“Already made an appointment,” says Jane. “They had a cancelation and they said they could see him in an hour.”
I’m floored. “You’re the best,” I say.
Jane just winks at me.
“I’ll see you later,” she says. “And don’t forget I want all the details about this afternoon.”
I blush a little despite myself, already giving too much away.
I spend a few minutes with Will, before getting him out of bed and dressed to go to the doctor.
The doctor is a woman I’ve been going to see since having Will. She’s older and competent. I like how she’s very professional, although she almost never cracks a smile.
She prescribes Will amoxicillin.
“Does it still come in that bubble gum flavor?” I ask.
Will looks curious at the mention of bubble gum.
“Don’t get too excited,” I say. “I don’t think it was that good. It was this weird pink liquid.”
“I’m afraid it does,” says Doctor Meeks. “That’s one area that we still need to improve on.”
I thank Doctor Meeks and head right to the pharmacy, taking Will in with me, since I don’t like the idea of leaving him in the car by himself.
We have to stand in line for almost half an hour before they give us the prescription. A surly pharmacist hands over the crinkly white paper bag.
“Thanks,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just glares at me.
Whatever, I guess he’s had a rough day. Maybe a lot of people are getting sick right now.
I swipe my debit card. I don’t have a good enough credit score to get any kind of credit card with reasonable rates. So the money comes right out of my bank account. But it’s a good reminder that I can’t be spending too much. Money has been tight since I got out of college. That’s just the way it is, though. It’s not like I’m going to complain about it too much.
I take Will back to the car.
“Here,” I say, finally managing to remove the safety seal from the antibiotic bottle. I pour him a capful and hold it to his face.
“Smells funny,” he says, scrunching up his face. He looks impossibly cute like that and I try not to smile.
“It’s good,” I say. “I used to take it all the time.”
“You said it was bad.”
“Trust me,” I say. “It’s really good. And it’s going to make you feel a lot better.”
I finally get Will to take down the liquid, and I start driving us home.
On the way back, I pass a group of people standing on a street corner. Each carries a picket sign that reads “McKinney for City Counsel.” They stand in place and don’t move much. They don’t look happy to be there, the signs of trouble and turmoil easily read on their faces even in a passing car.
I shrug and keep on driving.
We drive by one of Will’s favorite parks, but he doesn’t even look out the window.
“You want to hear some music?” I say, glancing at Will in the rear view mirror.
He nods.
I press the radio button and adjust the dial until the classical music radio station comes on. Will has always loved classical music, as well as jazz. It’s weird, but he just doesn’t seem to like music that has any words in it at all. I can vaguely remember being the same way as a kid. But my own childhood feels like it was eternity ago.
Will falls asleep to the sounds of the music. I think it’s Bach, but I’m not sure. I’ve never had the time to learn the names of all the composers or anything like that.
I think back, for some reason, to the books that Shane mentioned briefly. What were they? Ginsbrg or something like that? And some Spanish author? Robano or something like that. Frankly, I feel kind of dumb and silly for not know those authors. Or were those the titles of the books? I’m embarrassed to admit, even to myself, that I don’t even know that.
It’s not like I have a lot of time to read. Or watch TV. Or do just about anything that’s not taking care of Will, cooking for him. Or cleaning the house. If it’s not that, I’m at work.
When there’s the occasional slow shift at work, I might pick up one of the old romance books that’s been lying there forever and read a few pages. It’s something to take my mind off things, something light and maybe even a little silly. But sometimes I find myself getting so drawn into the story that I’ll take the book home with me and read it far later into the night than I should.
We arrive home and Will’s sound asleep. I carry him in my arms to his bed and tuck him in. I put the bottle of medicine in the refrigerator, after reading the direction carefully.
It’s getting dark outside, and I sigh as I enter the kitchen, realizing that I should cook something. But I’m tired. The days sometimes seem to just take it all out of me. I’m young. And I always think that I shouldn’t be tired.
Age is just a number, though. Usually that means that older people can act younger. But for me, it means that I feel sometimes older than I am.
But this afternoon, with Shane… that made me feel young. Like I was back in my last year of college.
My phone rings.
I rush over to get it. I don’t want the ringer to possibly wake up Will. Sometime he can sleep through anything. And sometimes he’s a light sleeper.
“Hello?” I say. I don’t bother to check the caller ID before picking it up, because I’m so concentrated on getting the ringer to turn off.
“Hey there sexy,” growls a deep voice.
It can only be one person. One man.
Shane.
I giggle, not quite knowing why.
I head into my room and close the door behind me.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” I say. I speak in a low voice so that there’s no chance I can wake up Will.
“I just wanted to check and see how your son was doing.”
“He’s a lot better, thanks. I took him to the doctor. He got some antibiotics.”
“Any chance he got that bubble gum medicine?”
I laugh. “He did,” I say. “I can’t believe they’re still making that stuff.”
“That’s good to hear. I loved the taste of that. Glad to hear it’s still in production.”
