I want so much to say yes, to be a hero in my son’s eyes. What I don’t want so much is to walk a dog in the rain at eleven o’clock at night.

Stuart saves me from the being the killjoy. “I told Jacob that a dog is a big responsibility and that when he gets a little older, we could certainly revisit the topic. Owen has a brother who is ten. That seems like the right age for a boy without an older brother to get a dog.”

Stuart at his best. My weakness, as a parent and perhaps a human being, is that my first instinct is to confront. It serves me well in the courtroom, less well with my family. But Stuart is a natural peacemaker, knowing exactly how to defuse even a situation as fraught as denying a boy a dog.

I nod at my husband, both to denote my agreement and to thank him for being the heavy. “Your father is right. I think a few years from now we can certainly add a new member to our family. Would we get a big dog or a little dog?”

“Big dog.”

“Of course,” Stuart says, more to me than to Jacob.

“What would we name this big dog?”

Jacob shrugs. “I don’t know. I’d have to meet the dog first.”

“Maybe Mr. Big Dog,” I say, “to go with Mr. Big Tiger.”

Jacobs laughs. “That’s a silly name for a dog, Mommy.”

This time Stuart smiles at me. I suspect it’s because I’ve been able to put aside the tragedy in my day to engage our son about the trivial. Although it wasn’t Stuart’s intent, of course, realizing that’s what I’ve done quickly erases my smile.

I press the play button, and the man-cub is once again talking to the big bear. Stuart takes the opportunity to engage me.

“Do you want to talk?”

I look over to Jacob. I could scream “Fire!” and he wouldn’t look away from the movie. Still, I’m not going to have a discussion about murder in front of our five-year-old.

“Not now,” I say. “I really just want to spend some time with Jacob.”

“Do you want to do the reading honors again tonight?”

“Yeah,” I say, “that would be great.”

“What shall we read?” I ask Jacob once he’s snuggled under his blankets.

“Mike Mulligan.”

“Again? Don’t you want to try something new?”

“No. Mike Mulligan,” he says emphatically.

It’s a repeat of the other night. I read the same words, and Jacob asks the same questions, almost verbatim: “What happens to steam shovels when they’re not needed anymore? Why doesn’t Mike realize that he hasn’t left a way out? Can we go to the place where they live?”