Simple Man Read online

He turned the page. “Here we go. During the second month infants might consume between four and five ounces.” He frowned at the container of formula. “How much is an ounce of formula?”

  “Tucker’s the ounce expert, not me.”

  Shane pursed his lips and turned back to the book. Baby Shane was still doing the Cosby on the yoga mat and now blowing raspberries. It was cute.

  “Here’s a warning about bottle feeding. It says it’s easier to overfeed from a bottle nipple than a human nipple because the hole’s bigger and I should never use a prop. Okay.” He put down the book and rubbed his hands together. “I can do this. Ready to eat, little guy?”

  The baby babbled up at him. He took that as a yes.

  At the counter he opened a container of formula and filled the bottle, then he noticed the measurements on the side. Four ounces was nothing, only about a third of the bottle. Dumping some back in the container, he stuck the extra in the fridge next to a six-pack. He needed to go to the grocery store.

  He placed the bottle on the coffee table and stood over the baby. With extreme care, he scooped him off the floor, supporting the back of his fuzzy head. He was warm and soft.

  A string of drool dribbled down his chin. “Okay.” Shane sat on the sofa and adjusted Baby Shane in his arms. Something expanded deep in his belly as if he just rolled down a steep hill. Baby Shane’s slight weight settled into the curve of his arm. “Does this look right?”

  Duce shrugged and stood back as though afraid to get too close.

  “Hand me that blanket.” The baby’s jumper remained undone like the tails of a tux.

  Duce handed him the soft, blue blanket and he carefully wrapped his legs. Staring down at his nephew, he smiled. He was looking back at him. Shane saw a world of trust in those small eyes, faith. If he tried to talk in that moment he would have failed miserably. Emotion welled up inside of him. The baby had Noel’s nose.

  Shane nodded. “The bottle,” he said in a soft, hoarse voice. Duce handed it to him. Leaning back, he tilted the nipple to the baby’s mouth. A few drops of white sprinkled on his porcelain skin.

  It only took a second for Baby Shane to latch on. His lips pulled with a tight force he wasn’t prepared for. Shane laughed. “You’re hungry.”

  Suddenly the baby opened his mouth and cried. Shane looked at Duce in a moment of panic. He tried to coax the nipple back into his mouth, but Baby Shane wanted nothing to do with it. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Look in the book.”

  He gently bounced his knee as Duce flipped through the book. Baby Shane continued to cry, growing more upset by the second.

  “Did you warm it? It says some babies prefer the formula slightly warm.”

  “It was room temperature. I don’t know. Should I have put it in the microwave?”

  Duce turned pages frantically as Baby Shane worked himself into a shrill scream. “No, it says not to microwave it because of hot spots.” He read silently then went to the sink and turned the water on high. Within moments it was steaming out of the spigot. He grabbed a plastic cup and filled it. “Here, give me the bottle.”

  Shane handed him the bottle and tried to soothe his inconsolable nephew. Duce dropped the bottle in the cup of hot water and they waited. He worried he was failing, failing his nephew, failing his sister. He needed to get this right. Feeding was part of passing Baby 101. He’d already conquered the poop fiasco.

  “There, try that,” Duce said, passing him the bottle.

  “Wait, squirt some on your arm. Moms do that.”

  Duce shot a line of white up his arm and stared at him. “Now what?”

  “I don’t know. What does it feel like?”

  “It feels like someone just squirted me with milk. What’s it supposed to feel like?”

  “Lick it. Is it hot?”

  “I’m not licking that! It’s imitation boob milk.”

  Shane rolled his eyes. “What’s the difference between that and milk from a cow’s udders?”

  “I don’t fantasize about cows. You’re gonna ruin boobs for me. You lick it.” He held out his arm.

  “I’m not licking your hairy arm. Does it feel hot? I think that’s supposed to test the temperature.”

  Duce grew frustrated and shouted over Baby Shane’s angry squalls. “It feels fine. Plug that kid up. He’s giving me a migraine.”

  Shane took the bottle and tipped it toward his nephew’s mouth. The baby shivered and latched on. He waited. The baby began to suck and continued this time. Shane smiled triumphantly at Duce.

