* * * *
“Holy shit! You gotta come look at the steamer I just left in your toilet,” Duce shouted from the bathroom.
“No thanks, man.”
His friend peeked around the corner. “Seriously, my nickname should be The Riddler. It’s a perfect question mark!”
“I’ll pass.”
The toilet flushed and Duce came into the living room. “Your loss. That was some impressive shit. Literally.”
Shane flipped through the weekly saver and ignored his friend.
Duce plopped down in the chair and picked up the remote. “What’s up with you today?”
Shane tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“You’re all quiet.”
He shrugged. “I don’t have anything to say.”
Duce’s phone buzzed and he looked at it. “Lisa’s having some friends over. Tucker wants us to go over there.”
“You know I can’t do that. I got Logan.” He spotted a coupon for formula and tore it out.
“You could bring him.”
“I don’t think so.” On the next page there was a buy one get one free on diaper rash cream. It wasn’t the kind he usually used, but the price was good.
Duce sighed. “I’m bored.”
“Then go over to Lisa’s.”
A few minutes passed. “I bet Sue will be there.”
“Then I’m sure Sims will too.”
His friends’ stare irritated his senses like little needles over his nerves. “I thought you were into her?”
“I’m not into girls my friends have been in.”
He snorted. “No way Sims made it that far. He’s a total ball bag around girls. Doesn’t know how to talk to them. We should go over there just to see him make an ass out of himself.”
“No thanks.”
When Shane finished going through the circular he’d clipped about ten good coupons. He stacked them up and tossed the rest. In the kitchen he rinsed out his cup and made a bottle for Logan. He’d be getting up soon.
“Next month Logan’s going to be able to have cereal. That’s gonna be cool to give him actual food.”
Duce frowned at him in confusion. “What, like Lucky Charms and shit?”
“No, it’s like oatmeal sort of. He can’t have real food for a while still.” Duce continued to stare at him as if he had three heads. “What?”
“I think you need to get out.”
“I went out last night,” Shane reminded him.
“Yeah, to play a gig. When’s the last time you went out just to hang?”
Shane shrugged and washed his hands. “I haven’t felt like it. Besides, I already have Lisa babysitting three times a week while I’m playing at Moosen’s. I can’t afford another night of babysitting and the cost of a night out.”
“But you’re getting paid decent.”
“Money’s tight. If you want to go out, go. No one’s holding you hostage here.”
Duce’s lips pursed as he flipped through the channels. After a while he said, “Sims said your caseworker’s hot.”
“Sims can keep his fucking eyes and opinions to himself.”
Duce faced him, a wide grin slowly crawling over his face. “Aw, you like her.”
Shane pulled out a diaper and the box of wipes. Logan usually pooped around this time of day. “Shut up.”
“I only saw her real quick one time, but she looked all right.”
Shane shrugged, pretending he wasn’t interested. She was more than all right. Anyone who didn’t see how cute she was had a vision problem.
“You gonna ask her out?”
“Dunno.”
“You put the moves on her yet?”
“What are you writing a fucking book?”
“No. Just asking. Dude, what the fuck are you doing? The kid’s sleeping.”
Shane looked down at his artillery he’d set up on the coffee table. He had the yoga mat, a diaper, the wipes, the butt paste, and a bottle. “He’s gonna wake up soon.”
Duce shook his head. “I think you need a break from all this. You’re clipping coupons, your place’s clean, pretty soon you’re gonna start jarring homemade applesauce and shit like that Diane Keeton chick in that Baby Boom movie. Where’s the old Shane?”
He frowned. He hadn’t changed that much, only in matters where Logan was concerned, which just so happened to touch every part of his life. So what if he’d been slightly overhauled by a three month old? He was becoming more responsible as a result of all of it. Nothing wrong with that.
Before he could formulate an answer Logan woke up. He stood and went to get him. When he returned he laid him on the mat and undid his diaper. Duce made a gagging sound. “What the hell is in that formula?”
“Babies poop,” Shane said, as he went about changing him.
“Maybe he should be called The Riddler,” Duce mumbled.
As Shane leaned back to feed Logan, Duce dropped the remote on the table and stood. “I’m gonna take off.”
“All right.”
He hesitated by the door, keys to the roller skate in his hand. “You should come. Lisa’s not gonna let things get crazy. You could bring the kid.”
“No. Were just gonna hang here.”
“Suit yourself.”
* * * *
The following day Shane stopped in at the used baby toy store. There was a ton of stuff. It was all clean and in great shape. He couldn’t wait until Logan was a bit bigger and could play on the big plastic slides and baby equipment. For now, however, he had his eye on a baby swing and a mat with all sorts of plush rattles dangling from two cross arches.
The mat was only ten dollars, but the swing was forty. He had about twenty dollars he could spare. He bought the mat and left, wondering if he should have held off and saved up for the swing.
That night he sat down and did the bills. Things were really tight. After his lot rent and car payment he had practically nothing left. He had to start shutting out lights and conserving water. His utilities were killing him. He’d cut back on personal bullshit, like beer, and also called the cable company to change his service package. But even after those cut backs he was still barely getting by.
