseworker assigned to you and Baby Shane. She’ll be in touch this week at some point. She’ll be able to answer any questions you have. She’s your advocate for the next few months. Don’t be afraid to depend on her for help when it comes to doing the best we can for Shane. Good luck.”

She smiled pleasantly as she shook his hand. Joanne did the same. They left the room and he sat staring at little Shane. They made it seem so much more complicated than it really seemed to be. He had time to figure it all out. Babies slept. While the little guy was sleeping he’d read up on all this crap and be a pro in no time.

He grabbed the big baby purse Joanne had brought in and lifted the car seat. It was awkward to carry and he was terrified he’d drop him. No dropping the baby. That would be very, very bad.

Once he had a handle on the carrier, he left the room and headed to his truck. This was it.  A strange self-consciousness set in. He felt like he was stealing a person.

Chapter Four

Shane hefted the baby purse on his shoulder and carefully shifted the carrier in order to open the passenger door of the truck. What seemed incredibly light moments ago was becoming awkward and heavy. What the fuck was in this purse? Bricks?

He stared at the interior of his truck. He probably should have cleaned it up before he got there. The carrier holding sleeping Shane looked pristine and clean while his truck resembled a dumpster. He swept his hand along the seat, toppling the many empty soda bottles and coffee cups to the floor.

His shoulder tingled with relief when he put the carrier down. He sat the baby purse of bricks on the pavement and stared at Shane. He was a cute little bugger. He wanted to wake him up, get to know the little guy, but figured he should get him home first.

He analyzed the seat. There was a tall handle, two red buttons, an awning, and tiny plastic hooks on the sloped bottom. It didn’t seem too complicated. As a matter of fact it seemed too simple. This was supposed to keep babies safe?

He pulled out the seatbelt and fed it through the open brackets next to the handle. That didn’t look right. He frowned, undid the buckle, and turned the seat around. That didn’t look right either.

Angling the seat, the baby squinted and cooed. The sun was in his eyes. He extended the awning. Something still wasn’t right.

“Do you need help with that?”

Shane turned and an older woman was watching him. “Uh, I’m sort of new at this,” he explained lamely.

She stepped closer and frowned at his handiwork. “A baby this age really shouldn’t be in the front.” She peeked behind his seats. It was a small S10 truck with no back seat. She sighed. “Car seats like this face backward. That way if you’re in a collision the baby’s protected. Do you have airbags? If so, you’ll have to shut them off.”

Shane opened his glove compartment and found the manual for his truck. He quickly looked in the appendix for air bag controls. Locating the button on the dash, he disengaged the airbags. “Wouldn’t the airbag protect him?”