  “The cup is key. Remember that next time.”

  They both sat, transfixed, watching little Shane guzzle down the formula. He made quiet clicking noises as he drank.

  “Are you going to change his name?” Duce whispered. “It’s kind of weird calling him Shane. Maybe we should call him Junior or something.”

  “His middle name’s Logan, like my dad.”

  “Logan’s a badass name. I think we should call him that.”

  Shane looked down at his nephew. His eyes were getting heavy and he was sucking less and less. “Logan,” he whispered.

  As Logan fell asleep Shane wondered if he should pull the bottle away. He gave it a little tug, but Logan’s mouth immediately tightened on the nipple, greedily sucking it back in. He laughed softly. “The boy can eat.”

  Duce chuckled. “Imagine if he was drinking out of the real package. What guy wouldn’t want some?”

  When the bottle was filled with nothing but air, Logan’s lips went slack. A small stream of white tinted slobber dribbled down his chin. Duce handed him a napkin and Shane carefully wiped it up.

  At some point they began communicating in charades. Duce motioned toward the car seat and Shane nodded. He placed it on the floor in front of him and Shane carefully tucked Logan inside. He considered the harness. He should be fine just sitting there. The kid couldn’t hold up his head. It wasn’t like he was going to leap out of it.

  He tucked the blanket around his sleeping face and they both sat back to admire their handy work. They turned at the sound of a car pulling up. Putting his finger to his lips, Shane stood and went to the door. It was Tucker and Sims. They went out front to meet them so as not to disturb Logan.

  “What’s up, Daddio? We got you a present,” Tucker said as he went to the trunk of his car.

  Duce joined them. The three of them pulled out a huge box.

  “What is it?” Sims went to the back seat and removed a bag that said Baby Bugaboo. “You guys bought baby stuff?” No way.

  “My mom said we should all chip in and get you something. Lisa helped pick it out. It’s a crib. Turns into a little person bed then somehow turns into a real bed, like a transformer,” Tucker announced.

  “I prefer to call it Decepticon Crib,” Sims stated.

  “Why not Optimus Prime’s Crib?” Duce asked. “Logan’s definitely one of the good guys. His crib should be an Autobot.”

  “You guys bought me a crib?” Shane repeated, shocked.

  “Who’s Logan?” Tucker frowned.

  “The baby,” Duce answered.

  “Either way, I’m pretty sure the crib was manufactured in Cybertron,” Sims said.

  “I thought the baby’s name was Shane,” Tucker said, confused.

  “We changed it. Logan’s his middle name. Less confusing that way,” Duce explained.

  “Can you do that? Just change the kid’s name?” Tucker asked as he dragged the box to the door.

  “I can’t believe you guys bought me this.” Shane was beyond touched.

  His three friends smiled. “Dude, that’s what friends do. You were in the ‘family way’, so we got you some kick ass kiddie swag. Wait until you see the blankets,” Sims said.

  They shuffled into the trailer and dropped the crib on the floor. Shane and Duce immediately shushed them. Tucker went to the fridge and popped a beer. The four of them gathered around Logan’s carrier and stared.

  “He’s so small,” Tucker commented.
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  “Maybe he’s part hobbit,” Sims said.

  “You think he’s small, but don’t be fooled. The kid can scream like a banshee and shits like a goose on laxatives.” Duce informed.

  They all looked at Shane who knew he was smiling stupidly. “What?”

  Tucker laughed. “You’re all glowy and shit.”

  Sims went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. “Where are we putting the Autobot crib?”

  “I guess in the bedroom, but we should probably put it together out here.”

  They all went about opening the crib and assembling it. Within an hour they were proudly admiring their work. Sims reached into the bag and said, “Check it out.”

  He revealed a crib set made of blue, yellow, and brown patchwork. There were little guitars stitched in the center and the word ROCK STAR emblazoned across the front. “No way! You guys are awesome. Thank you.”

  They carried the crib into the bedroom. Surprisingly, it took longer to dress the thing than it did to build it. They tried to make it look like the picture, but their bows were flat and it just didn’t seem to come out as pretty.