The following day he did something extreme he knew he’d catch a bunch of bullshit from the guys for. With a heavy heart, he packed up his game station and all his games and drove it to the refurbishing place on Route 9. He walked out with a hundred and seventy bucks and that night he walked into his home with a swing and a bag full of baby clothes. It was a bittersweet feeling he decided was more sweet than bitter.
It’d been a week since he’d seen or heard from Kate. He debated calling her, but didn’t have a valid casework related excuse. He had the impression she was going to act like nothing happened. At one point he even called the Children and Youth office to ask a question about his court date, well aware his hearing was scheduled for September first, but he wanted a reason to call.
It was stupid. He didn’t even talk to Kate. Some receptionist asked for his social security number and looked on a computer and gave him the date, probably right before making a note in his file that he was a forgetful douche.
By Friday he was pissed off. Wasn’t she supposed to be doing a job? Shouldn’t she be keeping a better eye on them? He knew she was only expected to visit every few weeks, but he’d gotten used to seeing her. Logan even admitted he missed the nice woman with the cardigans.
The Moosen Grill was working out great for both him and the owner. He’d started drawing a crowd and Arty asked him to continue playing there through the summer months.
Lisa agreed to continue babysitting until she started up her night classes again in August, at which point he’d have to make other arrangements. But he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.
He was just opening up his second set on Friday, the dinner crowd thick, when he did a double take. He was singing a cover of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young’s Ohio when his fingers slipped. Luckily the crowd didn’t take notice.
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His mind blanked and he quickly fumbled for the right note as his eyes set on Kate standing by the door. Not Kate the barfly, but Kate the caseworker. Dressed in a pristine white cardigan and a pale blue sundress, her golden hair hung loose around her face and she had that shiny stuff on her lips. Her shoes were little gold slippers with bows.
A slow grin split his face, making it difficult for his mouth to climb over the words. It was hard not to sing her name so she saw him. She worked her way through the crowd and his eyes followed her. It was awesome she was here. Did she come to see his—his face harden.
She smiled as she approached a booth along the far wall. A man with a blond buzz cut wearing a pansy ass pink polo shirt stood. When he leaned in to kiss her on her cheek Shane’s jaw clenched.
Who the fuck was this tool bag?
Kate blushed and slid into the booth. Her blushes were supposed to be for him, not dweebs who wore pink button up collars.
The waitress arrived at their table and he watched them order. Was she on a date?
Shane finished out the song and took a swig from his water bottle. Should he say hi? Maybe play her a song? Completely thrown, he referred to his list of songs and moved on to the next one. He tore into an acoustic version of Petty’s American Girl and watched them.
She nodded and smiled and even laughed from time to time. His blood boiled. This was bullshit. She hadn’t called or come to see him in over a week. Didn’t she want to know how Logan was doing?
It usually didn’t bother him to simply be background noise, but tonight it did. Not once did she look up to see who was playing. Instead, she was totally engrossed in whatever the pink panther was saying.
He finished out his second set and placed his guitar on the stand. Climbing off the stage, he headed to her booth. As he approached, her date was in the middle of some anecdote, probably about how gay he was, and she was smiling.
When he reached their table the pink panther stopped talking and looked up at him. Kate turned, following his gaze. Her eyes grew wide the second she recognized him.
“Shane!”
“Hi, Kate.”
“What are you doing here?” Her hand touched her hair in what he would guess was a sign of nervousness.
He tipped his chin toward the stage. “I play here.” He stared at her and added, just to be a smart ass, “It’s a gig.”
“Oh.”
“You look nice.”
She glanced down at her outfit and blushed. That’s right. My blushes.
“Um, Shane, this is Blake. Blake, this is Shane.”
The date eyed him critically. It was clear he was trying to figure out how he and Kate were connected. Shane nodded, but didn’t offer to shake the other man’s hand.
“You never called.”
She frowned and glanced apprehensively back at Blake. Who had a name like Blake? Where’s your tennis racket, Blake?
“Shane and I have a mutual acquaintance,” she quickly explained.
What? What the fuck! He glared at her. Was that all he was? A fucking case? “Logan’s doing better, by the way,” he said snidely. He waited all this time to see her, never once expecting she’d be on a fucking date. He didn’t mean to be a jerk, but there was no stopping his attitude.
Her expression looked relieved and guilty. “Good. I had wondered…”
“Had you?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Was she wearing eye shadow? “Yes.”
He shrugged, pretending indifference. “Oh, I couldn’t tell.”
Her eyes narrowed further and her tentative smile morphed into a thin straight line. He had no claim to her, but he wanted one. He at least wanted to know she didn’t always go around kissing guys the way she had kissed him. He was second guessing everything now. And on top of that, he was just standing there like creepy band guy intruding on their freaking date. Damn it.
The conversation was over. “Well, I gotta get back to work. Enjoy your date.” He turned and walked back to the stage before she could say another word.
When he sat back down on the stage he saw her talking. She was probably making excuses to her date. Her motions were flustered. He should probably feel bad, but he didn’t. He hoped he ruined their night. Yeah, he was that immature.