“Are you serious?” I say, laughing. “That shit is gross.”
He laughs. “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one. Because that’s one opinion I’m not changing.”
“I never knew you had such strong opinions,” I say.
There’s a pause.
“So that was crazy this afternoon, right?” says Shane.
“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“I know what came over me,” says Shane. “You.”
I laugh. “Gross,” I say.
“You didn’t think it was gross when you were doing it.”
I laugh.
“So you want to come over tonight? I’m don’t know about you, but I’m ready for round two.”
“Uh, I’d love to, but I’ve got to watch Will.”
“Oh, well maybe I could come over there then.”
“Uh,” I say. “I don’t know. It’s kind of a cheap apartment.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“I know, but there’s not really any… soundproofing, if you catch my drift.”
“Got ya,” says Shane. “Well, what about if I just come over and we just talk.”
“Just talk?” I say, laughing. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“I’m serious,” says Shane. “I don’t need to constantly get inside you, although of course I don’t mind… Are you sure we can’t just be quiet?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “The walls are pretty thin.”
“Do you have a porch or something?”
“I’m not doing it on the porch!” I say, laughing even harder. “You’re completely crazy.”
“I didn’t mean that. I just mean we could talk on the porch and not wake your son up.�
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“Oh,” I say, feeling a little silly. “Yeah, come on over then.”
“Great,” says Shane. “Text me your address and I’ll be over soon.”
“OK,” I say, but he’s already hung up the phone, presumably already halfway out to his car.
I put the phone down and slump down onto the couch. I’ve been standing up, pacing back and forth, the way I do sometimes when I’m on the phone and I’m nervous.
My mind turns to the whole confusion, the whole huge, muddy situation.
How have I ended up here? The father of my son doesn’t know he’s the father of anyone. And now I’m dating him? Or just hooking up with him?
I have no idea what’s happening. And I know that I need to tell Shane sooner rather than later. Maybe I should tell him tonight.
Yeah, I should tell him tonight. But my heart starts beating rapidly just thinking about doing that.
17
Shane
I leave the Jeep in the driveway and take the regular boring car instead. Not that it’s cheap. Just kind of boring.
I’m not even halfway out the driveway when my phone rings.
I check the screen, thinking that it must be Lia calling. Hopefully she doesn’t want to cancel. Hopefully she’s not getting cold feet.
It’s an unknown number.
I groan. I know very well what that means.
“What’s going on, Jack?” I say, picking up the phone.
“Hey brother,” says Jack. His voice is scratchy and he coughs twice after he speaks. He sounds like he’s twenty years older than he really is.
“Hey, Jack. What can I do for you?”
“Why you gotta start off like that? Who says I need something? Maybe I’m just calling to check up on my little brother.”
I sigh.
“Habit, I guess,” I say. “You never call me unless you need something.”
“Well,” says Jack, his voice turning slick, like a traveling salesman of junk. “Now that you mention it, I do have a little favor for you… Just a little one. Nothing major.”
“Great,” I mutter. “What is it this time? Another one of your scams? Are you selling vitamins, or trying to sell dolphins again? Remember how that ended up for you?”
Jack’s been in and out of jail more times than I can count. Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember whether he’s locked up, free, or on parole.
“No, no,” says Jack. “Nothing like that. I mean, I made some bad business decisions. But that can happen to anyone, right?”
“Sure,” I say, sarcastically. “I’m on the way to meet a lady friend. So make it fast, OK? Tell me what you need.”
I’m on the highway now, driving along. I pass a couple cars, moving over to the left lane to do so.
The night is dark, with only a sliver of the moon hanging in a cloudless sky. Some of the stars are out, rare for these parts. There’s so much light pollution these days that sometimes it seems as I’m living on a starless world, a little spinning rock in a huge void, nothing else out there at all…
“I need a place to stay,” says Jack. “I’m actually headed your way on some business and…”
“No way,” I say, without hesitating.
It may sound cruel. He’s my brother, after all. But he’s seriously screwed me over too many times at this point. He’s pretended he was me, while trying to make illegal sports bets. Shit like that could get me in serious trouble. He’s stolen my credit card numbers, and he’s even tried to steal my Jeep once. But he couldn’t drive stick, and got stuck in the driveway, after doing some serious damage to the clutch.
“Seriously?” says Jack.
“I’m serious,” I say. “You’re not staying at my place. I can help you get a room somewhere.”
“Forget it then,” says Jack, sounding hurt.
“Dude,” I start to say, before realizing that he’s hung up the phone.
I let out a big sigh.
I keep on driving. There’s no point in thinking about it too much. That’s Jack. He’s more than just a fuckup. He’s… I don’t know how to describe him. I just don’t have the words.
I’ve still got about ten minutes before I get to Lia’s house.
I can’t wait to see her. And it’s fine if we don’t have sex. I mean, it’s not fine. My cock is hard just thinking about her… But I want something else… I actually want to talk to her. And trust me when I say that’s rare for me. Like really rare.
