Josh fried the chicken, set it to dry and reheated the glaze he’d made earlier. Shit. He’d been planning to grill the broccoli on the roof. Nah. Too much effort, and plus he wasn’t sure how clean that grill was . . . the last time he’d used it, he’d burned his clothes. Steaming the broccoli would be fine. Darius came into the kitchen, opened another bottle of wine—everyone was having some except Josh—and went back to the living room.
“It’s funny that you don’t drink at all,” Lauren had said once. “Most people have at least tried alcohol.”
“I don’t see a reason to,” he said. This was on their second date. She stared at him like he was an interesting riddle, her brows drawn, a faint smile on her lips, and he smiled back, his stomach thrumming with attraction and the strangest feeling . . . that he belonged with her. That they were meant to be together. That the flirty college girl cliché he’d first met a few years earlier had grown into something . . . more. Deeper. Wiser.
And maybe he’d gotten out of his own way, finally. He hadn’t allowed himself to have much fun in college, so focused on work, on making a difference, on being someone who mattered despite having a father who had never bothered to even learn his name. He had no room for anything else.
But that night, looking at her face, her pretty eyes the color of cognac or brandy, feeling like he belonged to her already, Josh decided he had plenty of room after all.
A sharp smell pierced his memories.
Fuck. The glaze was burning. He yanked the pan off the burner and flapped a dishtowel in the air so the smoke detector wouldn’t go off. Sarah leaped up from the couch to help, but it went off anyway, bleating his failure. Darius and Ken opened the windows, and Jen opened the door, and Pebbles whirled in circles, barking at the painful noise.
After an eternity, it stopped. Josh’s ears were ringing. The glaze was charred but still liquid.
“It’ll be fine,” Sarah said. “I mean, who doesn’t like a little scorching? Seriously, it smells even better.”
She really was a good person. “Thanks, Sarah.”
She lowered her voice. “Hang in there, buddy. We won’t stay long.”
He looked at her, surprised that she’d read his mind. “That obvious?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. Ken’s nice, by the way.”
“He is. Very . . . energetic. Not that way. Well, maybe he is. I don’t know. We haven’t . . . I’ll stop talking.”
He nearly smiled. “Why don’t you herd everyone to the table?” he asked, and she did. He put the chicken on the rice, drizzled the blackened sauce over it. He’d made too much, and some slopped over the edge. He added sesame seeds. Lauren had loved this dish.
Crap. The broccoli was on the stove. He turned to check it, finding it way overcooked, a dull, ugly green. He tested it with a fork; it disintegrated into mush.
Then came a clatter and the crash of something breaking.
“Pebbles!” Jen said, and yep, the dog was eating the dakgangjeong off the floor. Wolfing it down without pausing to chew.
“Pebbles! No!” Josh said, but she just wagged her tail and kept going for it.
“Bad dog,” said Darius, his deep voice scaring her. She glanced at him, took a final bite, then ran down the hall, clots of rice and sauce in her wake, her muzzle and paws coated in dark red sauce, as if she’d just eaten a baby antelope.
That shit was sticky. Was their bedroom door open? Yes, it was. Goddamn it. The dog would mess up Lauren’s room, and it was his own fault. He ran down the hall. The spice had caught up with Pebbles, and she was rubbing her muzzle on the fluffy white rug Lauren had loved. Reddish-black paw prints already marred the pure white comforter. The room looked like a crime scene. “Pebbles!” he shouted, his voice way too loud. “You’re very bad!”
She bowed her head, and it hit him in the heart. This was Lauren’s dog. Lauren’s friend.
“I’m sorry,” he said, closing the door so she couldn’t trash the rest of the house. “You’re very beautiful. You’re a good girl.” She wagged her tail, then threw up. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”
She came to his knee, and he patted her sticky head. Went into the master bathroom, grabbed some towels, cleaned her up as best he could and closed her in the guest room. He’d deal with the mess when everyone left.
With a sigh, he went back to the kitchen. Sarah was wiping up the stream of burnt sauce that had sloshed on the side of the island. “Ken, grab me the Windex from under the sink,” she said. Darius was on his phone, and Jen was leaning on the counter, watching.
