It was impossible not to be a little in love with everyone at seventeen. Desire grew on everything—every skin particle, every foggy car window; in the beat of every song and the fabric of every strap against a girl’s collarbone. Silas was in love with the whole world back then. He was ravenous, quenchless. Each touch increased his appetite, until his whole body became nothing but lips between teeth.

Later, he loved to watch Sarah’s tongue ring when she put her mouth on him, the way it glistened in low light. Like she was a conduit for electricity, and he alone could provide the current. With her mouth on him, he felt powerful.

He hadn’t felt that way in a long, long time.

The truth was, the moment Ruth walked into their kitchen the first day Mickey brought her home, Silas thought of Sarah. The long auburn hair that looked like it belonged to hot earth, the strong eye contact. A confidence, a smirking fierceness Silas had never forgotten. But he had never expected to hear Sarah’s name in Ruth’s mouth, same hair spilling around tanned shoulders, same wicked little test in the eyes. Not there, in that clearing.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he yelled again, kicking forest debris, feeling large.

“Dad, I—” Sean started.

“Mickey, how dare you?”

Mickey looked at him with such terror, he thought for a second that he could smile and say he was kidding. But his blood was pumping louder and louder: it seemed to want her fear, to feed on it.

“How dare you do this to your uncle Philip, to me! Do you have any idea—”

“Mr. Harrison, it was my—”

“Ruth, I’m not talking to you. You are not a part of this family.”

“Dad,” Mickey said, her voice small.

“Get up.” He walked around the circle and grabbed her by the sleeve of her sweatshirt, jerking her upward. “Get the fuck up!”

“Dad—” Sean said again, reaching for him. Or for her.

“Don’t touch me,” Silas growled, and Sean’s hand retreated. Silas shoved Mickey between the shoulder blades, pushing her toward the path. Sean and Ruth lined up behind him, punished ducklings.

The walk back to the house was silent except for crunching leaves and the slap of flip-flops. Silas kept the hood of Mickey’s sweatshirt in his fist, leading her like a dog on a leash. When they got to the porch, he tightened his grip.

“You two, go upstairs. And be quiet; it’s the middle of the night.”

Sean and Ruth both bowed their heads and walked through the door into the dark inside. Once Silas and Mickey were alone, he pulled her around to look at him.