“It wasn’t you—it just wasn’t a great idea, I guess. We were both drunk on nostalgia.”
Her mom leaned against the counter. She was shorter than Shiloh, with shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair that she colored herself. She worked at the airport bar and was already in her uniform—black slacks and a silky black blouse with the top two buttons undone, a small gold crucifix hanging on a gold chain around her neck. “I always thought you were sleeping with Cary back in high school.”
“And I always told you that I wasn’t.”
“I didn’t believe you. I thought you were going to make me a grandmother at thirty-five—you were here all the time by yourself.”
“We were usually on the porch.”
Her mom laughed. “Do you remember that time I walked in—”
“Yes.”
“I wassure—”
“We were just friends. When do you have to be at work?”
“Eleven,” her mom said. “Time for you to take a shower and a breath if you want.”
Shiloh tried not to assume on a regular basis that her mom would help with Junie and Gus—she wasn’t one of those hungry grandmas who couldn’t get enough of their precious grandbabies. But she was more enthusiastic as a grandparent than she’d ever been as a parent. Shiloh had had to keep herself entertained as a kid. But her mom played dolls with Junie. She read board books to Gus. She’d take them both to the park across the street on her days off.
Shiloh’s grandmother used to watch Shiloh every day after school.Maybe her mom just saw this as the circle of life. The circle of single mothers. From that perspective, Ryan was the most active father ingenerations.
“Thanks,” Shiloh said. She finished the pancakes, eating the most misshapen ones herself, over the counter.
Then she went upstairs to take a shower. The bathroom was a mess of dirty clothes and bathtub toys. Smears of toothpaste. She was relieved that Cary hadn’t had to come in here last night. She cleaned up the worst of it while she waited for the water to get hot.
Then she stood, blank-headed, in the shower, trying to sweep away thoughts of Cary as soon as they rose up. Shiloh had already lain awake for hours the night before thinking about him.
It had been veryCaryof him to imply that he wanted more from her—onlyafterthey’d passed the point at which any more could happen.
It was like waiting for someone else to clear the table and then saying,“But I was going to eat that pizza.”
Was Cary right about Shiloh being headstrong and manipulative? Yes. Obviously. Was he right that she’d been too quick to judgment? Yes. Always.
But when had Caryeverindicated that he wanted something more with Shiloh?
Even last night, during his grand stand, he hadn’t shown her any cards.“What if I didn’t want an out?”he’d said. Yeah, whatif,Cary?
Shiloh shouldn’t have pinned all these deep, romantic feelings on seeing him again. (She should never have bought a new dress.) Maybe she lacked the imagination to see herself with someone new. Ryan was gone, and Shiloh had gone back to the only other person she’d ever loved.
Shedidhave other opportunities—of this sort. There was a single dad who volunteered at the theater who’d invited Shiloh to go on a bike ride... He was onlyslightlycreepy. And one of the costume makers at work, a woman, had asked Shiloh out to a concert after her divorce was final. Shiloh could probably manage to have sex again...
With someone who had far less destructive potential than Cary Saunders.
She’d opened herself up to the person with themostpower to hurt her—even Ryan couldn’t affect her like that anymore—and he’d torn through her like a tornado through a trailer park.
Shiloh wrapped herself in a towel and went to get dressed in her bedroom, digging out another theater T-shirt and another pair of jeans.
She picked up the books that Cary had kicked off her bed. Shiloh had a bad habit now that she slept alone of stacking books, and sometimes dishes, in the bed next to her.
She gathered up the work papers and dirty coffee mugs on her bedside table. She threw away Kleenexes and cough drop wrappers. She made a pile of clean clothes to put away and threw dirty clothes out into the hallway. The washer and dryer were in the basement.
She was reaching for her tights from the night before when she saw it, kicked under her bed—a man’s wallet.
She picked it up and sat on the bed. The wallet was brown leather, worn slick from riding in Cary’s pocket. She didn’t have to open it to know it was his—but she still did. She looked at his driver’s license in the clear plastic window.Cary Roderick Saunders. Brown eyes, brown hair.
Shiloh pulled her hair into a thick bun—even though it was still wet and heavy and would give her a headache—and headed downstairs. “Mom? Cary left his wallet. I’m going to run it over to him.”
