By week's end it was clear Angie was gone for good, and Ryan needed to move in. He exchanged his near Spartan studio apartment for the baby-cluttered Sanchez house. They worked out a makeshift schedule. Ryan went to work before daybreak, and Arturo watched her until one when he went to work. Then Mrs. Brown, an older woman who lived down the street, came to babysit with her three year old grandson in tow. The Browns stayed until four in the afternoon when Ryan got home from work. Ryan and Arturo never exactly agreed on who should take care of her when she cried at night, it usually ended up being a test of who was the heavier sleeper.
Ryan's confidence grew by bits. He learned to feed, bathe, and diaper his baby. He still looked at her with wonder, but mostly when she was sleeping now. Her utter relaxation, slackened face breathing soft 'ohs', held him enraptured. Awake, she demanded more practical attention. He read to her until she squirmed away, played silly games with her, and rocked her until she fell asleep. He learned her particulars: she liked to watch for the mail truck but was scared of the garbage truck, she wouldn't sleep without her favorite blanket but her bear was negotiable, and she could be bribed with smashed bananas but sniffed at apple sauce. Most importantly, Louie trained him to tread carefully when her eyebrows drew close.
So Ryan was figuring it out but he always seemed to be in a mildly frantic state. Arturo wasn't sympathetic; he laughed at Ryan's stack of books and pointed at a smiling Louie as if that was evidence enough they were doing a good job with her. But there was always something new to learn and Ryan was worried that he was missing something bigger. She developed a habit of screaming and wrapping him around the legs when she wanted to be carried, and he usually gave in. Was this a phase? Because he didn't really mind picking her up but was he setting an irreparable habit? She hadn't done this before he moved in. And one day she liked spinach, the next she refused to even look at it or much of anything else. Was she eating enough of the right foods? After each incident he would redouble his study, reading the baby care books, taking careful notes and flagging pages late into the night.
In less than three weeks of fatherhood his credit card bill grew rapidly. There were the usual expenses and then there were the extras. He couldn't resist when she looked at him with wide eyes brimming with tears as she clutched a new stuffed animal in the toy store. He signed up for the childcare classes the community center offered, and hired a sitter so he could go. But those charges were a bet on the future, a relatively large bill that he didn't mind.
He took each topic: Understanding Your Role as a Parent, Developing Trust within the Family, Communicating within the Family, Building Self-Esteem within the Family, Understanding Parenting and Power, as seriously as he would have taken college classes. The child behavior classes fascinated him, some topics hitting too close to the Atwood home. If creating a safe and secure home ensured open loving children what did his childhood create in him? In the safe, dispassionate classroom he learned the roles they each had played in the gruesome Atwood family show. But he purposely concentrated on the future. Louisa would only benefit from his shaky start, he swore.
It was reassuring to hear that the mothers in the class had similar frustrations, and that a crying baby was not a sign of failure. Using techniques from class, he learned to comfort her in her playpen, play peek-a-boo with her so she would get used to the idea he would always come back. He gradually backed away from the playpen for growing minutes at a time. He also began to set limits, not giving in to her tantrums and encouraging her to communicate with hand gestures or words. And there were practical ideas on how to handle stress, too, seeing the signs, knowing when to walk away or when to ask for help.
The problems with the guys at the construction site, and frustrations about his job's limitations seemed trivial now. He laughed with the other men when they teased him, even fascinating them with his stories of living large in Newport. He had a new priority, and while the old worries were still present they receded.
Tired after day of construction, Ryan came home to a Louie that wouldn't stop fussing. On top of that he didn't have time to shower; Mrs. Brown explained she was sorry but couldn't stay late today. Ryan quickly changed his clothes and tried all his tricks- favorite foods, games, books, but nothing seemed to work. Her screaming grew louder and louder. The vein on his forehead throbbed, and the drywall grit felt like it was baked into his skin and itching him all over. He pleaded and pleaded with Louie until he realized he was shouting at her. He took a deep breath and plopped her unceremoniously into the playpen. Without turning around to watch her reaction, he went outside and paced in the front yard. He wasn't so sure he could do this, he thought. Louie's screams could still be heard through the open window. He lit up and power sucked a cigarette and started another. He knew he would never lift a finger to her, but he wasn't sure he could handle the everyday pressures without going crazy.
