Twenty-Three
before
Shiloh was home alone watching a Newlywed Game rerun when Cary came to her front door. (It was the end of her junior year, and her mom had decided that they couldn’t afford
cable. Shiloh watched so many game shows.)
Cary was standing there in his Hinky Dinky uniform, and he was holding a baby. He had another kid with him, too—his niece
Angel. (She was actually his half sister.)
“Hey,” Shiloh said, opening the door.
Cary’s white button-down shirt looked wet. So did his khakis. His tie wasn’t tied.
“Are your clothes wet?”
“I need a favor,” he said. “A big one.”
“Okay...”
“I’ve got to go to work, but there’s no one to watch Angel and Jesse. I can’t miss another shift.”
“Okay...”
“Will you watch them? It’s four hours.”
“Um,” Shiloh said, “sure. I mean... I don’t think I know how?”
“Just keep them from dying,” he said.
“I’ll try? I mean—yeah, I’ll try.”
Cary held out the baby. Shiloh took it. Him. Awkwardly. Cary handed her a bottle.
“Does this one need diapers?”
“Angel has them—but I just changed him.” He looked down at the little girl. Shiloh couldn’t tell how old she was. “Angel,
be good for Shiloh. Help with Jesse.”
Angel nodded. She seemed shy. She had the blondest hair Shiloh had ever seen.
“Cary,” Shiloh said, “why are your clothes all wet?”
He rubbed his forehead. “The dryer’s broken, my mom took the car, I’ve got to be at work in thirty minutes.”
“Did you try ironing them?”
Cary frowned at her.
“It won’t get them dry,” she explained, “but it’ll get them a lot less wet. And it’s faster than the dryer.”
He shook his head. He seemed overwhelmed.
“You can’t walk a mile in wet pants,” Shiloh said. “Come in.”
He did.
“The iron’s downstairs.” She pointed at the basement door. “By the washer.”
“I’m just supposed to iron them?”
“Yeah, slowly. But not too slowly. Like, you can still burn the fabric if you’re not careful.”
“I’m just going to walk,” Cary said.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “Trade you. Baby for pants.”
“He’s not really a baby,” Cary said. “He’s two. You can give him Cheerios.”
“I don’t have Cheerios.”
“I’m not taking off my pants, Shiloh.”
“I’ll go downstairs, and you can throw them down.”
Cary sighed. Shiloh shoved the baby into his arms.
When she got downstairs, she plugged in the iron. “Come on, Cary!”
His pants landed with a wet whump at the bottom of the stairs.
“I have ten minutes!” he shouted down to her. “Tops!”
“I’ll do my best!”
Shiloh focused on the inseams of his pants, where the damp would be most uncomfortable. Wisps of steam came up from the fabric.
Shiloh had done this for almost a year when their dryer was broken and her jeans weren’t drying fast enough hung over the
banister.
She was a little worried she might scorch Cary’s only work pants... but so far, so good.
Shiloh didn’t hear her mom come in, but she did hear her say, “What the hell is going on here?”
“Shiloh?” Cary sounded panicked.
“Mom!” Shiloh ran to the end of the steps. She knocked over the iron and ran back to it. “Mom!” she shouted. “I’m just ironing
Cary’s pants!”
“Why isn’t Cary ironing his pants?”
“He was afraid of burning them! Can you give him a ride to work?”
She could hear them talking upstairs. Cary must be dying . Was he hiding behind something? What was there to hide behind upstairs?
“ Mom! ” Shiloh shouted, more insistent. “Will you give Cary a ride?”
“Yes!”
“Cary, I’m going to put your pants in the dryer for twenty minutes!” There was time enough now. Her mom threw his shirt down,
too.
Shiloh didn’t actually see Cary before he left. She stayed in the basement and brought his clothes up to the top step when
he had to go.
Her mom gave him a ride to work, then came home and helped Shiloh keep Angel and Jesse alive. Her mom gave Jesse a bagel.
“Cary said he could have Cheerios,” Shiloh said. “Not a bagel.”
“Oh, that’s right, Shiloh—you had a dozen siblings once, but I killed them all with bagels.”
Her mom picked Cary up when his shift was over. “I guess it’s the least I can do for that kid. He does drive you to school
every day.”
Jesse needed a new diaper by then, but Shiloh decided to let Cary worry about it.
“I owe you,” Cary said, when he came in for the kids. With his red necktie knotted neatly at his throat and his name tag on.
“You don’t owe me,” Shiloh said. “You could never owe me.”