The platter that broke had been a wedding gift from Lauren’s boss. It was from Italy, Josh thought.
“We can probably still eat this food,” Ken said, looking at the mess, the broken platter. “There’s a lot left.”
“No, we can’t,” Jen said, her wineglass in her hand. “The dog just ate it, there are shards of broken porcelain in there, and it’s on the floor, where all our shoes have been. So . . . we’re not eating it, Ken.”
“Yeah, no,” Ken said. “I just . . . it’s a shame, that’s all. Josh. Nice try, man.”
“Maybe we should go,” Jen said.
Yes, go, he thought. But then he’d have to do this again some other night, if he wanted to follow Lauren’s instructions. She thought he should do this; do this, he would.
“Please stay,” Josh said. “I’ll order something. Don’t go yet.” He looked at Sarah, who nodded. He hadn’t told her about Lauren’s letters. Maybe Lauren had told her. Regardless, they were all here, he was going to stick with the plan, damn it.
“I’m on it,” Darius said, taking his phone out. “Everyone okay with pizza?”
“The faster the better,” Jen said.
Forty minutes later, after he’d cleaned up the kitchen mess and tried unsuccessfully to make conversation, and Ken had given up on gluing the platter back together, the pizza arrived. Josh sat down, exhausted. Took a sip of water.
They ate. The pizza was awful, and they chewed grimly. Jen scratched her arm. Her face was flushed, but she kept drinking wine. Who could blame her? Sarah had offered to make a salad, but he didn’t have lettuce, and she’d used up his remaining vegetables for the appetizer. He served the flaccid broccoli, noticing Darius shudder as he took a bite.
Someone mentioned that baseball had started up again, and the Sox had lost two-thirds of their games so far. Typical.
“Funny story,” Ken said, and Josh jumped a little. “My real name is Kenobi. My parents are total Star Wars geeks.”
“Well, that’s a fucking curse, isn’t it?” Jen said, and Darius subtly moved her wineglass a few inches away from her. “Is your brother named Darth Vader?”
“No, but my sister is Leia.”
“Shouldn’t you be Luke, then?” Jen asked.
“Our dog is Luke. Was. He died a long time ago.”
There was an awkward silence. “Star Wars is a great movie,” Josh offered.
“‘Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi,’” Sarah supplied. “‘You’re my only hope.’”
Ken(obi) grinned. “I will help you,” he said. “I will totally help you, Sarah. And all of you. Jen. Darius. Josh. In fact, now that we’re all pretty much done with dinner, I have something I want to show you guys.”
“You do?” Sarah asked.
“I do! Come on, let’s go in the living room.” He got up, went to his messenger bag by the front door and pulled out a laptop.
“We should go,” Jen said. “We have children. Who are not named after Star Wars characters. But maybe next time, huh, D? Little Lando Calrissian? Baby Kylo Ren?”
“Okay, hon, tone it down,” Darius said, trying to hide his laugh. “We can stay a little longer.”
“Right,” Jen whispered loudly. “We can’t leave Josh all by himself with this weirdo.”
Josh was grateful.
&n
bsp; “This will only take a second,” Obi-Wan Kenobi said. “I promise, you’ll love it.”
Was he going to show cat videos? What . . . Josh looked at Sarah, who shrugged and grimaced.
“So you’re probably thinking, ‘Ken, what can you do for me?’”
“Teach us to use the Force?” Jen asked, then snort-laughed.
Ken was undeterred. “And I get that, I do. So here’s the deal. Darius, my brother—”
“Nope. Not your brother,” Darius interrupted.
“Sure! No worries! Darius, you look like a guy who works out a lot. Right? Football at UNC, you said. Awesome team, my broth—uh, man! But are you feeling a little tired these days?”
“No,” said Darius. “Can’t say that I am.”
“Ken, maybe this isn’t the time,” Sarah said. “Actually, it’s definitely not the time. For whatever it is you’re about to do.”
