Cary was standing at the dining room table. He waited for her to sit down, then took the empty chair between her and Junie.
“We don’t say grace,” Junie said. “We aren’t a church.”
“She means we don’t belong to a church,” Shiloh said.
Junie folded her hands. “But you can do it silently,” she whispered. “Like at daycare.”
“I’m good,” Cary said.
The kids both ate their soup by dipping bread into it. Cary seemed hesitant about the soup—but he was eating it. His hat was hanging from the back of his chair.
Shiloh’s mom asked Cary more questions about Lois. He told them about the surgeries and the rehab center. Shiloh’s mom knew someone who worked there.
Shiloh watched him talk. She was distracted by his bare arms—she hadn’t seen Cary’s forearms for fourteen years. (She hadn’t gotten a good look at them that night in her bedroom.) They were less wiry than she remembered. More substantial. Lined. Tan. His elbows were still knotty and chapped-looking. She felt almost painfully fond of his elbows. Like she might cry if she kept looking at them.
Shiloh buttered a roll for Cary when he didn’t take one for himself. She went to the kitchen to get the melon.
Gus was in a good mood, thankfully. He was usually in a good mood at dinner. He ate the butter off his roll and asked for more. Shiloh obliged him. The kids didn’t get dessert on weeknights, so she let them eat as much as they wanted at dinner. Watching her kids eat was one of the happiest parts of Shiloh’s day. That was probably biology working on her again. Her entire personality was dictated by hormones.
“This soup is great,” Cary said. He’d eaten most of his bowl.
“Thanks,” she said. “There’s more if you want it.”
“I’d take more.”
“I’ll get it!” Junie said.
“I’ll get it,” Shiloh said, standing up and reaching for Cary’s dish.
“Want soup,” Gus said. “Gus wants soup.”
“Gushassoup.” Maybe Shiloh shouldn’t talk about Gus in the third person—was that reinforcing the problem?
Shiloh set another big bowl full of soup in front of Cary. He knocked his shoulder against her hip. “Thanks.”
She touched his shoulder. “You’re welcome.” When Shiloh looked up, her mom was watching.
After dinner, Shiloh tried to get the kids to watch a video so she and Cary could talk. But Junie wanted to play a game—and she wanted Cary to play, too.
They ended up playing Chutes and Ladders while Shiloh’s mom washed the dishes. (She didn’t usually offer.)
Cary was quiet during the game. He let Junie run the show. Shilohalso usually let Junie run the show. Shiloh was an expert in playing Chutes and Ladders or dolls or even reading bedtime stories with one part of her brain, while another part of her brain whirred away on whatever was weighing on her at the moment...
Tonight it was Cary. As the game went on, Shiloh felt more and more regret about inviting him over and then making it hard for him to say no.
This wasn’t a reasonable way to ask Cary to spend his time in Omaha—when he was so worried about his mother. Shiloh wasn’t comforting him. Or supporting him. She was dragging him along on her single-parent marathon.
At eight o’clock, it was time to get the kids ready for bed. Junie made a big production out of saying good night to Cary, but she went upstairs without a fight.
“I’ll get Gus rolling,” Shiloh’s mom said.
“No,” Gus said. “Not tired. Not go to bed. No.” He was already working himself into tears.
Shiloh’s mom lifted him up and headed up the stairs.
“Grandma, no, you not know what Gus wants.”
“That’s for damn sure,” her mom said.
