Thirty-Two
Shiloh waited until that night to check in with Cary. She got confused looking up the time zones.
“how’s it going?” she sent, after she’d put the kids to bed.
Cary didn’t text back right away. He was probably at work. Shiloh took a shower and climbed into bed. She had a stack of plays
to read for a youth competition. Her phone buzzed—Cary.
“Not great,” he’d sent. “They think my mom had a heart attack.”
“oh my god, i’m sorry. can i do anything to help?”
“No,” he replied. Then—“ Thank you.”
Shiloh stared at the phone, biting her lip while she tried to think of what to say next.
“I can’t tell how bad it is,” Cary sent. “I guess the doctors aren’t sure.”
“u getting good info?”
“Yeah. Angel has been helpful. She and her mom aren’t talking, so Angel has decided to ally with me. In a surprise turn of
events.”
“do u need allies?”
“And spies.”
“i’m sorry, cary”
“I owe you one,” he sent. “Again.”
“never”
Shiloh watched her phone, waiting, but that was the end of it.
She checked in, again the next night. “how’s your mom?”
Cary didn’t text back.
“Shiloh?”
She recognized his voice this time. “Cary?”
“I’m sorry I keep calling you in the middle of the night.”
She pulled the phone away to look at it. One a.m. “It’s not that late. What’s up?”
“I, uh...” His voice was faint.
“Cary? Is your mom okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, louder. “Yes and no. She’s, uh... still in the hospital. She’s recovering. I’m in Omaha.”
“Oh. Do you need a ride?”
“No, I rented a car. I’m just... My sister says I can’t stay in the house...”
“Do you want to come over? I can make up the couch.”
“Would that be okay?”
“It would be totally okay. Come now.”
“Okay. See you in a few. Thank you.” He hung up.
Shiloh sat up in bed and rubbed her face. Then she climbed out of bed. She was wearing a theater T-shirt. She pulled on some
pajama pants and grabbed a bra from the top of the hamper.
Her hair was pulled up. Should she do something with it? Should she brush her teeth?
No.
She wanted to get to the door before Cary knocked, so she went downstairs and opened it. Then she cleared the toys and throw
pillows off the couch. Junie’s dolls and action figures were everywhere. Shiloh kicked them all into a corner. She heard Cary
on the porch. When she looked up, he was standing in the doorway.
Shiloh smiled, carefully. “Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi,” Cary said quietly.
She motioned for him to come in.
He stepped inside and set down his bag, then shut the door so gently, it hardly clicked. He locked it.
Shiloh took a step toward him. “Come, sit down.”
“I can get a hotel room,” Cary said. “I wasn’t thinking it through.”
“You’re already here. Sit down. What do you want to drink?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“I’ll get you water.”
Shiloh went into the kitchen. Cary followed her. They both blinked when she turned on the light.
Cary looked awful.
Well. He looked very handsome. Straight-backed and square-shouldered, as usual. In a plaid button-down and navy blue windbreaker.
But he looked haggard and pale. His eyes were bloodshot. He hadn’t shaved, and she could see he had a little gray in his beard
already.
She turned on the tap. “Did you just fly in?”
Cary nodded.
“I thought you were at sea.”
“I was headed that way. I got emergency leave.”
“How long was your flight?” She handed him the glass of water.
He drained it. “Long.”
Shiloh took the glass and refilled it. “Have you eaten?”
“Yeah,” he said, but he shrugged as he said it.
Shiloh glanced around the kitchen, thinking. “Would you eat toast if I made it?”
“Yeah,” Cary said, with interest. “I would.”
“Okay.” She smiled at him. “Good. Go sit down.”
He didn’t. He followed her to the counter and sort of hovered while she started the toast—she had about half a loaf of good
sourdough—and got out the butter.
“I could do cream cheese and tomato...” she said, opening the fridge. “Or peanut butter?”
“Peanut butter.”
Shiloh grabbed the milk—and some strawberry jam and apple butter. The peanut butter was in the cupboard.
Cary watched her. Still hovering. Unsteady.
“You could sit down,” she said.
“I’m fine. I’ve been sitting for... twenty-seven hours.”
“You must be so jet-lagged.”
“Not yet.”
She spread Cary’s toast with butter, then peanut butter, and immediately put more bread in the toaster.
Cary ate over his hand. She got a cloth napkin out of a drawer and handed it to him. “Milk?” she said, holding up the carton.
He nodded. He’d already inhaled the first of his two slices of toast.
When the bread popped up, she said, “Peanut butter again? I’ve got strawberry jam and apple butter.”
“Apple butter. I never have apple butter.”
Shiloh spread the butter extra thick and then the apple butter. She put more bread in the toaster.
“This is enough,” Cary said, with his mouth full.
“I’ll eat what you don’t.”
Cary ate his third and fourth slices more slowly. He still hadn’t moved away from her. Shiloh made herself toast with butter
and jam.
“Thank you,” he said. “I was ravenous. All the restaurants in the airport were closed, and I just wanted to get home.”
