THE FIRST TIME HE MADE ME LAUGH

"Families can look different," I told Leo, kneeling beside his drawing. "And we don't have to decide something as big as that today."

He frowned. "But you're coming tomorrow?"

"At three, unless I call to tell you our backup plan has changed."

He nodded, satisfied for now. Dante exhaled quietly behind me.

Over the next week, a rhythm emerged. I worked morning shifts at the hotel, ate lunch on the subway, and arrived at Moretti House at three. Some afternoons Leo wanted me to read while he built models. On others he wanted silence and company. I learned not to mistake a quiet day for a failed one.

Dante kept his part of the agreement. He moved meetings and let his assistant field calls for twenty minutes each afternoon. At first he sat like a guest in his own son's room. Then he began asking questions, and Leo discovered the pleasure of correcting him.

On Thursday, Dante decided to make breakfast for us all.

"You don't have to do that," I said when I found him studying the stove.

"I can manage eggs, Sophie."

Ten minutes later, smoke rose from the pan.

Leo inspected the result. "Daddy, I think the eggs are dead."

Margaret turned away to hide a smile. I laughed so hard I had to lean on the counter.

Dante regarded his charcoal-colored masterpiece. "I run six companies. Apparently breakfast is my limit."

"You can wash the dishes," Leo suggested.

"Am I being fired?"

"Yes. From cooking."

"A devastating setback."

That afternoon Leo invented a game in which one person tapped four times, waited, and the next person answered with exactly four taps. Dante kept moving too soon.

"You have to wait," Leo told him patiently.

"I am waiting."

"You're waiting wrong."

Dante looked at me. "Is there an instruction manual?"

"Your son is giving you one."

We all laughed, and I felt an unexpected pang. Danny had loved teaching games to adults who thought they knew everything. For a moment I could miss him without feeling that the memory might break me.

That night we took a blanket into the garden. Leo identified constellations through his telescope while Dante held a flashlight pointed safely at the ground. When Leo grew tired, Margaret took him inside with his permission.

I was folding the blanket when Dante said, "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me every time he smiles."

"I'm not thanking you for making him smile."

"Then what for?"

He looked toward the house, where Leo's bedroom light glowed warmly. "For showing me how to make him smile myself."

I lowered my eyes to the blanket because the sincerity in his voice was almost too much.

"You were willing to learn," I said. "That's the important part."

Dante took the blanket from my hands. "Would you have dinner with me tomorrow? Somewhere that doesn't have planets made of cardboard on the table?"

"To discuss Leo's schedule?"

"No. To learn what you like when you're not helping everyone else."

The night air suddenly felt warmer.

"I think I'd like that," I said.