kneeling in the flower bed wearing pajamas.
One arm was wrapped around something small pressed tightly to his chest.
And whatever he was holding was wrapped in Michael’s missing blue baby blanket.
With his other hand, my husband was digging a hole.
“Greg?”
He spun around so suddenly that dirt flew off the little garden shovel.
“Laura!”
I yanked open the back door.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t yell.”
“Why are you digging a hole in our yard at two in the morning?”
Then the bundle in his arms moved.
