michael rolled over on his right side , slept , and dreamed that he and his nine-year old son were playing miniature golf on an endless series of small astro-turfed greens where windmills turned and tiny water-hazards lay in wait ... and he dreamed that they were alone , all alone in the world , because his son 's mother had died in childbirth - very sad ; people still remarked on how inconsolable michael had been - but when they went home , he and his son , the house would be theirs alone , they would eat spaghetti right from the pot like a couple of bachelor slobs , and when the dishes were washed they would sit at a kitchen table hidden beneath spread newspapers and build model cars with harmless plastic engines .