She looked relieved—also disappointed. “Are you sure? I’m so sorry. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged me away from seeing you tonight...”
“This isn’t wild horses. It’s work. I’ll stay and watch the show.”
She smiled. “Yeah? You don’t have to. There’s a good Thai place right next door. And a coffee shop.”
“I’ll stay,” he said. “I want to see the show.”
His hand was falling away from her. Shiloh grabbed his wrist. “Cary.”
“Yeah?”
Her eyebrows were high. She looked like she was going to say something crazy. “If you’re going to stay anyway, will you help?”
His voice dropped. “What kind of help?”
Cary was going to play the Old Oak Tree.
“It’s mostly just standing,” Shiloh had said. But then she’d handed him a script and two protein bars and left him alone at her desk to learn his lines. He was eating one of the protein bars now. He hadn’t memorized lines in fifteen years... but he’d memorized plenty of other stuff in the meantime.
Shiloh’s friend Tom had looked doubtful about her pressing Cary into stage duty. That made Cary want to say yes.
The Old Oak Tree reallydidn’thave many lines. He mostlydidjust stand. And watch. And occasionally groan in the wind. He was supposed to have a deep, bark-covered voice. The show was for kids, but the cast was all adults. The script had Shiloh’s notes in the margins. Her familiar, disastrous handwriting.
Cary kept getting distracted by his own photo pinned up next to her computer. He hadn’t known how the photos would turn out when he sent her the film. He looked nervous in the picture. To his own eyes, he looked hungry. Maybe Shiloh hadn’t noticed—she must think he always looked that way.
Tom appeared, covered in brown felt and pipe-cleaner needles. “Ready to make your debut?”
“My Omahachildren’stheater debut,” Cary specified.
“Oh, sure, I’ve heard you’ve treaded the boards of the Pacific Theater...”
Cary laughed.
“Come with me,” Tom said. “We’ll get you in costume.”
Cary stood up. “There’s a costume?”
“You’re a tree.”
“I thought it was a set piece.”
“It’s both.”
Cary followed Tom down halls and staircases. Everything was built like a warren around the stage and the lobby. Cary wished he had more time to explore.
They ended up in a dressing room, where a woman was waiting with a bundle of branches. “This is Kate,” Tom said. “She’ll take care of you from here.”
Kate was cute. Small. Short, blond hair. A pierced nose. “You’re Cary,” she said.
He held out his hand. “I am.”
She pursed her lips and nodded—he realized her hands were full. “I amnotgoing to stick you with a pin,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Kate had Cary change into a long-sleeved brown T-shirt, and then she taped and pinned leafy branches to his arms. They were lighter than they looked.
“You stand inside the trunk,” she said. “It’s flexible. And there are places to rest your arms when you’re not moving.”
