“Why couldn’t Dad just have stayed loyal to Mom?” Sonia’s voice broke on the word loyal and ended my reverie.

I shook my head. “All I know is that he loved you.”

Then she leaned forward again and said, “It’s strange, you know, my father is dead, and still, I don’t want to share him. I want to be the only child.”

“Joel never met him,” I said.

Sonia looked at her hands. “You know that I haven’t read any of Dad’s books.”

“You have time,” I said.

“I’ve been afraid of them, Uncle Erik.”

“Why?”

“I think because I wanted to keep him safe as my dad. Maybe I really didn’t want to be in his head, to know what was in there. I was scared of being burned, that the world would fall apart, that the world I wished for would fall apart. It’s all gone now anyway. It’s been gone for a long time.”

“Since September eleventh?”

“No, since I saw Dad with her. Nobody died, just an illusion of the perfect father.” Sonia leaned forward and put her hands on the table. “At night it was always the same—the falling people. Waking up to howling in my ears, and I couldn’t breathe or speak.”

“Is it better now?”

“It’s gone. I have nightmares sometimes, but I don’t have that dream anymore. I hope it never comes back.”

“And now you’re in love.”

Sonia looked up at me and blushed. “I never was before. It’s all new.”

“New is good.”

“Yes,” she said. “Dad’s books are new, too. I’ve finally started to read him.”

AFTER SEVERAL LONG and tortuous dialogues on the telephone that took us in and out of our various hopes, weaknesses, and illusions, Laura and I mutually agreed not to stop whatever it was. In honor of our unnamed but significant relations, she cooked me a meal, which, by the looks of her kitchen, must have taken all day to prepare, if not longer. She was still wearing an apron over her tight black dress when I poured the wine and we sat down to eat. I was about to taste her first course, spaghettini with scallops, parsley, and red pepper, when I looked across the table at Laura and saw that she was watching me with great seriousness, waiting for a verdict from my face. For some reason, I found her expectation unbearably poignant, and I paused, my fork suspended between plate and mouth.

“What is it?” she said. “You can’t eat scallops?”

“No,” I said. “It’s the way you look.”

“What about it?”

“You look generous.”

Laura raised her eyebrows and laughed. “What kind of a compliment is that? You’re supposed to tell a woman she looks beautiful or sexy, not generous. Generous sounds fat.”

I didn’t let her laughter derail me. “Generosity is something I admire very much,” I said.

Laura leaned toward me, her brown eyes tender. “Thank you, Erik,” she said in her warm voice. “Now eat your pasta before it gets cold.”