Cary pulled out her chair. “No one will miss me,” he said again.
Four
before
They were squeezed into the front seat of Cary’s mom’s car because the back seat was always full of junk. Like, bags of stuff that his mom bought at the thrift shop and then didn’t bring into the house until it was all broken from being sat on or thrown around. It was a bad cycle, but Cary tried to ignore it. Shiloh wondered if his house was like this, too. She’d never been inside.
Cary always drove, and Mikey sat in the passenger seat, and Shiloh sat in the middle. She leaned more on Cary, because leaning on Mikey would feel weird. And also because it wouldn’t bother Mikey.
It bothered Cary. Shiloh messed with him while he drove. There was a hole in the seam of his Army surplus pants, on the outside of his thigh. She poked at it, and Cary tried to pull his leg away. “Don’t rip my pants.”
“They’re already ripped.”
They were going to see a movie—Delicatessen. Omaha only had one art-house movie theater, and the three of them saw pretty much everything that came there. Mikey was into arty stuff. And Shiloh waskind ofinto it... even though most of the movies they saw didn’t make any sense, and they were usually sort of embarrassing. (European people smoking on balconies. Or having sex in dirty kitchens.) But the movies were confusing in a way that made Shiloh feel smart. Like, at least she knew enough to be there, on the cutting edge of something. Of the three of them, Cary was the most likely to walk out of the theater afterwards and say,“Well, that was garbage.”But he still kept going along. He still kept driving. Kept covering Shiloh when she couldn’t buy her own ticket. (Cary worked weekends at a grocery store.)
Cary always sat in the middle at the theater. Because he and Mikey had to sit together, to crack each other up. And because Shiloh had to sit by Cary, because she just did.
WhenDelicatessenwas over, Cary said, “I could have used less cannibalism.”
“Or maybe you could have usedmorecannibalism,” Mikey said. “There’s really no way of being certain.”
“All right, sure,” Cary agreed. “Either way, it had an unpleasant amount of cannibalism.”
“I think the cannibalism was a metaphor... ” Shiloh said.
“For what?” Cary asked.
“I don’t know. I’m just saying I think it was probably a metaphor.”
“Well, I’m hungry,” Mikey said.
Shiloh laughed.
“Where can we go where they might serve us people?” he asked. “Also I only have three dollars.”
Shiloh had one dollar. Cary had eight, but he had to save five for gas.
They went to Taco Bell.
They each got a bean burrito and then a Nachos Supreme to share. Shiloh and Mikey ate most of the chips because Cary was driving. She tried to feed him some, but he just frowned and shoved her arm away.
Cary had bony hands. Swollen knuckles. Knobby wrists. Chafed-looking elbows. He looked like he wasn’t getting the recommended daily amount of something. He was pale, and he had too many moles. Dark ones—even on his face. He was tall enough, and strong when he needed to be, but there was something stunted about him. Like maybe he got taller at the expense of some other vital function. Shiloh wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Cary only had one kidney. Or that he was digesting his own intestines. He should let her feed him some nachos.
Cary always took Mikey home first, and then he’d take Shiloh home. She and Cary only lived a few blocks apart.
Shiloh lived right across from Miller Park. It was one of the grand old parks that were part of the original city plan. It had a playgroundand a swimming pool and a golf course... (Who in North Omaha playedgolf?) There had been a few gang shootings in the park. And a few regular shootings. It was illegal to drive through there at night. Shiloh always tried to talk Cary into doing it, but he never would.
Sometimes they drove around for a while before he took her home. They were high school seniors now—they could do pretty much whatever they wanted. And neither of them had the kind of parents who kept track.
Cary lived with his mom (she was actually his grandma, it was a long story) and his mom’s fourth husband, who Cary wouldn’t even call his stepdad.
Shiloh just had her mom. Her dad had never been in the picture. Like, Shiloh had never evenseena picture of him. Her mom had boyfriends that came and went. It was always a relief when they went.
Tonight Cary drove straight to Shiloh’s house after Mikey’s—but he backed into her driveway, so they could look out on the park. That meant he wasn’t in any hurry to get home.
Shiloh didn’t bother Cary as much when it was just the two of them. She still messed with him just as much, maybe even more—but Cary didn’tgetbothered. He’d let her fool around with the car radio and tug on his pockets. Sometimes she’d play with his hair.
Back in middle school, Cary had always needed a haircut. His hair had been lank and clumpy. Now he paid for his haircuts himself, and his hair always smelled like apples. He’d let Shiloh fiddle with his hair, but if she pulled it, he’d shove her hand away.
