“Thanks.”
He started a pot of coffee, then got a bottle out of the fridge and set it in a large measuring cup filled with hot water.
“Have you had him to a doctor?” Mr. Harris asked.
“Doctor?”
“Pediatrician?”
Gus frowned. “No. He seems to be healthy. I did add him to my health insurance.”
“He needs shots.”
“Oh. Here.” He opened the drawer under the phone and brought out the health department records Maureen had given him. “I think he’s taken care of until he’s six months old. But I guess I should get a doctor ahead of time, in case he gets sick, huh? Good idea.” He poured each of them cups of coffee and set the sugar and creamer on the table, then took the baby’s bottle out of the cup and shook it. “It says in the book it doesn’t still have to be heated at his age, but I figure straight out of the fridge would be a bit intense.”
“Book?” Mrs. Collins asked.
He took the baby from her and sat down. “I got these books, you know? About how to do this. I’ve been pretty nervous. But I’m figuring out mistakes I’m making. Like with the baths.”
“Baths?” She echoed.
“See, I was just taking him in the bath with me and holding him on my knees to wash him. I bought this baby soap. But in two different books it said the water has to be just luke warm—like what they call ‘elbow temperature.’ I wasn’t making it as hot as I normally would for just me, but it was definitely warmer than that. So I’ve been washing him in the sink there instead. Although I still don’t think that’s warm enough.”
The social workers exchanged looks of surprise, then Mrs. Collins said, “Probably okay to go a little warmer, especially since it’s February. But you could ask the doctor.”
“Yeah.” He was focused on the feeding child now, grinning as the baby wrapped his hands around the bottle. “Want to do it yourself already? I think I’ll stay in charge a bit longer. Plenty of time for that when you’re sixteen.”
The baby smiled back, bubbling some of the formula out around the nipple, then waving his arms a few times before settling in to sucking seriously again.
Gus looked up, saying, “I think he’s so amazing. I guess all new parents think that, huh?”
She gave him a sad smile. “Not all, no. But you seem to be a natural.”
Mr. Harris nodded agreement and stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Moore. If you have any questions or anything we can help you with, feel free to give one of us a call, okay?”
“I will. Thanks. Mind if I don’t…?”
“Stay right there. That’s fine.”
Mrs. Collins patted his shoulder, then added, “One thing. Would you mind giving us the name of the doctor once you find one?”
“Sure. I’ll ask my own doctor for a referral today.”
“Good.” She patted him again. “You’re doing a great job.”
When they were gone, he said to the baby, “You hear that? Those are the experts, and they think I’m doing okay. Maybe we’ll survive this after all.”
Chapter 4
The pediatrician weighed and measured and listened and peered into ears and nose and eyes, smiling the whole time. Then he started to check the baby’s limb movement, and the smile faded. “What happened to his leg?”
“Leg?”
“This wasn’t brought to your attention at birth then?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“See how this one moves freely? Something is catching… Let’s get an x-ray, all right?”
After the x-ray, they returned to the exam room for a long time. Fortunately, he had thought to bring a bottle at the last minute, just in case. Addison emptied it, then fell asleep tucked under his chin. The doctor must have been called away on an emergency. Surely they hadn’t forgotten him.
When the door finally opened, it was to admit a police officer as well as the doctor. The doctor introduced him, then said, “Mr. Moore, could you explain now about your son’s leg?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t know how his leg got broken? You didn’t notice that he had a broken leg? Didn’t notice that he seemed to be in a great deal of pain for several weeks?”
“Broken?” He frowned down at the sleeping child. “When? He hasn’t fallen…”
“No. A fall wouldn’t do this. The bone’s been twisted. Someone twisted it hard enough to break it.”
Gus sat up. “You’re saying someone broke his leg on purpose? A little baby?”
“So you’re saying it wasn’t you then?” the officer asked.
“Of course not! Oh my God! He’s a baby!”
“Mr. Moore, where is the baby’s mother?”
“I don’t know.”
The officer pulled a tablet out of his pocket. “So you have this baby with a broken leg that you didn’t know about, plus you seem to have misplaced his mother.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Moore, why did you bring your baby here, if you didn’t know he was hurt?”
“Just for a checkup. Mr. Harris suggested it.”
“Mr. Harris?” The officer wrote this down.
“Our case worker. From social services.”
“So Child Services has already had contact with you?”
“Yes. On Monday. Why?”
“That was my next question. Why? They don’t just show up unless somebody calls them.”
“I guess someone called them. Why don’t you ask him?”
The officer nodded. “I intend to. Doctor, do you have a back room we can wait in; get out of your way?”
“Uh, yes, of course.” He was studying Gus curiously. As they started out the door, he asked, “Mr. Moore, did you take your son away from his mother?”
“Take him? No. She dumped him on me. I didn’t even know. Didn’t know she was pregnant. We broke up in April.”
The officer frowned. “So when did she ‘dump’ him on you?”
“About two weeks ago. That was the first time I’d seen her… She just dumped him on my couch and left. My problem. I have her sister’s address. She probably knows where she is.”
The officer turned to the doctor. “The leg…?”
“Probably two months, at least. The bone is mending. It’ll need surgery.”
