Simple Man

  Shane shut off the game.

  “Aw, man! I almost had Sims score beat!”

  “You’re never beating Sims’s score, Duce. The guy doesn’t have a life for a reason.”

  Duce eyed him critically. “You look better. Where’d you go?”

  Shane popped a beer and plopped on the couch. “Did you see that woman at the funeral yesterday?”

  “The one in the black sedan? Yeah.”

  “Well, she said she had something for me, something to do with Noel. You’ll never guess what it was.”

  “From the look of your face I’d say it was something good. Did your sister have some money hidden away?”

  “Nope.”

  “A car? A new ride would be sweet. Your truck’s on its way out.”

  “Nope, not a car.”

  “What?”

  “Prepare yourself.” He waited a beat. “She left me a baby.”

  Beer sprayed from his friend’s lips across the table. “A what?”

  “A baby,” Shane repeated.

  “Dude, tell me you’re talking about a baby hermit crab or a baby chia pet or something, not a living, breathing, pooping human being.”

  “Oh, I forgot about the pooping.”

  “Dude, are you fucking nuts? You cannot have a baby!”

  “Why not?”

  Duce shook his head as if all the reasons were obvious. He held up his hand, a slice of pizza balanced between his thumb and forefinger as he ticked off the reasons. “One, you’re a glorified child yourself, except you can buy beer and get drafted. Two, you know nothing about babies. Three, you know nothing about babies! Four, this is a human being you’re talking about. I got you a plant for a housewarming gift and you killed it in a week.”

  “Sims killed that plant by using it as an ashtray. No one’s going to put ash on the baby. Come to think of it, there probably shouldn’t be any smoking around the baby at all. Their lungs are all miniature and shit.”

  Duce smacked his head. “Oh my God, this is worse than when they found Carlos in The Hangover. I can just see it now. You have to give it back!”

  Shane smiled and snatched a slice of pizza from the box. “Nope. I’m keeping it. Noel said if anything happened to her she wanted me to raise it. Him! Damn it, I have to stop calling it an it.”

  The door swung open and Tucker walked in. “What’s up, ladies? I got us some sweet salad greens for tonight.” He held out a fist and a bag of weed miraculously appeared. “Who’s mixing?”

  “You see? This is exactly why you can’t have a baby!” Duce yelled.

  “Whoa, who’s having a baby?” Tucker asked, his color slightly paling.

  “Shane is!”

  Tucker’s head tilted quizzically. “You preggers, bro?”

  Shane laughed. “Yes. I’m due Monday. I think you guys should throw me one of those parties girls have and buy my son some cool shit. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna want a sweet Powerwheels SUV and some hockey equipment.”

  “Okay, now you’re freaking me out, because I’m not sure you’re joking,” Tucker said. He faced Duce. “What the fuck is he talking about?”

  “Noel had a baby.”

  “What? Like a real baby?”

  “Yes, a real baby! And Shane here thinks he’s gonna raise it.”

  “I am gonna raise it,” Shane said then cursed. “Damn it, him! I’m going to raise him.”

  Tucker wasn’t breathing. He stared at Shane as if he had a dick growing out of his eye. “What?”

  He still didn’t move. Duce jumped back in. “Where are you even going to put a baby in this dump?”

  Shane frowned. “I’ll put it in the bed.”

  “Babies sleep in cribs, genius. My cousin just had a baby. You should see all the crap they require. There are swings and bouncing vibrating things, and cribs, and cradles, and netted box things to trap them in so they don’t run—”

  “Dude, you can’t have a baby!” Tucker finally squealed, a petrified expression on his face.

  Shane tossed down his crust and grabbed another slice. Standing, he took an exasperated breath. “Why the hell not?”

  Tucker shook his head rapidly. “Be serious! You have beer and questionable mayonnaise in your fridge. The other day I killed some bug in your bathroom that was a cross between a tarantula and a pterodactyl. People with kids don’t have shit like that in their homes. They have doilies and Dijon mustard.”

  “So I’ll upgrade my condiments and do a little decorating. The only reason I don’t have that sort of shit is because I’ve never needed it before. Having this baby will be good for me. It’ll give me something to stand for.”

  “You called it an it again,” Duce mumbled under his breath.

  “Damn it! Him! He will give me something to stand for.”

  Tucker looked highly concerned. “Why don’t you stand for doing the right thing and let someone who knows what they’re doing raise this kid?”

