a woman female. I meant to say a woman. I’m originally from Russia. My English is not so good.” He smiled but, through all the hair, it was hard to tell.
“I understand. Is the fever accompanied by coughing, headache, body pains?”
“No, just sleeping and moaning.”
The woman looked at him strangely again. He hurried to amend his answer.
“I mean yes, pain. Body pains, but no coughing,” he corrected himself.
“Usually, fever is a sign of infection, and it’s important that the person be seen by a physician. Only a physician can prescribe antibiotics for an infection.”
“She will see a doctor tomorrow, but I want to do what I can now,” he lied.
“You might try giving her some aspirin. Keep her cool. Give her cold Ginger Ale to drink.”
“I also need to feed the baby. She's too sick to feed him.”
“Is this your wife?” The assistant observed the unkempt, tangled hair, the overgrown beard that pretty much hid the entire face, the large, hulking, intimidating physique, the brusque manner, and the language problem. She seemed doubtful he could score a wife.
“No, no. She’s my visiting sister from Seattle. She became sick on the way down. I know next to nothing about babies, and he'll need feeding tonight.”
The woman looked at him with sympathy in her eyes. “I understand. It’s not good for a sick mom to breastfeed a baby. We have excellent formulas that are easy to prepare. In fact, you'll be better off with a ready-made one that all you have to do is pour it in the bottle.”
“Yes,” he piped up brightly, “lots of those. Bottles too and anything else you have for babies. Diapers. Lots of them.”
“What size?”
He looked at her in confusion. “Size? Baby size. I said it’s a baby.”
The woman looked at him with pity this time. “Is it a newborn or a six-month-old or a toddler? Its weight determines the size of the diaper.”
Max was at a loss, his confused expression giving away his ignorance on the topic. “He’s about this big,” he said, holding his hands about a foot apart.
“You don’t know how old your nephew is?”
“Oh, six months,” he answered, taking a wild guess.
“And he’s only about a foot long? Usually, they’re born between 18 to 22 inches long.”
“Maybe I misjudged,” he backtracked, looking sheepish. “It is hard to tell when they curl up and sleep all the time. Besides, I have not seen my sister in a long time. I did not think to ask about the baby’s age. I’d guess he weighs about ten pounds.”
“Well, then I’d suggest you take the size after newborn. If they don’t fit, you can return and get the next size.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” he said, eager to escape the overly helpful woman. Max would have agreed to anything at that point, feeling incompetent and embarrassed by the woman’s pitying expression.
He left the drugstore minus a hundred dollars. He placed his purchases just inside his front door and rushed out again. At McDonald’s, he stood in line reading the menus and watching what other people ordered. When his turn came up, he faced an overweight teenage girl who did not look happy with her job.
“I want food for a child for three or four days.”
The girl looked at him in confusion. “We don't sell food by the day. Children usually like our happy meals. They like the little toy that comes with them.”
“Is the toy edible?” he asked in shocked disbelief.
The high-school girl looked him up and down. “Ha ha ha. Very funny.”
He was smart enough to realize that he was showing his ignorance and making a fool of himself once again. “I was joking,” he backtracked. She probably thought he was one of those homeless people with mental problems. “Happy meals, they sound good. Give me half a dozen of them.”
“You’re buying for six children?” Her snide, superior tone made him want to open a vein. Hers.
“No, just for one child.” He imagined himself reaching over, pulling her
“I understand. Is the fever accompanied by coughing, headache, body pains?”
“No, just sleeping and moaning.”
The woman looked at him strangely again. He hurried to amend his answer.
“I mean yes, pain. Body pains, but no coughing,” he corrected himself.
“Usually, fever is a sign of infection, and it’s important that the person be seen by a physician. Only a physician can prescribe antibiotics for an infection.”
“She will see a doctor tomorrow, but I want to do what I can now,” he lied.
“You might try giving her some aspirin. Keep her cool. Give her cold Ginger Ale to drink.”
“I also need to feed the baby. She's too sick to feed him.”
“Is this your wife?” The assistant observed the unkempt, tangled hair, the overgrown beard that pretty much hid the entire face, the large, hulking, intimidating physique, the brusque manner, and the language problem. She seemed doubtful he could score a wife.
“No, no. She’s my visiting sister from Seattle. She became sick on the way down. I know next to nothing about babies, and he'll need feeding tonight.”
The woman looked at him with sympathy in her eyes. “I understand. It’s not good for a sick mom to breastfeed a baby. We have excellent formulas that are easy to prepare. In fact, you'll be better off with a ready-made one that all you have to do is pour it in the bottle.”
“Yes,” he piped up brightly, “lots of those. Bottles too and anything else you have for babies. Diapers. Lots of them.”
“What size?”
He looked at her in confusion. “Size? Baby size. I said it’s a baby.”
The woman looked at him with pity this time. “Is it a newborn or a six-month-old or a toddler? Its weight determines the size of the diaper.”
Max was at a loss, his confused expression giving away his ignorance on the topic. “He’s about this big,” he said, holding his hands about a foot apart.
“You don’t know how old your nephew is?”
“Oh, six months,” he answered, taking a wild guess.
“And he’s only about a foot long? Usually, they’re born between 18 to 22 inches long.”
“Maybe I misjudged,” he backtracked, looking sheepish. “It is hard to tell when they curl up and sleep all the time. Besides, I have not seen my sister in a long time. I did not think to ask about the baby’s age. I’d guess he weighs about ten pounds.”
“Well, then I’d suggest you take the size after newborn. If they don’t fit, you can return and get the next size.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” he said, eager to escape the overly helpful woman. Max would have agreed to anything at that point, feeling incompetent and embarrassed by the woman’s pitying expression.
He left the drugstore minus a hundred dollars. He placed his purchases just inside his front door and rushed out again. At McDonald’s, he stood in line reading the menus and watching what other people ordered. When his turn came up, he faced an overweight teenage girl who did not look happy with her job.
“I want food for a child for three or four days.”
The girl looked at him in confusion. “We don't sell food by the day. Children usually like our happy meals. They like the little toy that comes with them.”
“Is the toy edible?” he asked in shocked disbelief.
The high-school girl looked him up and down. “Ha ha ha. Very funny.”
He was smart enough to realize that he was showing his ignorance and making a fool of himself once again. “I was joking,” he backtracked. She probably thought he was one of those homeless people with mental problems. “Happy meals, they sound good. Give me half a dozen of them.”
“You’re buying for six children?” Her snide, superior tone made him want to open a vein. Hers.
“No, just for one child.” He imagined himself reaching over, pulling her
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