I lifted my hand and pressed it against his chest. “Can you feel it now?” “Yes,” Charlie said. “But it’s not glowing.” “What’s it doing?” I asked. Charlie let his eyes drop, like he was really thinking. “You know when birds commit suicide?” I frowned. “I don’t think—that’s a thing?” Charlie regrouped. “You know. When a bird sees its reflection in a window and thinks it’s another bird and so it dive-bombs the window over and over, trying to attack, until it injures itself so badly it dies?” Ah. Huh. “Kind of?” Charlie nodded. “I think my heart is doing that.”
