They must really love you, Betty Blue.
He didn’t say it. It would have sounded cynical, and that wasn’t how he meant it at all.
He slid the drawer in front of him open. Pulling out a courtesy phone on the end of a two-metre chain, he handed it to her.
Shoving his chair back, he put his hands behind his head and his feet up on the corner of the table.
Gene waited.
“If she asks, you might consider working for them again. You know, like eight, or ten, or twelve hours a day. Whatever they want, really, or whatever you think you can handle.” Gene paused thoughtfully. “Make sure you get a good rate, you know?”
As for the legal issues involved in the marriage, the unborn kid, or, was Mister Nettles even capable of informed consent, (what with his chronically-depressed mental state), none of it was any of Gene’s business. The pair looked like they would be having plenty of legal trouble without his help. They were getting sued fifteen different ways last he had heard, (half the world wanted a piece of that baby) and it wasn’t going to stop there. The city was also in the process of being sued fifteen different ways, but there were the usual legal cut-outs and no one was going to lose their home over it. None of the city employees’ wages would be garnished for life unto the next three generations. No one was taking Gene or the mayor to court and trying to take their first-born kid.
No doubt the Cartiers had some idea of being a part of the child’s life as well. Their present, and very generous attentions, were an easy-to-read indication of that.
She stared into his eyes, and in that moment, it was as if she was aware of his thoughts. She also looked very vulnerable.
Betty looked down at the phone. She uttered a deep sigh. With a resolute gesture, she punched out the number. Her eyes came up and she grimaced.
“Thank you.”
It was all she said.
It was enough—barely.
Gene checked his watch, but it seemed to have stopped.
He had… shit, he had four years, five months, twenty-something days and a few hours until he could
take early retirement.
Chapter Nineteen
Scott was knee-deep in changing diapers.
With little Eddie’s crib in the corner and the changing table right under the window, it was still an iffy thing. He’d barfed more than once doing this job. For some reason today wasn’t so bad.
“Hey, little buddy.” The squirming body kicked and fussed and Scott held onto a tiny hand, grinning from ear to ear. “Come on, help me out here.”
Eddie fussed and squirmed something awful.
It was getting on towards dinner time and Betty would be home soon. He’d better put some thought into that. Unwrapping the stinky diaper, he put that in the garbage. He rolled the kid over.
Scott mopped the poop off the kid’s backside and disposed of the wipes in the plastic garbage hamper. He took a fresh moist one and made sure Eddie’s ass was as clean as a baby’s bum.
He hummed softly to himself.
“I never thought I would live to see the day.” With a scratchy sound, the Velcro fasteners were done up and the kid was good to go.
The sound of the door came from the front of the apartment.
“Ah. There’s your mother now.”
Scott put the baby back in the crib for the moment, although Betty would be in there soon enough.
He went out into the living room of their new two-bedroom apartment, which was looking a lot better since they had re-painted.
He never thought he’d see that come to pass, either.
Thanks to the new, ceramic, but pretty good set of used eyes the Cartiers had given him as a wedding present, there had been a moment of horror when he saw the place, really saw it for the first time.
It was hard not to think less of landlords in general, but the truth was he’d lived like that for a long time and still hated the thoughts of his old life. He had a moment of wonder.
I wonder what my old place looked like after ten or twelve years.
“Honey. I’m home.”
They smiled into each other’s eyes.
“I’m positively famished. What’s for dinner?”
Scott threw his arms wide open, putting his chin down, turning his head and grinning like there was no tomorrow.
“Me.”
Her laughed resonated around the room and probably in other parts of the building.
“No.” She gazed hungrily into his eyes, and then down to where Scott kept the throbbing, big red rocket hangared. “That’s dessert—I need food, real food.”
The pair clung together in a bear hug as Eddie babbled happily in his crib. Already her eyes were sliding over his shoulder and seeking out the door to Eddie’s room.
Scott sighed. He let her go.
“So, it’s like that, eh. Off you go then. See your kid.”
Once last peck from her, and then it was off to the kitchen for Scott.
A house-husband’s work is never done.
“Betty?”
“Yes, dear?” They were already laughing and giggling in there and there was no end of nonsense from either one of them.
“Can you bring out that garbage bag when you come and I’ll take it down?”
No answer.
He would have to wait in suspense, then.
Pots and pans rattled and banged. There were some frozen pork chops, a few potatoes, and a couple of tall cans of Bud. They had the makings for salad and there were still a few soft-pack containers of formula for the baby.
You really couldn’t ask for much more.
END
About Louis Shalako
Louis Shalako began writing for community newspapers and industrial magazines. His stories appear in publications including Perihelion Science Fiction, Bewildering Stories, Aurora Wolf, Ennea, Wonderwaan, Algernon, Nova Fantasia, and Danse Macabre. He lives in southern Ontario and writes full time.
Louis Shalako
The Mysterious Case of Betty Blue Page 20