“Surgery?” Gus stopped.
“In here. You can use the phone there if you’d like,” the doctor said, gesturing to his office.
“Thank you.”
“Surgery?” Gus repeated.
The doctor looked at him sympathetically at last. “I’ll get you a good orthopedic surgeon lined up. He’ll be okay.”
Chapter 5
At home, he lay down on the bed with the baby and studied him. “What a life you’ve had already, huh? I’m so sorry I didn’t know.” Addison pulled on his offered fingers, then tried to fit them in his mouth. How could somebody deliberately break a baby’s leg? “The bone’s been twisted…” Jesus!
He thought about the day Maureen had left. She had been griping more than usual about how messy he was and the random hours he kept, and he had taken the passive aggressive approach of acting like he didn’t notice. He realized now that she was a few months pregnant by then, and probably in the throes of a major hormone crisis. All he knew at the time was that he’d been beginning to contemplate if it was worth putting up with all her bitchiness just for the incredible sex they had when they weren’t fighting. And he was thinking the answer might be no.
The night before had actually been a really good one. For once they had both had fun, going out to a movie and dancing, then coming home and making love. In the morning he could hear her in the bathroom being sick, but just assumed it was all of the wine she had drunk. He slept until noon, and got up to find her banging around in the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong! Look at this place! Would your arms drop off of your body to just wash a goddamn dish once in awhile? I’m not your maid!”
�
��I didn’t ask you to wash…”
“What, you thought the brownies would do it during the night?”
He made two bologna sandwiches and walked out without answering. She threw a plate against the wall. Then two more. Getting no response, she charged out to where he was sitting at his desk, turning on his computer.
“Oh, sure! Go play your little games! Let Maureen dig through the mess to find a chair to sit on. Let Maureen wash your smelly mountain of laundry!”
“Maureen lives here, too.”
“Maureen has a job she goes to! You know—work? You’ve heard of the concept, even though you’ve never actually tried it?”
He looked over at her with deliberate calm, then answered, “Maureen makes about $200,000 less a year than Gus does with that job.”
“Fuck you!” she screamed. “You think you’re so fuckin’ superior! I work hard!”
“Duly noted.”
“Why don’t you take your big money and hire a maid for this pigsty?”
“Because it doesn’t bother me.” He turned back to the computer and started typing.
“It bothers me! If you really loved me, that would matter to you!” She waited. He kept typing. Finally she demanded, “Do you love me or not? You don’t! You just like having a convenient fuck around, right? That’s all I am to you, right?”
He couldn’t bring himself to answer. It sounded awfully close to the truth.
“Goddamn you!” she shrieked, then charged forward and jerked the laptop off the desk in front of him. Before he had a moment to respond, she flung it at the television screen, which exploded.
He counted to three—ten was way beyond his grasp—then stood up and demanded, “Get the hell out of my house!”
She looked at what she had done in amazement, then registered what he had said. “You made me do it! You pushed me to it!”
“You’re insane! Get out!”
“You can buy a new one. It’s just a TV. Now you know how bad I need…”
“I need you to get out now, before I find out if the hard drive on that computer is damaged. Go!”
“But Gus…” She started to cry.
“No! Get out. I mean it. Get out!”
“My things…”
“Send your sister for them.”
She glared at him for a prolonged moment, then shouted, “Fine!” as she grabbed her purse and coat and slammed the door.
So was that what had happened to Addison? Had Maureen been having a bad day, and the baby did something to make her temper blow like that? He could see that. What he couldn’t fathom was letting him suffer afterwards. Why hadn’t she taken him to a doctor? Why hadn’t she at least brought him here right then? What if the damage was permanent now?
When the baby fell asleep, he moved him to the crib, then gathered a load of laundry. He needed to get back to work. He hadn’t done anything except check his email since Addison had arrived. It was hard to picture getting immersed in the fantasy of one of his games the way he used to, knowing he would have to change a diaper in a couple of hours. But he had faced harder working conditions than this before, especially when he had first started out and had to take odd jobs just to feed himself. He had gotten spoiled. He turned on the computer and reviewed the workup of the game he had been designing that fateful night. It was stupid. He wouldn’t want his son killing his brain cells playing it. He got out a tablet and a pencil, and started fresh.
By the time Addison’s crying distracted him, he had over 20 pages of notes, sketches, and bits of code. “Hey Shorty! Your dad’s a friggin’ genius! What do you think about that?”
Addison waved frantically, seeing him.
“You know what you need? Besides deodorant diapers, that is? You need a nickname. Something you can go by for the rest of your life, so that other horrible thing is between you and me and the U.S. Government. That’s our mission for today, okay? Now let’s make dinner.”
While the baby’s bottle was warming, he made himself two tuna fish and smashed Pringles sandwiches, then opened a bottle of Sam Adams beer to wash it down. He propped the baby in his lap at an angle that allowed him to hold the bottle and the child with one arm and feed himself with the other. Setting the beer back down after a swallow from it, he looked at his son and said, “How ‘bout Sam? That’s a decent name, don’t you think? Sam.” Then suddenly a childhood memory popped up from nowhere, and he grinned and recited the Dr. Seuss lines, “’Oh Sam I am! Oh Sam I am! I do not like green eggs and ham!’”
