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by RRP
The sun was fighting its way through a splattering of depressing gray clouds, when I ducked into the outlet center’s food court, my leather bag heavy on my shoulder. I had time enough for lunch, and knew that I might as well get some work done while I ate; nothing else to do, really. Not to mention deadlines.
A young lady, no more than twenty-five at best, followed me in. She pushed a stroller with one hand, and held the hand of a surprisingly calm four-year-old with the other. I paused to hold the door for her, and watched her struggle with diaper bag, purse, and children. She was obviously having more trouble with her cargo than I was with my simple bag, and I uneasily shifted the strap on my shoulder.
She would have been beautiful if she hadn’t looked so tired and worn down, but despite her obvious weariness she managed to smile gratefully at me for the small favor of door-holding. I returned the smile, and then froze– what if someone thought we were together or something?
Shaking off the thought as she disappeared to find a table, I strode up to my current favorite vendor, and placed my order. While standing there, waiting for my food, I saw her again– not ten feet away, at a table for four. The stroller had replaced one of the chairs, and the four-year-old boy was slumped back in another. She was rummaging in one of her bags for something, and came up with a battery-powered bottle warmer.
I watched, half-interested, as she put a bottle of formula onto the warmer and turned the small device on. I was close enough to overhear whatever she was saying, and eavesdropped simply to keep myself occupied. I felt a bit guilty about it, but ignored the feeling and let my instincts to pay attention to all the little details take over.
“There, Jackie.” She was murmuring to the baby, who I guessed was about five months old. “Just a minute now, and your bottle will be ready.”
I leaned against the vendor counter, and attempted to look like I was gazing somewhere else, while I watched out of the corner of my eye.
“Will, dear...” She had moved onto the four-year-old, and was digging in her purse as she spoke. “What do you want to eat? McDonald’s? I think I’m going to get a Caesar salad. You want chicken nuggets?”
The little boy put one hand to his stomach and shook his head, mumbling back, “Mommy, I don’t feel good...”
She looked worried, and put a hand to his forehead like any good mother would have. The motion was immediately followed by a frown, and she changed her tone from questioning to reassuring.
“Okay, Will. Let Mommy get her salad and we can leave, okay?”
He started to nod, but then slapped a hand to his mouth. I barely made out the words, but his actions were clear enough.
“Mommy, I think I’m gonna throw-up...”
And indeed, he was turned a rather sickly shade of green. Without a second thought, she snatched him up and dashed off towards the bathrooms, forgetting the baby entirely in her panicked haste. I kept an even closer eye on the stroller and it’s priceless contents now, a bit worried myself. My food was slapped down before me, and I fumbled with my wallet, trying to watch the abandoned infant at the same time.
To my utmost horror, it wasn’t even a full thirty seconds before I saw the stereotyped criminal lurking about the area. Unkempt, shoulder-length hair and grimy hands were the normal signs, and his cut-off t-shirt revealed multiple jail-style tattoos that only served as further testament.
Ignoring my food almost completely, leaving the change on the counter, I watched as he looked around and then went for the baby. Without any clear knowledge of how I got there, I was standing behind him as he leaned over the stroller, and I quietly asked the useless question,
“Are you his father?”
The man stood up straight, his back ramrod stiff, and he slowly, ever so slowly, turned to face me; guilt written all over his face. The look didn’t last for long, however– I didn’t leave it there.
My fist flew forward with even more force than I had anticipated, and I heard a wet crunch as his nose caved inward. Security guards were at my side in an instant, and I thought fast. I had to do something, and the last thing I wanted to do was get the poor lady in trouble for leaving her baby alone. She looked like she was already under enough stress.
“I...uh...” I stuttered. I couldn’t help it. Two of the trio of guards were dragging the half-conscious bandit to his feet, and the third was eyeing me, as if trying to decide how to approach me. The would-be kidnapper moaned as they dragged him away, and demanded ice and towels for his bleeding nose.
“Are you the child’s father?” The guard asked hesitantly, looking from me to the baby in the stroller, and back. By now, the baby had begun to wail and I took the opening.
