He staggered like the mere sight of her ripped him apart.

“Shut up, Dad,” Mickey said, punching him on the arm.

“Well, at least she still talks like my daughter.”

He reached out and wrapped an arm around Mickey’s shoulders, pulling her in. “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said into her hair. Mickey rolled her eyes and pulled free, reaching for the wooden spoon.

“What about me?” Ruth asked, spinning. Her dress was yellow with red flowers and a delicate white belt. It highlighted her skin the way the sun already had. Ruth seemed to live bathed in light.

“You are both Oscars ready,” Silas said, bowing his head. “We are not worthy!”

Ruth laughed and curtsied.

“You girls can set the table,” Silas went on as he turned back to the oven. “Dinner will be ready in five.”

—

SILAS SERVED THE BOURGUIGNON on trivets, and its steam mingled with the humid evening air enough to make everyone tug at their collars. Ruth took Mickey’s plate and piled it high before reaching for Sean’s.

“Thank you so much for this beautiful dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Harrison,” she said as she took the next plate. “If I lived with you all the time, I’d be a whale!”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Lily said. Mickey hadn’t seen her mother that day; she had gone into town to run errands. She looked tired, more so than usual for New Hampshire. She looked more like Home Lily, not Vacation Lily.

“So, Mick told me you two first fell in love here at this house in high school! That’s so romantic.” Ruth held her own plate now, gesturing with the serving spoon.

“That’s right,” Silas said, patting Lily’s hand. Lily reached for the sour cream.

“Tell me everything. What did you all do down here, back when you were our age?”

Sean rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage them.”

“Oh, come on,” Ruth said. “I’ve never heard it!”

Sean stuck his fork into a carrot and didn’t say anything. Silas smiled. His past brightened under even the slightest flicker of attention, like Tinker Bell and her survival on faith.

“We have some good stories, that’s for sure.”

“Did you throw parties and stuff?”

“Well, don’t tell my kids, but definitely yes.”

“Tell the one about when Mom got that ticket from the boat police,” Mickey said. The edges of her dress rippled through her fingers in front of the fan. Even with every window open, the air smelled of nothing but red meat and redder wine.

“I wouldn’t call them ‘police,’ ” Lily said. “They were younger than I was.”

“What were you doing?”

“I forgot to bring a life jacket. To be fair, I was barely fifty feet from the dock. I just wanted somewhere I could read quietly—Philip had been showing off his motorcycle all day, and the sound of that engine did not go with wine-cooler hangovers.”