Seventy-Five
Lois’s old kitchen was nearly empty. Shiloh scanned the cupboards for something she could make everyone for lunch. There was
white bread and canned tuna fish, and some pickles in the fridge. She ran home for mayonnaise and better bread and potato
chips and watermelon.
She fed Angel’s kids first, then Angel and her boyfriend. Then she went to get Mikey and Cary.
They’d spent most of the morning cleaning out the back porch. When Shiloh walked out there, Mikey was trying to get Cary to
tackle the basement with him.
“I checked it out,” Mikey said. “It’s a two-man job—there’s all this machinery and greasy shit... Fuckin’ Batman-villain
territory. Like, Alan Moore Batman, you know?”
“Yeah...” Cary was frowning. He rubbed his face with his T-shirt. There was a picture of an aircraft carrier on the front.
“I don’t know... Maybe not today.”
“But you’ve got me today,” Mikey said, holding out his arms.
“Yeah...” Cary shook his head. His jaw was locked, and his eyebrows were tense. He was squinting at nothing.
“Mikey, why don’t you start on the basement,” Shiloh suggested. “And I’ll help when I’m done in the kitchen.”
“No,” Cary said to Shiloh. “You stay up here.”
Mikey was looking back and forth between them. “I’ll just start on it now—I’m not hungry yet. I’ll clear a path.”
Shiloh took Cary by the wrist. “You, come wash your hands. I want to watch you eat.”
“You don’t trust me to eat?” He followed her to the sink.
“I trust you,” she said. “I just really enjoy watching you.”
Cary washed his hands. Shiloh washed hers again, too.
“Will you eat tuna salad?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She handed him the plate with the biggest sandwich and the most chips. He immediately picked up the sandwich and took a bite.
Shiloh watched him. She really did enjoy it.
“Let Mikey take care of the basement,” she whispered.
Cary looked in her eyes. He was still chewing. He nodded.