Cary was standing there in his Hinky Dinky uniform, and he was holding a baby. He had another kid with him, too—his niece Angel. (She was actually his half sister.)
“Hey,” Shiloh said, opening the door.
Cary’s white button-down shirt looked wet. So did his khakis. His tie wasn’t tied.
“Are your clothes wet?”
“I need a favor,” he said. “A big one.”
“Okay...”
“I’ve got to go to work, but there’s no one to watch Angel and Jesse. I can’t miss another shift.”
“Okay...”
“Will you watch them? It’s four hours.”
“Um,” Shiloh said, “sure. I mean... I don’t think I know how?”
“Just keep them from dying,” he said.
“I’ll try? I mean—yeah, I’ll try.”
Cary held out the baby. Shiloh took it. Him. Awkwardly. Cary handed her a bottle.
“Does this one need diapers?”
“Angel has them—but I just changed him.” He looked down at the little girl. Shiloh couldn’t tell how old she was. “Angel, be good for Shiloh. Help with Jesse.”
Angel nodded. She seemed shy. She had the blondest hair Shiloh had ever seen.
“Cary,” Shiloh said, “why are your clothes all wet?”
He rubbed his forehead. “The dryer’s broken, my mom took the car, I’ve got to be at work in thirty minutes.”
“Did you try ironing them?”
Cary frowned at her.
“It won’t get them dry,” she explained, “but it’ll get them a lot less wet. And it’s faster than the dryer.”
He shook his head. He seemed overwhelmed.
“You can’t walk amilein wet pants,” Shiloh said. “Come in.”
He did.
“The iron’s downstairs.” She pointed at the basement door. “By the washer.”
“I’m just supposed to iron them?”
“Yeah, slowly. But not too slowly. Like, you can still burn the fabric if you’re not careful.”
“I’m just going to walk,” Cary said.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “Trade you. Baby for pants.”
“He’s not really a baby,” Cary said. “He’s two. You can give him Cheerios.”
