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 didmath?
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 extremelyfrustrating. 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.”
