“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 getallthe votes.”
Shiloh smiled. “That seems fair.”
“Itisfair.” 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.
