“Whoa! I never said that!” Sean shouted, before catching himself and lowering his voice. “I don’t think you’re a—I don’t think that. I’m just looking out for my sister. She looks up to you; she’d do whatever you say.”

“I love Mickey. She’s my best friend. I—I love all of you. I hate that you think of me . . . like that.”

Silas could feel the guilt gather around Sean like weather. A cloud of little particles rushing in.

“Come on,” Sean said softly. “You know we like you too.”

“Even you?” Ruth asked. She had shifted so her legs were bent under her now, her weight on one hip. Silas saw the shape of her like a Roman statue, no legs or arms, just the body’s warmest parts. His son rolled his shoulders on the other side of the thin wood.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”

“You know, I didn’t not want you to come tonight. I did. I do. I just didn’t want it to be weird for Mickey.”

“Why would it be weird?” Sean breathed.

Ruth pushed herself up to her knees, and Silas watched the distance between them close.

“I think you know what I mean.”

Suddenly, the whole dock shook.

“I found it!” Mickey yelled as she landed on both feet, magazine held high in the air. Sean shoved himself back against the wall with enough force that Silas had to grip the shelf to keep it from falling on top of him. All that fell was the sagging inner tube.

Mickey halted, her shadow landing across the opening to the boathouse. Silas pulled a handful of screws out of a coffee can just in time.

“Dad, what are you doing here? Mom is looking for you.”

PEYOTE

THE NEXT DAY, I spent more time than I’d like to admit watching Cal from my cubicle. To be honest, my focus on her could’ve been due to all of the caffeine I had consumed so far, opting for coffee every time I found myself reaching for water. But it was worth it: I was done forgetting.

It was kind of amazing to watch her. She moved between the cubicles in another deeply lackluster sweater—catching coworkers for brief, bubbly chats in corners before squeezing their arms in sweet, almost secret goodbyes—like an insect collecting pollen, gathering what she needed from each on her sticky thighs. She was still shy at work, but she had traversed the transition from painfully to appealingly so with grace, so that when she smiled, there wasn’t a single person who didn’t smile back.

Everyone but KQ, that is.

“Didn’t I tell someone to call rodent control?” KQ bellowed as Cal cut quickly across the hallway. “Get the fuck out from under my feet, Squeaks!”