  “Shane, the kid’s doing something,” Tucker announced as he returned to the bedroom with another beer.

  Shane turned and bolted into the living room. Logan was doing his Bill Cosby. “Hey, buddy.” He carefully lifted him out of the seat and something fell to the ground with a splat. “Oh my God, what was that?” He looked down in a panic, thinking something fell off the baby.

  Duce used the hind hooks of a hammer to scoop up a soggy diaper. “His diaper fell off. Must be all that milk weighing him down.”

  The blanket fell to the floor. “Aw, look at his little junk,” Tucker said.

  Shane scowled. “Don’t look at him. Give me a diaper out of the baby purse.”

  “What the fuck is a baby purse?”

  “That bag over there,” Shane tipped his chin in the direction of the bag.

  “This is definitely not Autobot cool like his crib,” Sims said as he dug for a diaper.

  Shane settled Logan on his yoga mat and went to work on securing a clean diaper.

  “Check you out, all domesticated and shit.”

  Duce slapped Tucker in the chest. “Stop cursing in front of the baby.”

  “Ow, sorry.”

  When Shane had his diaper back on, he turned and balanced Logan on his knee, cradling him in the curve of his arm. “Guys, this is Logan. Logan, this is the guys.”

  Logan cooed and then immediately burped, a stream of white puke projecting onto Shane’s arm.

  “Aw, gross!” Tucker said, stepping back.

  Sims shook his head. “I had the same reaction when I met them.”

  Chapter Five

  The following morning Shane was exhausted. Apparently, someone forgot to inform Logan that nights were for sleeping and days were for exorcisms.

  After the guys took off Shane fed Logan his supper, which he proceeded to spew all over the couch. Shane was running out of t-shirts and the little guy was down to those one-piece things. He was also on his second container of formula. Four ounces his foot. He wondered how much that stuff cost, because as much as Logan drank, he only kept about a quarter of it down.

  He woke up with poop again around two in the morning. That was a trial. He acted hungry, but every time Shane fed him he puked. Sending a text to Duce, he asked him to come over first thing. Shane needed help.

  At ten o’clock he heard the roller skate pull up and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Duce came in with a box of donuts and some coffee, looking as well rested as ever. Logan slept, deceptively quiet in his crib.

  “How was the first night, Ward?”

  Shane narrowed his eyes. “I’m fucking exhausted,” he hissed, taking a sip of coffee. “He didn’t sleep at all.”

  Duce peeked at Logan and gave Shane a doubtful look. “He looks like he’s sleeping fine now.”

  “I guess so. He partied his ass off last night. He’s a total lightweight though. Can’t hold his liquor for shit.”

  Duce chuckled. He gestured to the book on Shane’s lap. “Studying?”

  “Yeah. I think Logan has this condition called co-licky.”

  Duce frowned and stepped back, his hand subconsciously going to the back of his neck and scratching. “Co-licky? What the fuck is that? Is it contagious? I just got over that weird stomach thing. I can’t afford to get sick again.”

  “I don’t think so. You have to be less than three months old to have it. It’s something to do with spasms of the intestines and inconsolable crying.”

  Duce, ever the hypochondriac, continued to itch his skin. “Sounds horrible. Maybe you should take him to the doctor’s.”

  “Well, he’s calm now. I don’t think he likes the formula, though.”

  “Well, I ain’t no wet nurse so he better learn to like it. What did you need me for?”

  Shane handed him a list. “I need you to go to the store for me. I’d go myself, but I don’t want to wake Logan and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to babysit.”

  Duce took the list and read over it. “I don’t know what half this stuff is.”

  “Just go to that kid store in Lakota and ask someone there to point you in the right direction. It’s all basic stuff. I only have a hundred bucks and I need food for myself too. Shit. I need to figure out something to do with him during the day. I can’t keep missing work.”

  When Duce left for the store, Shane climbed back into bed and dozed for a bit. He awoke to the baby screaming and quickly jumped out of bed in a panic. How long had he been crying?

  Frantically he went to the crib. Logan was beet red and angry. He also smelled terrifying. “Oh, no. Not again,” Shane mumbled. He went to get the baby purse and the box of wipes, which was getting very light.

