Before I can stop him, Evan opens the door, and Sonny is standing there to greet him. Sonny barks, stands on his back legs and then stretches as if he’s trying to give Evan a hug.

“And who’s this?” Evan says.

“Didn’t I mention Sonny?” I ask innocently. “I found him. Someone abandoned him on Lakeshore Drive.”

“Mom,” Evan starts, sounding a lot like me when I disapprove of something. “You don’t need to take on any more responsibility.”

Evan suddenly takes a seat on the round rug by the front door, and Sonny crawls onto his lap and starts licking his face. Evan laughs and then holds the dog’s face in his hands. “What happened, little guy?” he asks, before looking up at me. “What happened, Mom?”

“Don’t know exactly,” I say. “We think he was either born this way and a breeder dumped him, or he was abused.”

Sonny rolls over in Evan’s lap, and he pets the dog’s stomach. Sonny sighs.

“I would’ve done the same thing,” Evan says. He plays with Sonny for a few moments and then says, “It’s nice to have a dog. Finally. Grandma and Grampa always did. Why didn’t dad ever want us to have one?”

“Too messy,” I say.

Just like life, I don’t say. His father never liked to deal with untidiness. He preferred to sweep things under the rug.

Evan rolls Sonny onto the floor and stands. “I can’t wait to look around,” he says. “I want to see what you’ve done.”

We start on the main floor, and I show him the plans for the kitchen, the fish house and my eventual owner’s suite. When we head to the second floor, Evan says, “Why did you take my room, Mom?”

I begin to explain, but he looks at me—his face changing, as if he seems to understand—and says, “I can crash in another room. No biggie. I’m used to sleeping anywhere.”

I smile, relieved, and then laugh when I comprehend his words. “Oh, you are, are you?”

“Figure of speech, Mom,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, it is, is it?”

“Let’s keep moving,” Evan says, heading toward the attic.

He looks at all the construction and then at the renderings I’m holding. “I love that every room will be themed around a cottage rule,” he says. “I think people will love that.” He stops. “I do.”

Finally, we climb to the turret, where we take a seat and look out over the lake. Evan sits in silence, watching Lake Michigan. Though it is overcast, there is enough of the day’s last light to highlight half my son’s face, to divide it into parts, shadow and light, man and boy.