Her mom was painting her nails in the small dining room between the living room and the kitchen. “Oh,really...”
“I’m sure it was unintentional. That smells toxic, by the way—open a window.”
“It’s too cold to open a window. Come right back, all right? I have to leave soon.”
“I will.”
“And don’t argue with him!”
Shiloh found a long cardigan buried under the kids’ coats at the end of the banister and stepped out of the house.
She almost got in the car, but then decided to walk. Cary’s mom only lived a few blocks away, and the neighborhood felt pretty safe on a Saturday morning.
Shiloh hadn’t realized that Cary’s mom was still in her old house. (Shiloh was always coming and going; she never really saw anyone from the neighborhood.) She was relieved to hear that his mom was still alive—her health had been precarious even when they were in high school.
Shiloh walked briskly, rubbing the leather wallet in her pocket.
This didn’t have to be painful. Cary might not even come to the door. Shiloh could keep it low-key.
She got to the house, and it looked exactly like it had in 1991, like the same kids had left their broken Little Tikes toys out in the front yard. The house was big and gray, with cracked siding and a chain-link fence that had seen many better days. Shiloh let herself through the gate, keeping an eye out for dogs.
They must all be inside—she heard them go crazy when she stepped onto the porch. She knocked on the door.
“I’m coming!” a woman called.
“Mom, I’ve got it,” Shiloh heard Cary say.
“I saidI’vegot it.” The door opened.
Several dogs hopped up onto the screen door. Cary’s mom was standing there. She was a heavyset woman with short, curly gray hair. She looked a little thinner these days—and more fragile. She was wearing an oxygen tube.
“Hi there,” Shiloh said. “Is Cary here?”
His mom smiled. “Is that Shiloh?”
“Yeah.” Shiloh smiled, too. “Hi, Lois. How are you?”
“Honey, look at you! Come on in.” Lois’s voice was breathy. “Cary, it’s Shiloh.”
She held the door open, and two of the dogs started jumping on Shiloh.
“Mom,” Cary said. He sounded frustrated.
“Come in, honey.” Lois touched Shiloh’s arm. “Don’t worry about the puppies, they like people. What can I get you to drink? I’ve got iced tea and Diet Pepsi.”
Shiloh let herself be herded into the living room. It smelled like cigarette smoke in here—but less like dog than she was expecting.
Shiloh had never been inside Cary’s house. The living room was crowded with stuff. Too much furniture, and piles of clothes and papers. The coffee table wasbrimmingwith pill bottles and drinking glasses, and a certain kind of decorative angel figurine—Shiloh thought maybe you could buy them at the Hallmark store. There were at least fifteen of the angels on this table alone.
Cary was on the landline, with the receiver tucked between his ear and his shoulder, and one hand holding the base of the phone against his hip. He was reaching for the dogs with his other hand, pulling them away from Shiloh and one-by-one shutting them behind a door. (Where they one-by-one went ballistic.)
“They weren’t hurting anybody,” his mom said, irritated with him, and settled with a “Phew” onto the couch. “Sit down, Shiloh. What a treat to see you, honey. Cary told me you work at a theater.”
“I teach theater,” Shiloh said. “To kids.”
Cary was still trying to get the dogs shut behind the door. The phone cord was stretched to its limit. There was a photo portrait of him, from when he first joined the Navy, hanging by his head.
“Isn’t that just perfect!” Lois said. She seemed genuinely delighted. Cary’s mom had never been anything but sweet to Shiloh, the few times they’d met. “You were always such a good actress.”
