SMALL MERCIES
I woke to the sound of laughter.
Child laughter. The kind that bubbled up from pure joy instead of politeness or performance.
Luca.
I found my robe and followed the sound to the kitchen.
Luca sat on the counter something I normally didn’t allow while Dante stood at the stove making what looked like French toast. They were covered in flour. Both of them.
“And then,” Luca was saying, “the T-Rex said, ‘I can’t do pushups because my arms are too short!’ And the other dinosaurs laughed and Mama!”
He spotted me. Grinned. Completely dusted in white.
“We’re making breakfast! Papà is teaching me! Look, I cracked three eggs and only got a little bit of shell in the bowl!”
“That’s wonderful, baby.” I moved to the coffee pot. Poured. Tried not to stare at Dante.
At the flour in