He smoked the cigarette to the smallest butt and went back inside. She was whimpering but she glanced at him for moment. Then she stuck her lower lip out, and turned her head away from him. Ryan smiled wryly; a pout wasn't fatal. He murmured a soft apology, picked her up, and planted his face into her tummy. He blew raspberries until she giggled. She seemed to catch herself, and glared at him before relaxing her stiff back to allow him to hug her. He smiled to himself, definitely a chip off the old block. Or was he imagining it? Could babies her age really hold a grudge? He would look it up later.
He felt her forehead; it was a little warm. He put his finger in her mouth to softly press against her gums. Another tooth felt like it was coming in. He coaxed her into letting him put some gel on her gums, and gave her a cold teething ring. Then he popped in her favorite Teletubby video and they sat on the couch together. He luxuriated in her momentary stillness, but was still dead tired. He had loads of laundry to do, a car that needed work, a banking statement that needed to be laughed at, ... the list could run on and on. He rubbed his face; he didn't see a way out.
He lit up again, blowing the smoke out of a cracked window. He had heard all the lectures about second hand smoke but knew it was the lesser of many evils - such has his head exploding. His phone rang. He laid a reassuring hand on Louie's back, and leaned over her to pick up his cell. He saw that the number was Seth's.
"Ryan?" The background on Seth's cell phone was loud with cars gunning and brakes screeching.
"Did you get my message?" Ryan asked. He had left an apology days earlier.
There was a long pause. The background noise was muted. "Yeah, you, me, we're all sorry… we okay now?" Seth said sounding hopeful.
"I guess you're busy studying," Ryan stalled.
"Oh, yeah, just another wild Friday night. A few frat parties I'm not invited to, Summer not visiting this weekend, and an overworked essay that shouldn't be reworded. Come on down, I got Grand Theft going…," Seth said.
Ryan smiled; the old familiar Seth had been missed. Without meaning to, he sighed audibly.
"Ryan, if you're sorry and I know I'm sorry then, we can fix things."
Ryan exhaled softly again. "It's just that things are kinda crazy here."
"Either you're sorry or you're not," Seth said with a subtle challenge.
"It's not that easy. I have some news, really good news b-but I need your help. Can you over tomorrow?" Ryan's voice cracked with uncertainty.
"You said good news?" Seth sounded just as uncertain now.
Ryan described his last two hectic weeks.
"I'm Chino bound, dude," Seth said seriously, belying his light words.
"I'll see you." Ryan gave him the address and hung up the phone. It felt good to be on the road back to Seth but talking to him he could hear the fear and sadness in Seth's voice, as if Ryan's life was over. Ryan put out his cigarette and looked over at Louie, sprawled on the couch. Things might never be the same, but they would be better. Maybe Louie and he should walk over to the grocery store for some ice creams. Tomorrow was soon enough for the long list of responsibilities.
Seth pulled up to the house late the next morning.
"So you're good? 'Cause she cries with strangers and is picky about how she likes to play with certain toys."
"Ryan, I can handle it and you are twenty nine and a half steps away if I can't. Don't worry, I have my babysitting certificate."
Ryan raised his eyebrows
"I needed it for sailing lessons," Seth explained. He was already on the carpet handing Louie a present.
"Okay then, I'll get started on my stuff… we'll talk later." Seth waved him away.
Ryan had felt better the minute Seth arrived. He had walked out of the house with Louisa in his arms to greet Seth. The last time they had met was about three weeks ago at the construction site when Ryan decked Seth. They exchanged some forgettable niceties but Seth's smile and hearty clasp where enough to tell Ryan they were good.
He spied on Seth a few times, between chores. "I'm almost done with the tune up. The laundry is on the line, and I just have to…" Ryan trailed off as Seth interrupted.
"Hey, watch this." Louisa held onto Seth's fingers above her head and took a step. She looked at Ryan and smiled at her own feat. "One small step for a baby," Seth said and swung her forward, "one giant leap for baby-kind." Louisa laughed and pushed Seth's legs to 'do it again'.
