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Nate held it up.

Silence.

“Put it away,” Leo said.

Nate lowered the needle. He looked at the seal on the table. It had moved a quarter of an inch away from the tin.

Was Leo scared of needles?

“I’m repositioning,” Leo said. “The light was in my eyes.”

“Sure.”

A ghost who was scared of needles…

That was a new one.

But fears did not have to be rational to be real.

Nate pulled out a chair and sat down, unhurried. He laid the needle on the table where Leo could see it and left it there.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “I’m going to pinch the seam shut first. Then I’ll tuck the stuffing back in. Then I’ll have to make some very small stitches. You’ll feel my hands and nothing else. I won’t do anything without warning you.”

“It’s fine. I know it won’t hurt. I’m not stupid. Ghosts can’t feel pain.”

Could they not?

Nate didn’t voice his doubts.

Instead, he nodded. “Okay.”

Nate put his left hand flat on the seal’s back side and let it rest there for a moment.

“I’ll pinch the seam now,” he said, and did, and felt the seal go stiff as lumber under his hand.

“Did you know,” he continued, “how beautiful the beadboard above the kitchen ceiling is? Your house really deserved to be taken care of better.”

“I know that.” Leo’s voice was thin, but Nate could still hear his pride in it.

“Tucking the stuffing in now.” Nate pressed the white tuft back through the gap with one fingertip. “I’m taking the drop ceiling out next week. It’ll rain fifty years of dust.”

“Your lungs. Not mine.”

“First stitch.” He set it, small and close. Under his left hand, the seal was still rigid. Nate kept talking though, about the house and how nice it was going to look restored to its original beauty, and somewhere around the fourth stitch, the flippers came down.

“Can you feel this?” Nate asked, partway down the seam.

A pause.

“No.”

Another pause, while he drew the thread through.

“I can feel that you’re doing it,” Leo said. “Not the needle. Just your hands.”

“Okay.”

“It’s strange.”