  All joking aside, Shane looked at his friends. “Because he’s mine. He’s my nephew, not some stranger’s. I have no one. I lost my parents. I lost my sister. He’s all I have left. The other day I actually considered drinking drain cleaner because I had nothing to live for. Today I have a purpose. It’s him. He needs me and I need him and I’m going to do whatever I have to do in order to keep him.”

  They were quiet for several minutes. When they spoke again it wasn’t in exasperated tones, but in pure curiosity.

  “What about chicks?” Tucker asked. “Having a kid around is going to majorly cramp your style.”

  Shane shrugged. “He’s gonna be a part of me. If some girl has a problem with that, then she isn’t someone I want in my life. He’ll be like a filter for crappy women. I’ll only let the good ones in. Besides, women dig babies. For all I know he may be a total chick magnet.”

  “What about work?” Duce asked. “Who’s gonna watch him when you’re working?”

  Fuck, he hadn’t thought about that. Living paycheck to paycheck didn’t really allow for much of a savings. He needed to work. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

  “You know you can’t take him on the job,” Tucker said.

  He tossed a piece of pizza crust at him. “No shit, wise ass. Look, I know I don’t really have a clue what I’m doing, but I’ll learn. This is what Noel wanted. I need to do it right. For her.”

  Duce sighed. “Jesus, this is like our last Goonie weekend. Everything’s going to change.”

  “I need a change,” Shane admitted. “Maybe we all do. Losing Noel was the last straw. I can’t keep letting life slip through my fingers.”

  Duce held up his beer. “To Noel. May this tiny part of her grow to be a piece of us all, so we never truly have to say goodbye.”

  Shane smiled. His friends were good guys. He held up his beer. “To Noel.”

  Tucker joined them. “To Noel.”

  Chapter Three

  Shane was a master of procrastination. “I gotta call out of work tomorrow,” he told Sims who sat like a relentless addict playing the game station on the floor.

  “Yup.”

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Nope.”

  Shane sighed and got up. He still had to straighten up his place, go to the library, skim over the books. He looked at his watch—twelve forty-five—he should probably get moving.

  “You’re gonna have to go,” he told Sims. “I got shit to do.”

  “Aw, man, just do your shit around me. I’m on level eighteen.”

  Shane didn’t really care if he stayed, but he knew so long as Sims was sitting around doing nothing, nothing would get done on his part either. He shut off the TV.

  “Fuck! Why’d you do that?” It was a rather dramatic response to having a video game shut off, but Shane had been there before. Sadly, he understood.

  “Seek help. You’re addicted. I gotta run to the library so you need to leave.”

  Sims stood and collected his phone from the table. “Library??
?s closed on Sunday.”

  “What? No, it’s not,” he argued, but feared his friend was right.

  “Oh, okay,” Sims said easily, telling Shane he didn’t need to argue because he was certain the library was closed.

  Fuck!

  “Shit. I gotta get those books about the baby. I’m supposed to read them before tomorrow.”

  “You can go to the bookstore.”

  “I can’t buy all those books. I already have to miss work tomorrow so I’ll lose a day’s pay. I’m gonna need to buy diapers and stuff.”

  “Just read them there. People do it all the time. It’s part of that new liberal-literature-coffee generation thing stores are doing.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” He checked his pockets for everything he needed and picked up his keys.

  “Trust me. Go to a bookstore and you’ll see tons of people sitting around reading books and drinking enormous cups of coffee. It’s weird. I think a bunch of hippies are trying to phase out bars with cafes. It’ll never work.”

  Their conversation had gone on about twice as long as it should have. “Okay, well, I gotta go. I’ll catch up with you later.” They walked each other outside and got into their separate cars.

  The only bookstore Shane knew of was far, so he drove past the library first. Sims was right. It was closed. He was also right about the coffee and books thing. Nobody seemed to have any hang-ups about reading a book that wasn’t paid for, so he found the first book on the list, What to Expect-Baby’s First Year.

  The book was huge, bigger than the Bible. Shane thumbed through it and saw a bunch of words he didn’t understand. He’d need to read a dictionary alongside it. Within twenty minutes he was completely overwhelmed.

  He looked at the back of the book. Twenty bucks! He really didn’t want to buy it, but it seemed like there was a ton of shit to know about babies. The smell of caffeinated drinks and paper was giving him a headache so he took the book to the register.

  The cashier rang him up and smiled. “Would you like a gift receipt?”

  “No, it’s for me,” he said and slid her his debit card.

  “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?”