he’d had the red suit made. A real one, tailored, bright as the shirts Eric had wanted as a boy and never been allowed. He’d hidden it in a closet he knew Eric would eventually find, because Eric was the one who cared about Dad’s military history, the one who’d go looking for the papers. And he’d left a note with Eric’s name and a test built into it — a test of whether Eric had grown into himself enough to wear the red.
“If Eric puts on the red one,”
