I hurried to the front door.
Their car was already pulling away.
Finn sat strapped into his infant car seat on my covered porch, wearing that thick pumpkin costume. His diaper bag was beside him, with Megan’s familiar handwritten instructions tucked under the handle.
I was furious that they’d left before I even opened the door, but Finn was looking up at me with those round brown eyes.
“Well, sweetheart,” I said, lifting his seat, “I guess it’s just you and Grandma tonight.”
I carried him inside and settled him on my lap.
Within minutes, he began crying.
It wasn’t his usual fussing. He screamed, kicked his legs, and twisted away whenever I tried to hold him.
I offered his bottle. He pushed it away.
I walked around the living room, humming the songs I’d sung to Josh when he was little. Nothing helped.
Finn’s cheeks turned red. When I touched the back of his neck, it was damp.