For some reason, I start thinking about the book I’ve been reading. I’m sure the rest of the guys on the team are thinking about the upcoming game, or about getting laid or drunk. But with my mind half on Lia, the book by Bolaño comes to mind, The Savage Detectives, Los Detectives Salvages.
Bolaño was a Chilean poet and novelist who wrote in Spanish. His family moved to Mexico City, where he spent a lot of time before moving to Spain as an adult. He wandered around Mexico City, as a young virgin poet, before becoming moving in with a woman who worked at a café. At that same café, he would sit and write poetry and meet with the other visceral surrealists, a group that Bolaño himself was a member of.
Weird where the mind takes you sometimes. I can almost picture the scenes in my head.
I guess in a strange way the book is a sort of romance story, albeit a very odd one.
I pull up to her apartment building. It’s a somewhat drab looking, dismal building, to be honest.
I suddenly realize I don’t know much about Lia’s life right now. How’s she doing with money? Apparently not so well.
I get out of the car and survey the apartment building with a little bit of dismay. It’s not a terrible place by any means. It’s all right, certainly safe looking. But… there’s something wrong here.
I knock on the door and Lia appears before me, opening the door and letting the light from inside stream out onto the small porch.
“Hey,” she says.
“You look incredible.”
She blushes.
“It’s true.”
And it is true. She has this thing where she looks better each time I see her. It’s incredible.
“Come on in,” she says.
I walk past her into the apartment and look around.
It’s decorated nicely, somewhat simply. I can tell that the furniture isn’t high quality stuff. Not that I care about that, but I know she probably does, and I wish she had better things.
“It’s nothing fancy,” she says, looking a little embarrassed.
“No, it’s really nice. Feels really homey.”
I notice she’s speaking quietly, since she doesn’t want to wake up her son. I do the same.
“How’s he doing, anyway?”
“He’s still asleep. Hopefully he’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“What’s his name, by the way?” It feels weird to talk about him without even knowing is name.
“Will.”
I nod and smile.
“You want to sit on the porch?” she says.
“Sure.”
“I’ll get some wine and bring it out.”
I nod my head and head back out onto the porch.
I settle down in a cheap lawn chair and wait for her to come back out.
“Here you go,” says Lia, returning and handing me a glass of red wine.
“Smells good,” I say, taking a deep breath.
Lia settles down into the chair next to me. I notice that she pulls it along the concrete floor so that it’s closer to me. When she sits down, her leg rests partially against mine. It feels good, the physical contact with her.
“Sounds like you know a lot about wine.”
“Not really,” I say, laughing. “I’ve just seen that wine snobs do that. They smell it and then swish it around.”
Lia laughs. It’s a beautiful laugh, with her voice rising as she laughs, to some kind of perfect musical-like note.
“It’s actually just a cheap wine,” says Lia.
“Well, I’m sure they say that some of
the cheapest wines are the best.”
“I don’t think anyone ever said that.”
I laugh. “Maybe not.” I take a sip of the wine and swish it around my mouth. Not bad, for all I know. I’m more of a beer guy. It’s not like me and the football guys in college sat around sampling red wine. No, it was either beer, vodka, or whiskey. Occasionally tequila, if it was a really crazy party. Some of the guys on the team now I know are beer snobs, but personally I’ve never much seen the point in that. When I have a beer, I just want to relax and chill out. I don’t want to have to worry about the taste and whether or not I like it.
“Well,” says Lia. “It’s definitely not good. It’s from a box, not a bottle.”
I laugh. “I think they say that’s the worst type of wine. Not that I care. To me, wine is wine.”
“Me too,” says Lia.
We fall into a silence. Her eyes lock onto mine, and I see how they glow. I see their intense beauty.
Have you ever really studied someone’s eyes? They’re incredible, little biological jewels of pure joy. And when you’re staring into the eyes of someone you… someone like Lia, it’s a whole ‘nother world. I could get lost in her eyes.
She doesn’t break her gaze as I stare back into her eyes.
“So,” I say, after a pause. “Tell me about your life. It’s not like we got a chance to talk much this afternoon.”
“No, we certainly didn’t,” says Lia, laughing.
She starts telling me about her life. She tells me about work, and about raising her son. He sounds like a cool kid, although somewhat of a handful, as I’m sure all kids his age are.
The truth is that I don’t know much about kids. I haven’t spent much time around them, and I really couldn’t tell a 2 year apart from a 3 year old. I don’t know what they do at different ages. I don’t know when they start to talk or when they start to walk. I know they’re cool, pretty interesting, and that’s about it.
Maybe someday I’d like to have kids of my own. It’s not something I’d given much thought about until fairly recently. I mean, when I was in college, I never thought I’d have kids. And I mean never. But things start to change when you get older. Just a couple years can make a huge difference. I know I’m more mature now than I was back then.
“Sounds like you’ve been having kind of a hard time of things,” I say.
Quarterback's Baby: A Secret Baby Romance Page 10