  He rolled the yoga mat out on the floor and reached for Logan. Shane turned away and gagged at the smell coming off the little guy. “Okay, let’s get you cleaned up. I know, I’d be crying too if my butt smelled like that.”

  He placed him on the mat and unsnapped his onesie. This time it was yellow like mustard. He’d only wiped away half the mess when his fingers touched the bottom of the wipe box. “Oh, no.”

  He looked in the box and turned it upside down. “Shit!”

  Logan screamed, his cries coming faster and faster. Shane frantically looked around for something he could use to clean him up. His hair kept getting in his eyes, so he grabbed a hair tie and pulled it into a bun on top of his head.

  When he picked up Logan, yellow crap smeared down Shane’s shirt. “Oh, man!” He went to the kitchen and started the sink. That’s when he heard someone knocking at the door.

  He fished an old Zeppelin t-shirt out of the laundry pile and wrapped it haphazardly around Logan like a loincloth. “Don’t do too much damage, little buddy, that shirt’s vintage.”

  He opened the door and frowned. Who the hell was this? Avon calling? A prim blonde woman with a yellow cardigan stood on the other side.

  “Can I help you?” he shouted over Logan’s screams.

  She looked startled. “Mr. Martin?”

  “Yes,” he said impatiently, sensing Logan’s poop settling into the fibers of his favorite t-shirt.

  “I’m Katherine McAlester.”

  “Who? I’m sort of busy right now. Could you come back later?”

  Her frown turned into a scowl. “Mr. Martin, I’m from the DPW. I’m your caseworker. I’m afraid these appointments cannot be scheduled. We like to see the caregivers in their natural environment to get an understanding of how they’re handling things.”

  “Oh shit, you’re the caseworker?”

  She gave him a completely disapproving look. Great. This woman did not like him. “Yes. May I come in?”

  “They said you wouldn’t be here for a couple of days.” He backed into the trailer and she stepped in after him, her eyes landing on the pile of laundry, then conveniently settling on the stack of empty beers on the counter.


  “Sorry, I haven’t really had time to clean up.”

  She reached in her bag and withdrew a folder. “May I sit down?”

  “Sure.”

  She considered her options long enough to appear rude. Finally, she settled on the chair beside the sofa, which was probably the safest choice.

  Her body perched on the edge of the cushion and he could read the disgust in her posture. She clearly thought his place was gross. Her little feet in their tiny blue shoes pointed at him accusingly, all prim and proper. She was a snob. Great.

  “Is the baby okay?”

  “What?” he looked up from her feet. “Oh, yeah. I ran out of wipes. Also, I think he has co-licky.”

  “Co-licky?”

  He stood, rocking Logan who finally began to settle. “Yeah, it’s a condition some infants have that makes them cry inconsolably.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean the baby is colicky, Mr. Martin, as in he suffers from colic?”

  So he was pronouncing it wrong, so what? “Yeah. That.”

  She made a note in her paperwork. When she looked up, she sniffed and blinked.

  “Uh, we were sort of in the middle of a bomb when you knocked.”

  “Your faucet’s running.”

  “What?” He turned to the kitchen. “Oh!” He quickly left to shut the water off. When he came back she was standing. She hadn’t really moved far, but he could tell she was snooping.

  “How are you adjusting so far, Mr. Martin?”

  “You can call me Shane. I’m learning. It’s a lot more trying than I expected.”

  “Do you mind showing me where the baby is sleeping?”

  He smiled. “Are you asking to see my bedroom?”

  Her expression fell and she gave him a cool, unimpressed stare. Okay, no sense of humor.

  “This way,” he offered and led her to his room.

  A pile of soiled wipes littered the floor and the entire room now smelled like the dirty diaper he’d left on the yoga mat. “Watch your step,” he warned, pointing out the mess.

  Her brows lowered and she stepped back. He followed her to the living room and waited as she made more notes.

  “May I look around?”

  He assumed that was normal. Tabitha and Joanne had warned him he’d be under a bit of a microscope. “Sure.”