“Take a look at his head,” Megan said softly.

I tipped my chin down to look at the top of his head.

Under the edge of the blanket, a tuft of thick hair stood up in the light breeze.

“He’s got your exact hair, Garrett,” she said.

It was the same pale silver-blond pattern I’d seen in my own mirror for fifty-eight years, coarse at the crown and soft at the temples.

“What’s his name?” I asked, my voice low.