Simple Man

  Flowers decorated various graves. His family wouldn’t have flowers because he’d never visit this place again until it was his time to join them. Strange, how he hoped that was soon.

  Duce placed a hand on his shoulder. “How you making out?”

  He shrugged. The service was over and the guys were heading back to their cars parked along the path.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes,” Duce said. “Whenever you’re ready. Take your time.” He turned and joined the others by the cars. Sims lit a cigarette in the distance, the scent carrying over the May air. He’d quit for a while, but apparently started again.

  Shane stared at the ground. What was he supposed to do? Should he be thinking something? He stepped forward where the ground was soft.

  His eyes closed.

  You shouldn’t be here, Noel. This shouldn’t be you. It wasn’t your time. God damn it, where have you been? I looked for you. I called.

  He’d gone to the police the week she disappeared, but they’d only taken the basic information. Noel was an adult and not required to check in with him. His chest tightened as his breath ceased. He didn’t want to breathe anymore. Could a person force himself to suffocate? Emotion clogged his throat, tightening to a point of acute pain until his mouth reflexively gasped and he sucked in a lungful of air.

  I wish it was me. At least you have Mom and Dad wherever you are. I have no one. Why didn’t He take me? What the fuck do I have to offer this world? You had so much ahead of you. College. A career. God damn it, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

  His thoughts repeated and repeated as the funeral in the distance broke up. Where were her friends? Their absence only confirmed his opinion of the types of people they were. Even Tracy wasn’t there. The others, he expected as much from, but Tracy… He sighed aloud. “Right.”

  When he turned a woman waited a few feet away. Staring at her, he waited for some sort of recognition to strike. There was nothing. Was this a friend of his sister’s? He didn’t have the energy to talk so he headed in a detour to the cars where his friends lingered, hoping to avoid any commentary from the woman.

  “Shane?”

  Damn it. He paused, bracing himself, and faced her. “Yeah?”

  “My name’s Tabitha Laramie. I’m sorry for your loss.” She held out a card. “I know you’re grieving, but we really need to speak. It’s about Noel. I’d like you to call me at some point tomorrow. The earlier the better.”

  He took the card. It was plain white and simply said her name and listed a number. “Were you a friend of Noel’s?”

  He hoped she was. If she was, then maybe she could explain what his sister had been up to over the past eight months.

  “I’m afraid not. I’m from the Department of Public Welfare.” She looked about to say more, but hesitated. “I don’t mean to intrude. There was a mix up with the paper work and I didn’t know how else to find you. If you could call me tomorrow I’d be more than happy to explain more.”

  Confusion knitted his brow and he nodded. She gave him a sad smile. “My condolences.” Silently, she turned and walked away.

  The woman cut through the cemetery and climbed into a black sedan parked at a distance from the other cars. He squinted, watching her as she made a note in a booklet before driving off.

  His friends were waiting inside their cars. He slowly ambled past the graves to join them. Duce was in the back of the line waiting to drive out of the cemetery.

  Their caravan meandered through the narrow road lined with statues and mausoleums. He didn’t like leaving her here alone. His parents were dead, but he had yet to accept she was. It felt wrong, like he was abandoning her all over again.

  By the time they made it around to the other side, workers had already converged on his sister’s plot, making quick work of the burial. Gazing through the sad, faded reflection of himself in the window, he watched the workers press the plow of the backhoe into the earth and move the dirt toward his family. They were all in the ground and he was going somewhere else. Nowhere.

  Blinking back some unnamable emotion, his finger pressed into one of the button’s on the door. His eyes shut as warm air blew into his lungs. Breathing seemed all he could manage at the moment.

  This was what life amounted to, dust to dust and nothing but bullshit in between. Every monotonous move seemed worthless. He’d been swimming upstream against hard currents all his life and he was fucking tired. For what? To die like everyone else? He’d prefer God to just get on with it. Save him the hardships that came with all the pointless crap intended to waste the irrelevant time toiled away on earth.

  Chapter Two

  His friends’ intentions to get him wasted failed miserably. They returned to his trailer and sat in a somber row, milking bottles of domestic beer waiting for someone to break the ice. Turned out, there was no way to break that sort of ice.

  One by one they’d made their apologies and goodbyes and left him on his own. The following morning he woke up abnormally early. However, he had zero ambition to start the day.

  He sat on his couch for a while staring at the ceiling, waiting for motivation to strike. He was still in his friend’s suit pants and dress shirt. The crap from his pockets rested in a messy pile on the coffee table. When he spotted the business card from the woman at the cemetery he reached for it.

  He fished out his cell phone and dialed. The phone rang twice and switched over to a recording, which threw him into a bunch of automated prompts. What the hell was this crap? Did Noel owe money to the government? Was that what this was? Would he have to clear up some debt?

  He looked at the card and found the woman’s extension and entered it when prompted. It went directly to voicemail.

  “Uh, yeah, this is Shane Martin. I was told to call here.” He rattled off his number and waited, thinking of something else to say. When nothing came to him, he hung up.

