“Sweetheart, you’re probably roasting in this thing,” I whispered.
I looked at Megan’s note on the coffee table.
Then I looked at Finn.
My living room was warm, and the costume was thick enough for a chilly outdoor evening.
I laid him on a blanket and reached for the zipper.
“Sorry, Megan,” I murmured. “But he needs to cool down.”
I pulled the zipper down a few inches.
Then I stopped.
Just beneath the collar, along Finn’s upper shoulder, was a pale, uneven mark.
At first, I thought the fabric had left an impression. But when I gently moved the collar aside, I saw another mark extending toward his upper arm.
They looked like old scars.
I stared at them, trying to understand what I was seeing.
I’d never seen Finn’s bare shoulders before. Megan had always kept them hidden.
And suddenly, I wondered whether that had been the point all along.