The baby waved his arms and blew bubbles out around the nipple, cooing happily.
“Awright!” Gus grinned at him.
Chapter 6
“Hey! Where’s the fire?”
Sam laughed and tossed his book bag at the couch, then ran into Gus’s outstretched arms and kissed him wetly. “Daddy, there’s snow! Can I go play at Jordan’s house? We’re gonnta build a fort and have a war with Mike and Angelo! Can Frodo come with me?”
Gus chuckled and stood up, lifting the boy onto his hip. “I think we need to give the snow just a little more time to accumulate. How ‘bout you eat your lunch first, okay? That way Frodo can finish his nap.”
The Saint Bernard groaned in agreement.
“Can I have beanie weenies? Can I have choc’late pudding?”
“Can you have chicken soup and a peanut butter sandwich? Sure.”
“Oh Daddy, I love you so much!” Sam hugged his neck tightly.
He kissed his cheek, then answered, “And I love you more so. But still no pudding on the menu. Run wash up, okay?” Gus set him down after another kiss, and watched him gallop down the hall, singing. Frodo groaned again, then lumbered to his feet and followed Gus to the kitchen in case anything fell on the floor.
There was a knock on the door just as Gus began to clear the table. Sam slid out of his chair and dashed to answer it, Frodo on his heels.
“Hurry up!” Jordan demanded. “They already started!”
“Let me get my big coat on!” Sam ran to his room.
“Hey, Jordan, what’s the news?” Gus asked.
“We’re gonna cream ‘em! We always win ‘cause we got the secret weapon.”
“Secret weapon?”
Jordan pointed at the giant dog. “He don’t care if they throw snow at him. He just goes over and pees on them. They quit every time. Mike brung his dog once, but it’s afraid of snowballs so we just chased it away.”
Gus laughed and rubbed Frodo’s head. “Glad to hear you’re good for something.”
Sam charged out, coat unzipped and boots unbuckled. “Let’s go!”
“Let’s finish dressing!” Gus suggested, snagging him. He zipped him up, buckled his boots, pulled his hat over his head, and held out his mittens. “Better?”
“Frodo don’t have to dress like this.”
“Frodo is wearing a hundred pound fur coat on top of his hundred pounds of blubber. To battle!”
“Charge!” the boys yelled, running out the door with the giant dog between them.
About an hour later, Gus took a break and stepped outside to check on the battle front. He was amazed how much snow had piled up already. Fortunately, his own driveway was fairly clean. He had trained the boys early on that for fort building driveway snow was a requirement because it wouldn’t have any rotting leaves or dog droppings in it, so the kids loaded up their toboggans from the nearest driveways for the construction project.
The forts were each about three feet high and circular in shape, with an extra mound of snow piled behind them for ammunition. The boys were sitting in their circles, pelting snowballs in each other’s direction. Most of the ammo fell several feet short of the width of the street that separated them. As he watched, Frodo barked happily and caught a snowball in his mouth, then looked around in confusion when it disintegrated. A gust of icy air drove Gus back into the house, where he decided to build a fire in anticipation of the return of his cold, wet soldiers. He had just gotten the blaze going good when suddenly there
was a shriek of metal against metal, accompanied by a honking horn, and chorused by screaming children. He bolted back outside.
A woman was climbing out the passenger door of a Lexus with the driver’s side crushed against the bumper of a Suburban parked on the street. Sam and Frodo lay on the ground in front of her car. Gus tore down the block as Mike’s mother raced out of her house. The woman from the car was crying hysterically, her tears mixing with the blood from a gash on her forehead and her nose. “I didn’t see him! The snow…! I looked down for one second for my sunglasses! Oh my God! Oh my God!”
Ignoring her, Gus dropped to his knees next to his family. Sam sat up suddenly. “Daddy! Don’t let Frodo die! Make him better! Please!”
Thank you! he offered in silent prayer, seeing the child unharmed. “Okay. Be calm. He needs us to stay calm so he doesn’t get scared. Okay?”
Sam nodded, gulping back his tears.
“Okay.” Gus looked at the dog, who raised his head slightly, whining. “Okay, Frodo. Good baby. We need you to see Dr. Welsch, okay?” He turned. “Jordan, is your brother home?”
“Yeah.”
“Get him. I need his help.” He turned next to Mike’s mother and gestured to the sobbing woman. “How ‘bout you take her inside and help her call the police or something?”
“Yes, of course.” She wrapped an arm around the younger woman and steered her toward the house. Other neighbors were gathering now, looking useless. “Okay, Sam, listen to me. I’m going for the car. Stay here. Hold on to him. Talk gentle to him. Don’t let him try to get up, okay? You understand? He needs to lie still.”
Sam nodded and lay back down with his arm over the dog, their faces together. Gus ran to the house, darting inside long enough to grab Frodo’s comforter off the futon he slept on. He backed out of the driveway carefully to avoid the gawking crowd, then stopped right beside the dog and opened the tailgate of the SUV just as Jordan’s brother and two of his friends arrived.
Sunflowers Page 2