Sixty-One
When she and Cary finally stood up, Shiloh had a horrible feeling that all the actors and tech people were watching from the
wings, ready to applaud.
But everyone was gone except for Tom, who was standing just offstage, looking gobsmacked. “The house and restrooms are clear,”
he said, “and the under-eighteens have been signed out.”
“Great,” Shiloh replied. “See you tomorrow. Good work.”
“Good night. It was nice to meet you, Cary.”
“Thank you,” Cary mumbled. “You too. Good night.”
Cary and Shiloh were holding hands too tight, with their elbows too straight. He was letting her lead.
She dropped him off in the dressing room with his shirt, then went to change by herself in the women’s dressing room.
Shiloh wouldn’t say that she felt numb...
It was more like her ears were ringing in a full-body sort of way. When she got undressed, the diamond ring punched a hole
in her tights. Shiloh laughed. This wasn’t a dream, but it was just as nonsensical.
Cary was back in Omaha. And he wanted to marry her.
Shiloh had been trying so hard to manage her feelings for him for the long term: Sustainable friendship. No sex, minimal confessions.
And meanwhile, Cary had apparently been shopping for engagement rings. Beautiful, vintage engagement rings.
Shiloh still had her first engagement ring. It was too nice to throw out, but not nice enough to sell—and she felt like it
should leave her with a note in its file: This ring comes from a broken home. Personally, I don’t blame the ring, but maybe you’re superstitious. The good news, I guess,
is I didn’t die wearing it.
Cary’s antique ring might tell a similar story. She held it up to the lights around the dressing room mirror. The diamond seemed to float on a filigree bridge—straight lines, with a coil of rope winding through them. The band was only slightly too big. It wouldn’t fall off her knuckle.
Shiloh washed her face. She changed back into her not-very-platonic knit wrap dress. (When Tom saw what she was wearing tonight,
he’d called her “Backseat Betty.”)
She put on her own tights—carefully—and zipped up her boots. She didn’t take down her hair. There was spray glitter in it.
She’d have to wash it out.
Cary was standing outside the dressing room door. Straight-backed. Pale. With makeup still under his chin and along his hairline.
He reached for Shiloh as soon as she appeared—his arm around her waist, his eyes looking for hers.
“You hungry?” she asked.
Cary nodded.
It was too late to eat in a normal restaurant. They went to a diner a few blocks away that served loose-meat sandwiches at
a stand-up counter.
Shiloh wanted to ask about Cary’s mom. About his flight. About his plans.
But she just really couldn’t manage it. They both gulped down their sandwiches and fountain Cokes. Cary wiped his mouth after
each bite with a paper napkin. He wasn’t talking either, and he was looking off into space, not at Shiloh.
When they were done, they stood outside the diner, holding hands.
“I still have my car,” Shiloh said.
“I’ll follow you home.”
That made sense. He walked her to her car. Before she could get in, Cary kissed her. She kissed him back—desperately. As kisses
go, it was the equivalent of shouting at your kid because they’ve done something reckless, but you’re still so relieved they’re
alive.
What were you thinking? the kiss said.
And also, Thank god, thank god.
She held him as tightly as she could around the shoulders, and he held her around the waist. She stopped kissing after a while because it got in the way of holding him.
Cary was breathing deeply. “Shiloh, can I stay the night with you?”
“I... I think I need a minute.”
“Okay.”
“And the kids are home.”
He pulled away. “The kids are home?” His face had fallen. “You should have told me. We could have waited to go out.”
“I didn’t want to wait—I missed you. And I would have had to come into work tonight anyway.”
Cary nodded. Still troubled. Hopefully remembering that her kids were concrete, not abstract, and that he’d just signed up
for fifteen years of hard labor.
She wouldn’t hold him to it.
She was still going to offer Cary an out—probably several outs. As soon as she thought he might listen.
“Let’s get you home.” He opened her car door and touched her back as she got in. “Don’t get too far ahead of me.”
When they got to her house, Shiloh stopped Cary from getting out of his rental car. She stood by his door. He rolled the window
down.
“Do you have the kids tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yeah. Do you want to come over for dinner?”
“Yeah,” he said, then shook his head once. “Maybe. I have a meeting about my mom.” He still looked strung out. Sort of dazed.
She touched his cheek with her left hand. He immediately put his hand over hers.
Shiloh laughed. At nothing.
Cary closed his eyes and kissed her palm.
“Okay, Cary,” she said. “I’ll see you when I see you.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Somehow.”