"I just wanted you to see Dad's heart for yourself."
I read it twice before I could cry. Then I did. Charlie did too.
We sat on Owen's floor holding each other for the first time since the funeral, and this time when I reached for him, Charlie did not pull away. He held on like a man who had run out of places to hide.
After a while, Charlie drew back and said, "There's something else."
He unbuttoned his shirt. On his chest was a tattoo of Owen's face, small and detailed, placed over his heart.
"I got it after the funeral," Charlie revealed. He glanced down at the tattoo, then back at me. "I didn't let you hug me because the skin was still healing. And I didn't show you because you hate tattoos and I couldn't stand one more thing done wrong."
