The Science of Growing Apart

3- Shiloh

When I had lunch meetings, I liked to eat a little bit before going, so that I could order something small at the meetup. It allowed me more time to ask questions and have conversations if necessary and if the meeting turned out to be a dud, eating all of my food quickly was an easy way to end the meeting early.

For the meeting that day, I arrived at the small deli down the street from my office slightly earlier than the planned meet time to allow myself to order half a sandwich and a cookie before finding an empty two seater table in the corner of the room.

I always brought meetings to the deli, as it was an open, public space and close to work. I had this routine down to a science, and felt ready for whatever this person had to ask from me.

"Are you Josie?" Right on time, the timid voice of a young woman caught my attention. The brunette girl towered over me where I sat in my seat, so I quickly stood up and offered her a friendly smile.

"Yes, hi, Shiloh. It's nice to meet you," I offered my hand to shake, and she accepted by wrapping her cold, bony hand around mine for a stern shake. We both sat down, me with my sandwich on the table and it looked like Shiloh already had a plate of food that she was placing in front of her.

"Thank you for meeting with me today," she responded. "I'm not going to lie... I'm kind of nervous about talking to a reporter."

"I can assure you, there's no reason to worry. Whatever you tell me will be confidential and if it gets published, it can be anonymous," I assured her, feeling more and more curious about what she had to say. In our email correspondence before that day, I confirmed that she was eighteen, therefore I could ethically take her statement-- whatever that may be-- but felt surprised that she was an adult. She had a very round, soft face with gentle features that made her look younger than she really was.

"That's good to know," she exhaled.

"Can I ask, how did you find my name?" I wondered curiously.

"Well, that's the thing," she said, picking anxiously at a string falling from the hem of her tee shirt sleeve. "I was doing some research on Silas Barkley, the politician. And your name kept coming up in the articles."

I nodded along, as I knew what she was referring to. Back in high school and college as I found my passion for journalism, I did self-publish many articles bashing the senator. I knew things about his past that I would never publish to the public, but I used that rage I felt toward him to bash his public life, policies, and make notice of any slip ups he may have had.

These articles were mostly just practice for me, and never really took off or got much attention, so I was surprised that they'd come up in Shiloh's search.

"So I figured maybe you would be a good person to turn to with this information," she continued. Her big brown eyes began darting around the room, as if trying to make sure that nobody else was paying attention or could hear what she was saying. "He's not a good guy. At all."

"I know, he's a real piece of work," I agreed with her. "Do you know him personally?"

"Kind of? Not really. My mom did, though. Nineteen years ago," she explained to me, waiting and watching my reaction to what she said. It took me a moment too long to understand what she was implying.

"Oh," I finally said. "Are you saying that you're his..."

"Yes," she looked down at her plate, looking almost ashamed to admit that fact out loud. "He knocked up my mom, made her believe that they'd have a real future together, and then disappeared after she got pregnant. I've always wanted to expose him for what he did to her. To us. But my mom would never allow me to come forward as a minor. Now that I'm eighteen, I want this son of a bitch to pay for being the worst."