SILAS RIPPED THE PLASTIC casing from the cap with his teeth, the engine roaring loud enough in the darkness to make him feel like it was the only sound in a soundless world. He put the whiskey pint in the cupholder Phil had jerry-rigged to the front of the bike and spat out the plastic along with the cap itself. He hadn’t meant to, but he didn’t need it.

It was only there on the road, the bike so loud and the dark so dark, knowing the kids were fed and safe at the Watersons’—Lily gone for the night, who knows where, but he didn’t care—and he was truly alone, that he could talk to his brother. And it was only with whiskey that his brother ever seemed to talk back.

“I bet you think this is pretty fucking funny,” he said. He knew he said it out loud because he felt the wind rush his throat and the roof of his mouth, making him take a burning sip. But he couldn’t hear himself say it.

“Even you couldn’t have seen that coming—huh? Lily and Gavin Kelly?” Silas laughed. “I know, I know. Karma is a bitch.”

After Phil died, Silas tried everything he could to lure him back. First, he tried bribes, filling the cabinets of his newlywed apartment with Phil’s favorite cereal and shape of mac and cheese. When that didn’t work, he tried challenges: Bet you can’t hold your breath this long, Phil. Bet you can’t drive this long with your eyes closed.

When that did nothing, he turned to bargaining.

One year after Phil died, Silas took Sean to the park. He was an infant, his head still soft to the touch. Lily went out to do errands, and Silas took his son to the pond outside of town, to look at the ducks. He was bargaining a lot back then, positive the only thing missing wasn’t his brother, but just the right deal. It was a cool day for that time of year, “crisp” as the tourist pamphlets called it. Sean was a quiet baby (which you just know means he’ll give you hell as a teenager, said every woman over forty to his teen parents, terrified but good at smiling), and especially so near water. When they arrived, Silas slid Sean’s bassinet onto a picnic table bench.

“What if I take off all my clothes and jump in the water?” he asked, squinting unpleasantly at the pond, fingers of frost still holding tight to its edges.

Nothing.

The sky was white. Not blue, not red or purple. Not black. It was white; blank space. Like someone forgot to color it in. Silas looked at his son, so pink compared to all that nothing around him. It made him look like he was screaming, he was so pink. But he was quiet.