“Like I said, it’s five minutes that will change your life.” Ken touched the keyboard. A logo floated onto the screen. VitaKetoMaxo in pulsing letters, along with images of very fit people working out behind it. Bicycling, lifting weights, running, leaping through the air.
“VitaKetoMaxo is more than a protein shake,” Ken went on, his voice rhythmic.
“Stop,” said Sarah, her teeth gritted. She was mad, Josh deduced. Kind of interesting, her face getting blotchy that way.
“It’s a way of life,” Ken said. He clicked, and more fit people appeared on-screen, now all drinking from green bottles.
“Jesus Christ, are you trying to sell us something?” Jen asked, a little late to the party. She scratched her arm vigorously. “Dude. Fuck off.” She grabbed her wineglass, polished off the last bit and handed it to Darius. “Hon, could you get me a tad more?”
“You’ve had enough, haven’t you, babe?”
“No. Babe.”
“In that case, yes, my queen.” Darius got up and got the bottle.
“You might think I’m trying to sell you something,” Ken went on. “But I’m not. I’m trying to give you something. A new way to look at the world.”
“Like, from the deck of the Death Star?” Jen said. “Obi-Wan, are you going to blow up our planet?”
“Just for the record, the real Obi-Wan Kenobi would never do that,” Josh said. Star Wars had been very important to him during his adolescence, and loyalty was important in these matters.
“Oh, God, Ken,” Sarah said. “You’re trying to sell us a nutrition drink, aren’t you?”
Ken was lit with a zealous passion, his pasty skin turning pink. “Oh, my gosh, babe, it’s so much more than that!”
“I thought we agreed not to use babe just yet.”
“Do you know why we’re all here, Obi-Wan?” Jen asked. “Because my sister died. Joshua’s wife. We’re in fucking mourning, okay?”
To be honest, Josh was kind of enjoying the show. It was better than thinking about loneliness. On the computer screen, people were doing cartwheels across a meadow. “Tell us more, Ken,” he said, earning a dismayed look from Sarah.
“Thanks, Joshua, man! It’s about lifestyle. It’s the chance you’ve been waiting for. The opportunity to build a new life filled with riches.”
“I’m itchy,” Jen said. “Is anyone else itchy?”
“Maybe we should go,” Darius said. “You’re kind of flushed.”
“I already told you, we can’t leave Josh here alone with this freak!” Jen barked. “You know he’s way too polite to kick this asshole out. Sarah, I’m sorry, but collect your date.”
Sarah tried to push the laptop closed, but Ken jerked it away. “Ken,” she said firmly, “you’re embarrassing me. Well, you’re embarrassing yourself, but also me.”
“Babe! Just listen. Some people say VitaKetoMaxo is a pyramid scheme, but it’s actually very differently structured.” Another click showed a diagram of a pyramid scheme. “See, I’d be your distributor, and you’d sell . . . well, really, give your friends the chance for a better life. Some of that money would flow back up to me to reinvest—”
“You know what, babe?” Jen said. “I think you’re right.” She stuck out her arms. “Are these hives?” Sure enough, blotches of red marred her skin. “Shit. I might be having an allergic reaction. What was on the pizza?”
“Nothing you haven’t eaten a thousand times,” Darius said.
“Where was it from?”
“The sketchy place down the block.”
Jen let her head flop back on the couch. Darius glanced at Josh. “You have an Epi-Pen, right? Just in case?”
Josh nodded. “Benadryl, too.” Lauren had been on so many medications that the doctor had prescribed an Epi-Pen preemptively, in case of an allergic reaction, since a compromised airway was not something they needed.
Ken saw this as a great segue. “Interesting that you bring up food allergies, Jen—Jenny, if I may?”
“You may not.”
Josh felt the stir of laughter in his stomach.
“So, Jen, if you drank VitaKetoMaxo, hives would never be a problem. Ever. Food allergies would never be a problem. VitaKetoMaxo is known to cure all food allergies and eliminate the need for vaccines.”
“Oh, my Jesus,” Sarah said, closing her eyes.
