“I trust you,” she said. “I just really enjoywatchingyou.”
Cary washed his hands. Shiloh washed hers again, too.
“Will you eat tuna salad?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She handed him the plate with the biggest sandwich and the most chips. He immediately picked up the sandwich and took a bite.
Shiloh watched him. She really did enjoy it.
“Let Mikey take care of the basement,” she whispered.
Cary looked in her eyes. He was still chewing. He nodded.
Seventy-Six
Shiloh and Mikey were back again Monday morning to help, and Cary decided not to fight it. Mikey went straight to the goddamn basement, and Cary didn’t even let himself worry about it—he didn’t even look down the stairs.
Shiloh had taken the day off work. She was out in the front yard, helping Angel load up a truck that Angel’s boyfriend had borrowed so they could put some of their stuff in storage. (Cary worried they wouldn’t have the money to get it out.)
Jackie was out there, too, going through all the new basement shit in the dumpster.
Mikey just kept dumping more on top. None of it was anything personal—it was all stuff that Cary’s mom had thrown down there to get it out of the way. Or stuff that people had left at the house and never come back for. Old washing machines. Boxes of moldy kids’ clothes. Broken glass.
Mikey said this was going to inspire some dark and beautiful art.
Cary was patching the drywall in the living room.
Shiloh came in, letting the screen door bang behind her, and said she was going to make sandwiches. She’d been feeding everyone for two days.
Cary set down the drywall knife and followed her into the kitchen. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, pushing her gently against the fridge.
“I thought you asked me to marry you.”
“We’re not married yet.”
There was a hole in Cary’s T-shirt. She poked his stomach through it. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you do this alone. I wouldn’t have, even if we were just friends.”
“I owe you,” he said.
Shiloh pulled on his shirt. She was making the hole bigger. “How many times are you going to make me say this...”
“Hey, Cary?” That was Jackie’s voice.
He gritted his teeth and pushed away from Shiloh.
Jackie walked into the kitchen, holding his ROTC saber. “Isn’t this yours?”
Seventy-Seven
Shiloh felt like the days with Cary were flying out from underneath her.
She wanted to spend every minute with him—shedidspend every minute thinking about him. She was a zombie at work; she kept apologizing to Tom.
“No worries,” Tom said. “Just—one day, you’ll come in, and I’ll be senior education director and you’ll be assistant education director. And it won’t be a problem. You can even keep your side of the desk.”
“That seems fair,” Shiloh said.