“Yes...yes, actually...” I stepped forward, and without a second’s time to think about what I was doing, picked up the baby, and spoke to it as soothingly as I could manage. “Shh, Jackie,” I used the name I had heard the mother use earlier, and the infant apparently recognized his name, for he calmed considerably.
“Do you have any I.D.?” The guard questioned doubtfully, and I was racking my brain for ideas when I heard a shrill voice from a few feet away.
“Shame on you! Leave the poor man alone. It was the other fellow that was trying to take the child.”
“Do you know this man?” The guard turned to the little old lady that was rapidly approaching.
“Personally, no. But I saw him come in with his wife.”
So we had been mistaken for a couple. I bit back a laugh at the irony, and the guard seemed satisfied with the wrinkled little woman’s testimony. He nodded to her, and then to me, and turned to the other two guards.
“Take ‘im back, boys. We’ve got an attempted kidnapping on our hands.” They vanished into a door marked “Employee’s Only” and he followed, apparently intent on making sure they did their job.
The baby was still sniffling, and I wasn’t about to just put him down and leave him, not after what happened. So I picked up the bottle from the warmer, tested it on my wrist, and stuck it in his mouth. He latched on, and looked up at me with the biggest, greenest eyes I’d ever seen. I smiled at him, and fumbled the bottle and baby while I grabbed for my wallet, which I had thankfully put back in my pocket, though my change from earlier was still on the counter where I had left it.
I put the wallet on the table, and somehow managed to fish out some money.
Two minutes later, I had a salad to-go, some Children’s Tylenol, and two bottles of water. I sat down in one of the chairs at the chosen table, and let the baby guzzle down the milky formula. Only seconds after I sat down, the mother and son emerged from the bathrooms.
The four-year-old, who I remembered as Will, seemed considerably paler, and the mother even more harried than before. She spotted me, and rushed over, fire in her eyes.
“He was crying.” I offered as simple explanation, before she could even open her mouth. She blinked, and looked at the medicine, salad, and water, and frowned confusedly at me before helping the four-year-old into a chair.
“Will, honey. Take this medicine for Mommy, alright?” She reached for the Tylenol and opened it, keeping an eye on me all the while. He obediently accepted them, chewed and swallowed, and followed up with a sip of the water.
She came around to where I was sitting, looked down at me, and I looked back up at her. Wordlessly, I offered her the baby, and she quickly accepted.
By now, my own instincts were kicking in, and I exchanged places with her; she in the chair, and I on the other side of the table, feeling the older boy’s forehead, and then scowling as I caught side of my reddened hand, which was beginning to feel like it was on fire.
I pushed the pain aside, and set the diaper bag and purse in the back of the stroller, and the bag with the salad on top of those. Our silence continued on, and I mused that we probably did look quite the little worried family, as I hefted the four-year-old into the air and let him lay his head against my shoulder.
She stood, removed the bottle from the infant’s mouth, and placed him in the stroller, then led the way out of the food court, and into the parking lot.
An older minivan was waiting as patiently as cars tend to wait, four or five down the row. She fought to get the keys out of her purse, and opened the sliding door. I set the four-year-old in the back seat, and he curled up and drifted off to sleep almost instantly.
I waited as she took the baby and put him in a car seat, then retrieved her purse, diaper bag and salad and dropped them on the passenger seat. As I opened the trunk, and stowed away the collapsed stroller, it hit me how forward I had been, and briefly wondered if it was out of some version of necessity, or if I was actually getting braver.
She walked around the back of the van to get to the driver’s seat, and as she passed, she stopped and looked long and hard at me. Finally, she extended a hand, which I shook as she spoke. “My name is Charli. Thanks for all your help in there...”
“No problem.” I replied loosely, nodding a farewell to her.
“I probably owe you my baby’s life...it was a stupid thing to do, leaving him out there, all alone. I’m so glad nothing serious happened.”
I fought a grin and did my best to hide my swelling hand behind my back.
“Oh, geez... I’m thanking you and I don’t even know your name.”
I smiled this time, and stepped back while answering; she was making the same reverse path towards her driver’s side door.
“Broots.” I answered. “Jonathan Broots.”