“Can I have the scientific data on that?” Josh asked. “Three reputable sources, please.”
Ken didn’t pause. “It’s a proven fact that VitaKetoMaxo users live longer and healthier.” He turned to Josh, his blue eyes wide and earnest. “In fact, I’m guessing that if your wife had used VitaKetoMaxo, she never would have—”
And then Josh must’ve moved from the couch, because he had Obi-Wan Kenobi by his bony, long throat and was dragging him to the door and everything was going red. “Get the fuck out of my house,” he said, opening the door and shoving him out. Josh went back, shoved the laptop into Ken’s computer bag, threw them out into the hallway, then slammed the door.
The quick brown fox. The quick brown fox. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.
The red began to evaporate. Josh’s heart was thudding.
The other three were silent.
“I’m very, very sorry,” Sarah said eventually. “I had no idea.”
“I definitely have hives,” Jen said.
“Probably too much red wine, baby,” Darius said.
“Benadryl is in the bathroom,” Josh said. He looked around. “But aside from the dog eating our dinner, and your hives, Jen, and the shitty pizza and the sales pitch, how’s everyone doing?”
Darius started laughing, and then so did Jen, and then Sarah.
Josh felt himself almost smiling. He’d forgotten he could make people laugh from time to time. In another minute, he managed a smile. After a second, he even laughed, the sound rusty from neglect.
The first time he’d laughed since Lauren had died.
9
Lauren
Eleven months left
March 13
Dear Dad,
I was in the hospital again. Ugh. Right before my second anniversary, too. Just for three days this time, but I definitely know the staff by now. I had pneumonia, which is not good.
Here’s an insider secret: Being sick is really boring. Boring to live, boring to discuss, boring to hear about, and yet everyone asks. Everyone. “You look too pretty to be in here!” said the guy taking me to a chest X-ray. “What’s the matter with you, honey?”
So I told him, like I tell everyone. I’m a walking advocate for idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis research, education and treatment. I can recite facts in my sleep. Then there are the other sick people I see. Most of them are older, and I think I make them feel good about themselves. “At least I’m eighty! That poor girl over there isn’t even thirty!”
The worst thing is to see the sick kids. If I could donate the time I have left to them, I’
d do it, Dad. I’d do it in a heartbeat.
Sorry to be a downer today. I seem to have the blues.
Miss you, Pop.
Lauren
“We should take a vacation,” Lauren said. She was itchy and scratchy, still irritable that she’d had to go to the hospital again. “Maybe somewhere tropical and warm, since we didn’t do anything for our anniversary.”
“We could go back to Hawaii,” he suggested. “Rent the same house.”
It seemed so long ago, their honeymoon. That carefree time when she thought an inhaler could cure her, when they talked about baby names and learning to scuba dive and how they’d come back to Kauai for their twenty-fifth anniversary to renew their vows.
She didn’t want to taint that beautiful place with her sickness.
“Let’s go somewhere different,” she said brightly. “The Caribbean, maybe? I’ve never been. And the flight’s a lot shorter.”
“Whatever you want, honey.” He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. Lucky. She was damn lucky.
That’s my girl, she could almost hear her father say. That’s my girl.
* * *
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN the trip to Hawaii and the trip to Turks and Caicos was the oxygen. In Hawaii, they had been a gorgeous couple on their honeymoon; here, they were That Tragic Couple. Oh, the looks, or overly kind faces, and yes, even tears her mere appearance brought on! So young! So attractive! The horror, the horror, etc.
Josh had chosen a spectacular resort filled with stone pathways and tropical gardens, a spa and five-star restaurants. The sky was impossibly blue, and the turquoise water so clear they could see a turtle from fifty feet away. Their villa had a living room, covered porch, and a bedroom with an enormous bed. First things first—put that bed to good use, and Lauren wasn’t talking about a nap.
They walked slowly down the beach afterward, her long pink summery dress blowing, a big straw hat on her head—redheads were cursed when it came to the sun. Her oxygen was in her leather bag, and if you didn’t look closely, you might not notice the cannula in her nose.
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