  A while later he found the motivation to shower. Hunger gnawed at his insides, but there was no food in the trailer aside from pickles, questionable Chinese, and beer. He got dressed and headed out to find some food.

  He was in the deli department of the local grocer when his phone rang.

  “Hi, Shane? This is Tabitha Laramie. Is this a good time?”

  Shane stepped out of line and went to the bread aisle, which was less crowded. “Yeah.”

  “Thanks for getting back to me. I have some things we need to discuss regarding your sister’s case. Her caseworker was actually out of town last week, but she’s back today. Would you be able to come down to our office in Lakota? Joanne, Noel’s caseworker, would have to travel from Belmar, but she would be able to make it here by three. Once everything’s sorted out we can reassign the case—”

  “I don’t understand. Caseworker? Is this about the hit and run?”

  “Uh, no. This is about your sister’s living situation. We need to allocate guardianship and decide if the state should intervene as soon as possible. She didn’t have a will, but as her next of kin you’re automatically on our list of contacts in the event of a death…”

  As the woman went on Shane frowned. Whatever she was talking about was going right over his head.

  “…It would really be best to sit down with the caseworker and discuss all of this in person. As you can imagine, in cases like this, time matters quite a bit. We try to keep things as copasetic as possible for all involved. Would you be able to come down to the office today?”

  “Uh, where did you say you were located?”

  She gave him directions to the Welfare branch in Lakota. When the call ended, Shane was more confused than before it started. Had his sister been on welfare? She could have called him. He’d waited eight months for her to call, but of course she hadn’t. Nothing made sense.

  He was suddenly too exhausted to think. Abandoning the grocery store without making a purchase, he drove home in a daze. When he arrived at the trailer he was painfully hungry and tired. Lying down on his bed, he considered texting Duce to ask him
to go with him that afternoon, but it wasn’t Duce’s problem.

  He fell asleep and dreamt of screeching cars and screaming women. When he awoke in a cold sweat it was quarter to three. He quickly jumped out of bed and grabbed his keys, rushing out the door.

  Following the directions the welfare lady gave him, he found the office. Parking was a bitch. By the time he walked into the building it was three-twenty. He’d probably missed the people he was supposed to meet.

  There was a grumpy looking woman behind a glass window. Everyone in the place looked miserable. A line of people snaked here and there and he couldn’t figure out the beginning from the end. A red ticket dispenser stood beside a police officer who apparently enjoyed too many donuts.

  He eyed the officer as he pulled a ticket. Number two-four-eight. He looked around for any indication of what number they were currently servicing. On a black board with red pinhole digital numbers he found the number two-twenty-seven. Great.

  He crumpled the ticket in his palm and took a seat beside someone who looked fairly clean. His stomach was a mess and his nose seemed over sensitive. If this person was one of the better smelling people, he dreaded to think what the lady with the stained hat smelled like.

  The numbers ticked onward about one digit every ten minutes. He found a vending machine and grabbed a bag of chips. He was starving. By four o’clock he was ready to bash his head against the wall. Instead, he tossed his ticket in an empty coffee cup sitting on the floor and stood to leave.

  “Shane?”

  Turning, he spotted the woman from the cemetery. About fucking time.

  “Have you been waiting here all this time? We thought you didn’t come. You should have told the clerk you had an appointment.”

  Like he was supposed to know that. Would have been helpful information an hour ago. He kept his mouth shut when she smiled apologetically at him. “Please, come with me.”

  He followed her through a set of double doors and what looked to be a metal detector. They entered a small room with a plain wood veneer table and four folding chairs. A woman with black hair and severe, red painted lips smiled at him.

  “Shane, this is Joanne. She’s from our Jersey branch. Joanne, this is Shane, Noel’s brother.”

  Painted lips stood and extended a hand. He briefly shook it taking note of her soft palm and flowery fragrance.

  “Have a seat, Shane.”

  He sat down in the cool metal chair and waited for someone to explain what the hell was going on.

  “I’ve already said my part to Shane. Why don’t you go over what you need to, Joanne? You’re more familiar with the case.”

  Joanne’s painted smile was replaced with a much more serious expression. She perched a pair of half moon glasses on the bridge of her nose that hung from a chain around her neck, and withdrew a manila folder with Noel’s name on it.

  “Well, Shane, let me first begin by offering my sincere condolences. Noel was a sweet girl and although I only helped open her case, I do regret hearing what happened to her. However, being that I worked on setting up her assistance, the county thought it best I familiarize you with the proceedings. Although, you will eventually be reassigned to someone local to your district if you choose to proceed.”

  She glanced at him expectantly. Was he in the wrong room? He was missing something and decided it was time he ’fessed up.

  “Uh, not to sound like a complete ass, but I have no idea what this is about.”

  The women frowned. Tabitha smiled nervously. “It’s about Shane of course.”

  What? “I’m Shane.”

  “Well, yes, you’re Shane, but this is about Shane, your nephew.”

  He stilled. “My what?”

  “Your…Shane, were you not aware your sister had a child?”

  “A child?”

  Joanne nodded, a look of confusion on her face. “Yes, Shane Logan Martin.”

