The air in the room got tight as soon as she said his name. Mickey felt instantly guilty, even though she hadn’t been the one who said it.

“Who’s Philip?” Ruth asked. Mickey snapped up, but Ruth had the sweetest face: all open and full of sparkle. So much so that Mickey wondered, for an instant, if she truly had forgotten.

“Phil was my big brother,” Silas said, digging his fork into the meat. “He was a wild child back in the day, always taking girls for rides on his motorcycle. The pretty ones, at least.” He winked at Mickey, who gave a weak smile.

“I’ve never been on a motorcycle,” Ruth said. “My mom says I’d like it too much.”

Silas laughed. “Smart mom.”

Lily cleared her throat, her knife scraping ceramic. “So, Sean, are the Watersons around this summer?”

Sean chewed in no hurry.

“Yup.”

“Oh, that’s good to know. I will reach out to them. Are you going to see them?”

“Yeah, at some point.”

“Who are they?” Ruth asked with the same innocence. But this time her knee hit Mickey’s hard under the table, and Mickey had to cough to keep from laughing.

“The Watersons own the house to the right of ours, through the woods. They’ve been there forever—since Evan and Rose first built the place. Good kids, right, Sean?”

“Whatever that means.”

“You should have them over!” Lily suggested.

Sean shrugged.

“That would be fun!” Ruth said, blotting her mouth with her napkin to hide her own grin. Her food was scattered and smooshed across her plate, but not eaten. Mickey pushed her own plate away.

—

AFTER THE PLATES WERE cleared, cleaned, and dried, Lily went upstairs to take a bath, and Silas followed, saying good night with a kiss on Mickey’s head. Mickey was ready to go up, too, to giggle under the covers with Ruth like they had every night before. But Ruth looped back into the living room and plopped down on the worn leather sofa. Sean wandered over to the bookshelf, touching the dusty spines with his brow furrowed.

“I have a crazy idea,” Ruth said as Mickey fell into the couch beside her, her foot sliding under Ruth’s bare thigh. “What if we had a séance?”

Mickey froze. She remembered the time she played Ouija board with Sean in elementary school. He moved the planchette just gently enough to make Mickey believe she was haunted by a clown. She had refused to go to the circus since.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Ruth said, lowering her voice, “what if we try to contact that girl, Sarah? The one you said your uncle—”

Sean spun on his heel, any pretense of distraction gone.

“You told her?”

“It’s fine, Sean,” Ruth said. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”

“Yeah, Sean. Relax.”