“Eventually it got so frayed she only wore it when we cleaned the house on Saturday mornings. It was covered in so many bleach stains, the crimson washed out.” He clears his throat. “Cooper . . . he’s been good to you, bug?” I bunch my hands up in the sleeves of the sweater. It smells like Cooper, that spicy masculine scent I love so much. “Yes.” “Thought he would be. He’s a good kid.”
