She grabbed his finger. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
He pulled it away. “I’m not telling you what to do; I’m drawing a line.”
Shiloh poked his shoulder. “When you tell me what to do, it just makes me want to do it.”
“Because you’re irrational and possibly need meds. Don’t mess with my uniform.”
“Is it a federal law?” she asked. “Like mail tampering?”
“Yeah.”
“Liar.” She pulled on his sleeve. “Is this messing with your uniform?”
“Yes.”
She poked his arm. He ignored it. “I don’t needmeds,” she said.
“You need something.”
She poked him harder.
“Stop,”he said. “That hurts.”
“That doesn’t hurt.” She did it again. “Does that really hurt?”
“It doesn’t feel good.”
Her face fell. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.” She patted his shoulder. “Cary, I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
“Honestly,” she said, petting him some more. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay. Shut up. It’s fine.”
She smoothed his sleeve down. “Is this the uniform you wear all the time?”
“No. I’ve never worn it before. It’s a little formal. But we can wear it when we travel.”
“It’s nice. I mean, it’s nice on you. Can I take your picture?”
“Now?”
“Yeah,” she said, “before I ruin your fancy uniform.”
“I’m not letting you ruin it.”
She stood up and got a camera out of her desk. It was a little pink point-and-shoot. Shiloh always had a camera.
Cary sat up straighter. “Like this?”
She was looking at him through the lens. “Yeah. I’ll send you copies of these for your mom.”
“I think I should stand up.”
“Wait.” The flash went off. “Okay, stand up. Look official.”
Cary stood. He adjusted his tie.
