“Challenge accepted!” Ruth yelled back, pulling the weathered shower door closed behind her. Silas recognized the creak so deeply he could almost feel the bricks beneath his feet, slick and uneven with years of water and soap scum. Evan built the outdoor shower, as he had most of the jerry-rigged add-ons to the house. Silas and Philip spent so much time running back and forth from the dock, Rose finally insisted he make something so the boys could at least rinse off before coming inside. She was tired of finding sand and flecks of lake grass between their sheets and under the dining room table, where their knees would bounce until they were excused to run to the dock once more.

Lily loved the outdoor shower. She said it made her feel dangerous. They used to make love against the grayed wood panels while the kids played on the beach, their happy voices the kind of soft-pedal soundtrack he never would’ve thought of as soothing before becoming a parent, but that became exactly that. Kids happy, safe, and otherwise occupied. That was before Lily had pulled away from him, back when he still knew what each shift of her shoulders meant and what had caused it. Silas hadn’t used that shower in years.

“If you leave your bathing suit over the door like that, I might have to steal it.”

“Don’t you dare, Mick.”

“I won’t, but no promises about Sean. Who knows where that perv might be?”

“Shut up!”

The girls laughed, and Silas heard Mickey’s footsteps come up the stairs onto the porch, the screen door to the house slapping open and then closed behind her.

Next came the screech of the showerhead. A high-pitched whine before the pressure kicked on and the bricks were pummeled, water ricocheting off and onto the lawn like the constant breaking of glass. Until Ruth stepped under it, and the water softened against her.

Silas closed his eyes.

There was a clink as Ruth reached for the soap. It was the same soap they always kept in the metal dish Evan had drilled into the wall. The soap smelled like what dryer sheets were manufactured to smell like. Fresh scent, they called it.

He could’ve pushed back from the window. He could’ve grabbed a shirt and turned his back to check the mirror. He could’ve walked downstairs and started chopping carrots for the beef bourguignon.

But he didn’t.

Silas could recall each feeling Ruth experienced as she was experiencing it. He knew the bite of the open air like electricity, how she would feel cold everywhere outside of the thrum of water. The way the soap would slip in her hand, thin and cracked in places like tree bark, palm-perfect and worn smooth. The feeling of being exposed, wild in a safe way. Naked but unseen.