Thirty-Nine
Cary texted again on Wednesday. Shiloh was at work when she saw it.
“Would you like to have dinner tonight?”
“i would,” she sent back, “but i have kids tonight, want to join us? i’m making split pea soup”
“Oh—I’m sorry. I must have done the math wrong.”
“you did math?”
He did math ?
Shiloh reread the text a few times, still confused.
Then her office phone rang—there was a problem with the fall catalog of classes. It took fifteen minutes for Shiloh and Tom
to sort it out.
She and Tom shared a long desk inside a big, open office where all the theater’s full-time staff members worked, including
the director. It was on the third floor, above the main stage.
Sharing a desk with any of her other coworkers would be untenable, but Tom was Shiloh’s right hand—and sometimes her left,
too. And occasionally her conscience.
Once they’d solved the catalog problem, Shiloh picked up her cell phone. Cary had texted back: “You said you had 2–2–3 custody. I looked it up.”
Shiloh stared at her phone.
Another message popped up: “I don’t want to take you away from your kids.”
She sent a reply without taking a breath. “that’s why i invited you over”
Cary didn’t immediately text back.
Shiloh and Tom went to a meeting about a cooperative program with the public schools. The meeting was an hour long and extremely frustrating. Shiloh got testy with the schools’ rep, and Tom made disaster eyes at her until she apologized.
When she got back to her phone, Cary still hadn’t texted.
Shiloh had thought of half a dozen snippy replies—but she’d also recalled that Cary was probably texting her from his mother’s
hospital room.
“it’s ok,” she sent. “maybe some other night”
Her cell phone rang. She answered it. “Hello?”
“Shiloh,” Cary said. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to come over, it’s really fine.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to—”
“It’s that you don’t want to run into my ex-husband?”
Tom was sitting across from her, typing. He raised his eyebrows without looking up and put on headphones.
“I...” Cary said.
“It’s okay.” Shiloh was rubbing one eye. “I don’t blame you. It’s not your mess.”
“If it’s okay, then why do you sound angry?”
“I’m not angry. I’m...” Her voice dropped. “Well, I know you don’t want to hang out with my kids—but it feels a little
extreme to google my custody arrangement just to avoid them.”
“I like your kids, Shiloh.”
“You don’t have to like them.”
“I’m just being careful.” Cary sounded sad.
“I know.” Shiloh rested her face in her hand. “I do know. I’m not angry. I won’t be angry. How’s your mom?”
“Better today.”
“That’s good.”
“I found a rehab place for her.”
“Oh, yeah?” Shiloh lifted her head. “That’s great.”
“I’ll tell you about it tonight,” he said. “When I come over for dinner.”
Shiloh laughed out a resigned breath. “Cary, it’s okay.”
“It’s your family,” he said. “If you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable.”
“It’s not about being comfortable —nobody wants to hang out with children unless they have to.”
Tom looked up then, like he was done pretending not to listen. “I object,” he whispered.
Shiloh put her hand over her phone. “Shut up, you get paid to hang out with kids.”
“Not much .”
“I take it you’re not alone...” Cary said.
“I am never alone,” Shiloh confirmed.
“How about this,” he said, “I’ll tell you if I’m ever not up for being around your kids.”
She gave in. “Okay.”
“Can I bring anything for dinner?”
“God no, from the hospital? Just bring yourself. The kids eat at six, but come whenever.”
“Okay.”
“Cary?”
“Yeah?”
“Ryan and I trade days all the time. Our schedule’s a mess. You can’t predict it.”
“I won’t try,” he said.
“Bye.”
“See you soon.”
Shiloh set down her phone.
Tom cleared his throat, taking off his headphones.
She turned away from him, to her computer.
“Cary, huh?” he said.
“Cary,” she confirmed.
“Cary like ‘Carrie Anne, what’s your game now?’ by the Hollies, or Cary like ‘Carey, get out your cane’ by Joni Mitchell?”
Shiloh snorted. “The latter.”
She heard Tom snapping out a beat. When she looked up, he was swaying from side to side on the other side of the desk. As soon as Shiloh met his eyes, he sang the first line of the Joni Mitchell song, giving it a jazzy swing.
Shiloh eventually joined in—she couldn’t not. She could never really say no to a bit, and she and Tom loved to sing. He was
a grown-up show-choir kid. She let him have the best line—“ Oh , you’re a mean old daddy, but I like you. ”
“Cary, Cary, Cary...” Tom said when they were done goofing. “Sounds like a big old mess.”
Shiloh swung back to her computer. “Yep.”
“Good for you, Shiloh.”