His hand gripped his guitar and his fingers strummed the strings hard. The beat was quick and accusing as he pounded out Maroon 5’s Wake Up Call. His gaze drilled into her as she frantically spoke to her date. As he sang he poured his anger into the lyrics.
Her gaze suddenly jerked to his. His eyes narrowed and he articulated each word, making sure she heard every cutting lyric.
Color rushed to her cheeks and she blinked quickly, her hand on her purse. His fingers strummed harder as he belted out the lines of betrayal and being a fool. She stood and her date followed. The pink panther turned and glared at him. The guy was taller than he appeared sitting in the booth. His pants were pleated. He was nothing like Shane and everything like the kind of man he could see Kate dating.
After some fast-talking, Kate put down her purse and went to the ladies room. The date glared at him and finally took his seat. So they were staying.
Shane ended the song and went into some Beatles, his eyes never leaving the door to the ladies room. When she returned she resolutely kept her gaze away from the stage. She looked upset and that was when his guilt finally appeared.
Their waitress brought over more drinks. The date continued, but now without the presence of blushes or smiles. His anger subsided and shame settled heavy and unwelcome in his gut. He was a jerk.
She wasn’t his girlfriend. She was his caseworker, his caseworker who let him kiss and touch her. He didn’t want this douche bag putting his mouth where his had been. It occurred to him that his childish tantrum may have only increased the unfavorable outcome of Kate hitting it off with the pink panther, since Shane so easily shoved his lesser qualities into the light. Here he was, a juvenile jerk and there Blake was, all sympathetic and mature. Fuck. The guy probably had a really good job too.
He’d pissed her off and now this tool was going to swoop in and be all sweet and listen to her as she complained about him. He suddenly wanted to make her smile return, but not because she was on a date. He wanted to be the one to put a smile on her face.
He finished with the Beatles and cleared his throat. “This is something new I’ve been playing around with, so pardon me if it comes out kind of rough. It’s an old throwback to the eighties. If there’re any Goonies in the audience…this one’s for you.”
Her gaze turned to his. Whatever she’d been saying was forgotten. Mouth slack, she watched him, a slight crease between her tapered brows.
He concentrated on the rhythm, trying hard to find it. He’d played the song a few times for Logan, it having stuck in his head since the night they’d watched Goonies, but Cyndi Lauper was no easy talent to mimic.
Once he found the beat he rode it for a while, getting the feel. The intro was longer than it should have been, but it was working for him. He practically whispered the first few lines, wondering if he was making an ass out of himself.
The second line he sang a bit clearer. As he sung about unspoken expectations, the audience’s curiosity grew and their expressions told him they were trying to place the old tune. It was likely hard to recognize done unplugged like this. When he rocked the chorus about being good enough and belted out the ya, ya, ya, ya, people whistled and clapped, finally placing the throwback. And there it was, her smile, worth more than all the tips in his jar.
They left before he finished his last set, but he believed he mended some of the damage. He’d have to wait until he saw her again to find out. When he packed up, his fingers were sore and his back tired. Driving home was a challenge and he had to be up for work in five hours.
Once he got home, Lisa whispered a goodbye and Shane went to check on his little sleeping angel. Shane was detaching from the man he used to be, sort of lost, but heading somewhere good. He was getting
a feel for this parenting thing, doing the work the best he could.
He patted Logan’s back and wished him sweet dreams. That night Shane dreamt of soft cardigans and dainty gold shoes. There were no pink shirts to speak of.
Chapter Twelve
The following six days proved a trial in patience. She hadn’t been to check on them in over two weeks, so with each passing day he knew she’d eventually show. She had to. Anticipation intensified until he was ready to burst.
On Thursday, when he heard the sound of her little VW bug pulling into his lot his stomach tightened. Finally.
He went to the door and waited as she climbed out. When she stood she paused and stared at him for the briefest moment, her expression unreadable. She bent and retrieved her bag then stiffly walked to his trailer.
“Hey,” he said as he held the door open for her. Excitement pummeled his gut.
She went in and waited. Logan slept peacefully in his swing as it rocked back and forth. He directed her to the kitchen table and she sat.
All business, she began pulling out her notebook and a pen. “How are you?” she asked.
“I’m good. How about you?”
“I’m good, thank you.” She opened her book and scribbled a date in the top right corner of the page. “Tell me how things have been going?”
Okay, she wanted to get business out of the way first. He could do that. “Things have been good. I’ve been busy. Working. Logan’s started sleeping a straight six hours through the nights which is good and bad.”
“Why bad?” She made notes, her eyes never leaving the page.
“Well, not bad, it’s just some mornings I have to leave for work and he’s still sleeping. I hate having to wake him to get ready, but I can’t be late.”
“You’ve been back to work, still on the same job?”
“Yes, same job. I should be done there in a week or so and then my union rep will send me somewhere else.”
“Same hours?”
“Usually.”
Her pen moved. As she filled in a full page of notes she turned the page and continued writing. “Tell me more about Logan. Has he visited the pediatrician lately?”