The street was four lanes wide, and he crossed them one at a time. People honked at him, and he ignored them. When he got to the other side, he kept walking.
It took forever for a break in traffic. Cary was long gone by the time Shiloh got across.
Seven
“So you’re Mike’s friend from the Army?” Mikey’s uncle was very chatty.
“From the Navy.” Cary was very polite.
“What’s that?” Mikey’s aunt asked. “This music is so loud I can’t hear myself think.”
“I can’t hear myselfeat,” the uncle said.
“The Navy!” Cary shouted.
“Well, we thank you for your service!”
“Thank you!” Cary glanced at Shiloh. He looked self-conscious.
“Does that happen to you all the time?” she asked, under the music. She was cutting her chicken. “Complete strangers just follow you around thanking you for your service?”
“You’re just jealous that no one thanks you for your service.”
“Your mom thanked me for my service last night.”
Cary snorted, and then started to cough.
Shiloh touched his arm. “Are you choking?”
He shook his head and swallowed. “It’s just lettuce.”
“So youarechoking?”
He shook his head again and reached for his water.
Shiloh watched him. She watched him too carefully. She was glad they were at this table in the corner of the room where no one would notice how wide her eyes were and how focused she was on him.
Up close, Cary still looked fresher-from-the-box than anyone else here. Maybe it was the sea air. Maybe it was not having kids.
They were both sitting a little sideways in their chairs, facing each other. He was heavier than she ever imagined he’d be. Not heavy, really. But there was no more rope and wire to him. There was a softness in Cary’s cheeks now and around his pointy chin.
Shiloh felt like she was combing his face and body for changes, like her eyes were hands. Or maybe shewasn’tlooking for changes—maybe she was trying to find all the ways that he was the same. All the ways she recognized him. The ways he was still Cary.
Shiloh was fiddling with a napkin. Cary looked like he was trying to think of something to say. Shiloh should beat him to it—she should try to keep it light.
“How did you all meet Michael?” the aunt called across the table.
Cary turned toward her. “We went to high school together.”
“You went to North?” the uncle asked.
“That’s right.” Cary looked down at his plate and picked up his fork.
“Mike went off to art school,” the man said.
Cary nodded and started eating his chicken. Shiloh turned to her own plate.
“Have you all seen his art?”