Ryan's chest swelled with pride. She was great.
Seth swung her as he continued to talk, "Here a little 411. It's a little acknowledged fact but Neil Armstrong messed up." Ryan waited impassively. "He should have said 'One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind. Literally it was just him taking a stroll on the moon, but there's not much difference between the words 'man' and 'mankind'. To emphasize his singularity should have inserted an 'a'."
Ryan only shook his head with a smile, and turned away. He went back to his 1989 Ford Escort's tune up.
Later that afternoon, he pulled out some beers for Seth and himself.
"Thanks for coming, Seth. I owe you."
"You did well, man." Seth looked down at Louisa on the carpeted living room. She was sleeping soundly where she had tired out in the middle of playing. "She beats a goldfish, but same idea."
Ryan only smiled again, and Seth ran on. "Ryan, thanks for trusting me, telling me."
Ryan nodded.
"Don't go thermonuclear, but I think you should tell Mom and Dad. They're there to back us up, that's their job. You are doing an amazing job with Arturo, but they'd be hurt not to help."
Ryan nodded, but noncommittal. For now he wanted to enjoy Seth's babble, Louie's quiet, and a cold drink.
The next week Ryan was enjoying a rare quiet night. Louie had gone to bed without a problem, and aside from a sticky spill that required localized floor mopping, there were no urgent chores that needed to be done. He was reading a history of architecture book he picked up the last time he went to the library when Arturo came home.
"What's with you?" Ryan asked immediately. Arturo's face was ashen and his eyes were bloodshot.
"Nothing," Arturo bit off acerbically, "Some people don't go around with a shit-faced grin all the time."
Ryan tried to laugh him out of his mood. "Can't help it. She calls me 'Papa' now," he said.
Arturo snorted. "She's called me 'T' for months."
Ryan's grin persisted. "It's all good, 'Turo. She played nicely in her playpen when I made dinner tonight. Spagetti if you want."
Arturo dropped into a seat across from Ryan and changed the topic. "What are you drinking, man?"
Ryan looked at his tall glass. "Mountain Dew."
"The fuck?"
Ryan shrugged indifferently. "Seth left a case."
"I don't want - that kid - giving Louisa all that fancy stuff. What she got already is fine," Arturo spoke haltingly, his face set in anger.
Ryan set his glass down. "Arturo, what the hell are you talking about? It's a lousy purple horse. You opposed to anatomically incorrect equine representations? Que paso?"
"Don't speak Spanish, ese. It pains me," Arturo said with a snort.
"I got Spanish tapes from the library. I want her to be fluent."
Arturo ignored him and looked away. "I got news." Ryan waited patiently, holding his breath. He knew something was up.
"I just want the best for Louisa, stuff we didn't get. Nobody will ever hurt her, look down on her," Arturo said fiercely.
Ryan's stomach sank, the bad feeling was only getting worse but he was still not sure where this was going. "Yeah, I know."
"Well, I got a raise." Ryan didn't comment, waited for more. "I'm getting transferred from night shifts to long-hauls. I might be away for days at a time."
"We'll work something out."
"No. I gotta be here for her."
"This is a chance up, something you wanted. Take it. It's real money for once." Ryan said the words but he was also realistic. It would be a big drain on their budget and he was worried about handling her by himself for that long. Arturo's extended family meant well but they had their own problems, and lived too far away to help with daycare. "I don't know how but we will work it out. I'll get a loan, maybe we can rent out the third bedroom… to someone who can help with Louie."
"Louisa," Arturo corrected absently. He stood up and went to the kitchen. Coming back with a Corona in his hand, he scratched his jaw, and stepped around the armchair. He looked sorrowfully at Ryan. "There's something else… Angie is getting back at me. She called Child Services on us."
An icy, cold chill ran up Ryan's spine. Nobody was going to get between he and Louisa. Without thinking he reached for his cell and hit the first number in its phonebook, the Cohen's. "I need your help," Ryan said.
Thanks again to Fred Smith for beta-ing!