  “My sister had a son?” It had only been eight months.

  The women both stared at him.

  What they were saying sunk in slowly. “She had the baby?” he whispered. Jesus, she hadn’t gotten rid of it. Him. Shit. It was a he and he was his nephew. And she fucking named him Shane after him and Logan after their dad.

  “I hadn’t realized you were unaware of the situation,” Joanne said apologetically. “I just assumed… During the short period I spoke with Noel she mentioned you often. She said if anything were to happen, in the event of an emergency, you were to be contacted as Shane’s next of kin. I assumed you knew you had a nephew.”

  “Shane,” Tabitha intervened. “If this is an issue for you, we need to know now. As of the past week your nephew’s been placed in state custody. We were under the impression you’d apply for guardianship. If that isn’t the case we need to know in order to make arrangements for foster care.”

  “Wait,” he mumbled, shaking his head dumbly. “Wait just a goddamn minute. You expect me to be in charge of a baby?”

  “Of your nephew. You’d first have to go through the placement process with a caseworker, but once you proved a caring and capable caregiver, you would go before a judge and request sole guardianship.”

  “Where’s the dad?”

  “You’re sister never provided a name for Shane’s father.”

  “How old is he?”

  Joanne smiled kindly. “He’s two months. I have a picture if you’d like to see him.” She sifted through the file.

  Two months old? She was gone for eight months. Pregnancies usually lasted nine. That meant she might have been a lot further along than he expected. Maybe coming to him was her last resort. Oh, Noel. I’m so sorry.

  Things were moving so fast he didn’t have time to process the oncoming guilt. “Wait, where is he now? You said he’s in state custody. What exactly does that mean?”

  “He’s currently in an age appropriate cottage at an orphanage in Altoona, Pennsylvania where orphans are given temporary housing and care.”

  “My nephew’s in a fucking orphanage?” Both women drew back. Shane quickly apologized for his language. “Well, can I go get him?”

  “I’m afraid it isn’t that easy. You first need to fill out the required paperwork and have the proper background checks completed. We can expedite things, but then a notary of republic must authenticate your request for guardianship. You’d need to make an appointment with the district court. If everything checks out, you’ll go before a judge, agree to the allotted time, in which a caseworker will be assigned to report on your progress, and then an advocate from Children and Youth will advise you regarding permanent guardianship.”

  “Do I have to call him that?”

  The women appeared confused. “Shane’s his name.”

  “But it’s also my name. You said his middle name’s Logan. That was our father’s name. Can I call him that?”

  “I suppose you could call him whatever you want,” Joanne said slowly.

  “But will he answer to that?”

  The women were frowning again. “Mr. Martin, Shane is nine weeks old. He’s at a developmental stage where he’s just learning to open and close his fist over objects and can barely see beyond a foot in front of him. Have you ever been around babies before?”

  He bristled. “Not really. But how hard could it be?”

  The women exchanged worried glances. “You’ll be required to take parenting courses. However, due to the urgent nature of the situation and the space issue among the state facilities, the court will likely waive the prerequisite nature of those courses, allowing you to complete them during the time frame in which you already have custody. But might I suggest a few books you could read over the next two days?”

  Books? Shane hadn’t read a book since he was in school and even then he was more of a cliff notes kind of guy. “Yeah, I guess some kid books wouldn’t hurt. So, uh, what do you need me to do?”

  “Are you willing to apply for custody? This isn’t a simple process, Mr. Martin. Your entire life over the next sever
al months will be under the scrutiny of the state. You’ll have a caseworker who will be assigned to you and act as an advocate for Baby Shane. He or she will be required to report back to the judge on everything that happens between now and your final custody hearing sometime next fall.”

  “Well, what other choice do I have? I’m not going to let some stranger raise my nephew.”

  Joanne smiled, appearing proud of his decision. “Your sister did say you raised her after your parents passed on.”

  “I did. For a few years until she came of age. After that she sort of started doing her own thing.”

  “How is it you didn’t know she was pregnant?” Tabitha asked tentatively.

  Shane shifted in his seat. “We, uh, sort of had a falling out. Last I knew she was pregnant, but planned on getting an abortion.”

  “Well, I’m glad she didn’t. From what I hear, Shane is a joy. The women at the orphanage said he sleeps like an angel and eats like a little piglet.”

  He was glad to hear that. From what he could guess, all kids that age did was sleep and eat. He could manage that. It would be cool when it got bigger and they could play sports together. He—he corrected. Not an it. He.

  He grinned at the women. “Where do I sign?”

  Around five o’clock, just as the government building was closing down for the weekend, they finished up. Joanne gave Shane a picture of the baby who looked like every other baby he’d ever seen, and a list of reading materials he was supposed to study by Monday.

  As he climbed behind the wheel of his truck his face eased into smile for the first time in days. He was getting a piece of his family back. He didn’t have a fucking clue what to expect or what babies needed other than sleep and food, but how hard could it be?

  When he pulled into his lot, the roller skate sat outside his trailer. He walked inside and found Duce playing the game station and eating a pizza. “Hey, man, where you been?”