“You mean, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten?”

“That’s it,” Evan says. “It had all those rules, sort of like the ones we had in the cottage. What were they?” He stops. “Things like play fair and don’t take things that aren’t yours.”

I smile. My mom and her rules. She believed life was so simple, and yet we all made it so hard. I look at Sonny and think of the past few years of my life.

“She’s right,” I say to the dog.

“What?” Evan asks.

“Hold on,” I say, walking toward the bookshelves as Frank had just moments ago. I slide the Churchill bio back into its empty spot and walk over to my mom’s side. I scan the books and, finally, see the one Evan is referring to. “I found it on your grandma’s bookshelves,” I say.

“Cool,” Evan replies.

I flip through it, and a page is earmarked. I scan it and bust out laughing.

“What is it?” Evan asks.

“Listen to this,” I say, before reading an underlined passage. “‘Think what a better world it would be if...the whole world had cookies and milk about three o’clock every afternoon and then lay down with our blankies for a nap.’”

Evan laughs. “I’ve got life already figured out,” he says. I can hear him stifle a yawn. “Speaking of which...”

“Okay, okay,” I say. “Sorry to wake you up.”

“You should try it, Mom,” Evan says.

“A nap? Now? I can’t. There’s too much to do. It’s...irresponsible.”

“You’re all responsibility, Mom,” he says. “Your whole life has revolved around being responsible for someone.”

I look back at Sonny, and my heart jumps. I’m unsure if Evan would be happy or not about my snap decision to take on the responsibility of a dog, so I decide to keep Sonny a secret for now.

“Rule #3 of the cottage, Mom,” Evan says. “Nap often.” He stops. “What was it you and Grandma used to tell me when I didn’t want to leave the beach or stop playing? ‘You can’t recharge a battery if it’s running all the time.’” He stops again. “And you can’t be courageous or responsible when you’re tired. It’s okay. Take care of yourself, Mom. Then everything will take care of itself. Play by your own rules for once. Nap in the afternoon. Like me.” He stops. “What’s going on, Mom? Why did you call? Is everything okay?”

Those are loaded questions, I think. Why did I call?

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” I say, not explaining the real reason: something told me to call my son right now.

“Well, you heard it,” he says, yawning. “Say good-night, Gracie.”