Shiloh took a bite of toast. She loved toast. She was happy for an excuse to eat it in the middle of the night. She took a
sip of Cary’s milk, then refilled the glass. “They wouldn’t let you into the house?”
“My sister’s there. Jackie. She’s angry with me. I decided not to fight her on it—I don’t even want to stay there if Mom isn’t there. I hate that house.”
Shiloh nodded, chewing.
“I’ll get a hotel room tomorrow,” he said. “I forget when I come back to Omaha that I’m an adult. I can rent a car. I can
get a hotel.”
“You should be able to go home,” she said.
“What’s home,” Cary said indifferently. “My mom is home. The rest is...” He shook his head and shoved half a piece of toast
into his mouth.
Shiloh put two more pieces of bread—the last of the loaf—in the toaster. “I wish my couch was more comfortable. It doesn’t
pull out.”
“I’ll be glad to have it. It’s just one night.”
When the toaster popped again, Cary said, “I’m full.”
Shiloh buttered the last two pieces anyway and held one out to him. He took it. “This bread is really good,” he said.
“I get it at a pretentious bakery where no one likes me.”
Cary smiled. It was nice to see him smile. Shiloh brushed some crumbs off his chest.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’d return the favor, but...”
Shiloh glanced down. She was covered in crumbs. She held her toast in her teeth and brushed off her T-shirt, then her pajama
pants. “I’ll sweep tomorrow,” she said, taking the toast in hand again. “Or eventually.”
Cary reached up to her chin and wiped something off with his thumb.
Shiloh looked away from him. She smiled with one side of her cheek. “I haven’t gotten the bedding out yet. Let me do that.”
She finished the toast and washed her hands.
Cary watched her for a second. Then he screwed the lids onto the jam jars and picked up the milk carton. Shiloh thought about
warning him that the fridge was a mess, but he’d see for himself in a second.
She went out to the dining room and leaned over the cedar chest. She’d found it at a garage sale. It made their sheets and
pillowcases smell heavenly.
“You don’t have to make up the couch,” Cary said, behind her. “I think I’m going to sit for a while.”
She stood up, hugging a pile of bedding. “Do you want some company?”
He nodded. “If you can spare it.”
Shiloh sat on the couch with the sheets and blanket on her lap. Cary sat down next to her.
She turned toward him. They were basically the same height when they were sitting. “What time is it in your head?” she asked.
He groaned and ran his hand over his head. “Three o’clock in the afternoon.”
Shiloh leaned against him for a second, humming in sympathy. “Have you been able to talk to your mom?”
“Not since the night she went in. That’s why I decided to come home—the fact that she still wasn’t talking. Or that they won’t
let me talk to her, I don’t know.”
“Has it always been like this? With your sisters?”
Cary was rubbing his temple. “It’s gotten worse as Mom has gotten older, as there are more decisions to make. I’m gone, so
they think that I don’t get a vote.”
“And you think...”
“I think I should get all the votes.”
Shiloh smiled. “That seems fair.”
“It is fair.” Cary wasn’t smiling. “I’m the only one who’s thinking about her first. The rest of them only take care of her after
they’ve gotten what they want. If it’s convenient.”
She shifted her expression. “Sorry. I didn’t—”
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. I’m sorry. I’m tired and humorless. And”—he shook his head—“worried.”
Shiloh looked down at her lap, feeling useless. After a second, she took Cary’s hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back and
held on. She leaned her shoulder against his again, for a few seconds.
It was impossible for Shiloh not to think about the last time they were on this couch, kissing goodbye.
That goodbye seemed to have stuck. There was no danger of Cary kissing her now, nothing in the air between them—even though
he had come to her when he needed help. Even though he seemed to want her right next to him.
Maybe they were moving into another phase together. Something like their first friendship. Constant intimacy, careful boundaries.
Shiloh realized she’d be okay with that. She’d want it, if that was on offer—
Cary, back in her life again. A place in his life. Shiloh liked being an emergency contact. She just wanted contact . She wanted to pull those old warm feelings through the empty years and into the present. She wanted to repot them here and find them a nice sunny window.
Did Shiloh want to be the person Cary called when he was feeling low? Or even a person he could call?
One hundred percent yes. One thousand percent.
Especially if it meant she could call him, too.
She stroked his hand with her thumb. Shiloh could manage not to kiss him. She’d managed not to kiss him for the best years
of their friendship.
She would take Cary, as a friend. Halfway across the world but still in her sphere.
Cary’s thumb started moving on her hand. His shoulder sank into hers. Shiloh tilted her head toward him—and then felt his
head rest against hers.
She closed her eyes.
She could make this work.
“Shiloh?”
She startled.
“Hey... it’s okay.” Cary was sitting next to her. Her body was warm where she’d been leaning against him. “Why don’t you
go up to bed?”
“Sorry,” Shiloh said, sitting up. “Sorry. Let me help you make up the couch.”
“I’ve got it. Go to sleep.”
“Yeah,” Shiloh said, rubbing her face. “Okay.” She stood up. After a second, she looked back at him. “Good night, Cary.”
“Good night.”
Shiloh went up to her room. She plugged in her phone. It was 3:30 a.m.