And there was Sarah. She looked at him, then looked away, her face tight. Super. He needed to apologize, but he sensed she wouldn’t make it easy.
“Hey. Got a second?” he asked.
“Sure!” she said, fake smiling.
They walked a few yards away from everyone else, to the shade of a tree. It was a brutally hot day, already ninety, and muggy. The shade felt nominally better. Sarah’s smile dropped.
She looked tanned; he forgot where she’d gone, but it didn’t matter. Her blond hair was lighter than normal, pulled back in those complicated braids. She wore blue running shorts and a matching tank top. She was very fit, he noticed. Athletic, even. Was that new, or had she always been?
“What’s up?” she asked.
“How was your vacation?”
“Great.” She raised an eyebrow.
“Where did you go?”
“The Outer Banks.” She stared, waiting. Expectant and righteous. Which, he supposed, she’d earned. He should do something with his hands, which seemed to hang awkwardly, so he tried to put them in his pockets before remembering that he had no pockets. He put his hands on his hips, then let them fall again.
Peopling was hard.
“Well?” Sarah asked.
“Right. Listen . . . I said some stupid things. Unkind things. About you.”
“Yes. You did.”
“Yeah.” His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “So we’re good, then?”
She twitched. “Excuse me?”
“Um . . . are we okay?”
“No, Joshua. You haven’t apologized.”
He blinked. “I just did.”
“No, you just acknowledged your assholery. You haven’t apologized at all.”
“Oh.” He wished he had Pebbles, but she was with Darius and Sebastian. “Well, I’m sorry.”
“Shitty job, Josh. Try again.” Her face was hard, mouth tight. She looked like she might spit acid at him in another minute.
He blew out a breath, trying to give her what she wanted. “I’m very sorry?” She shook her head. “Sarah, I’m sorry for what I said.” He paused. “You were a good friend to Lauren. She appreciated you.”
Sarah had her hands on her hips. “Still not feeling it.”
“I’m deeply sorry.”
“Do you even have normal human emotions, Josh? Because what you said cut me to my heart, okay? There was nothing you could’ve said that would’ve hurt more. So a few crappy sentences aren’t going to cut it.”
“No,” he said.
“What?”
“No, I’m not sure I have normal human emotions. I did with Lauren. But . . . not so much anymore.”
Sarah’s face softened, becoming quite pretty and not like she was going to spit acid anymore. She opened her arms, so he had to hug her, which he did, but not too hard and not too long.
“I’m forgiving you for her sake. Let’s have dinner sometime, though, and really talk.”
More talking? Shit. “That’d be great. Thank you.”
“The race is starting. Let’s go.”
Thank God. He joined Lauren’s family. Sebastian and Octavia were gleeful at being pushed in running strollers decorated with blue and green streamers. Darius, the former football player, was in admirable shape, and Jen was, too—they both did that kind of exercise where they threw truck tires and did one-handed push-ups till they vomited. Sarah had run cross-country in college, if he remembered correctly. And he ran, too, so it wasn’t like he was a slacker.
Except, apparently, he was. Within a quarter of a mile, he was working hard to keep up. Sarah’s legs were inches longer than his, and Darius and Jen had a game going on where each kid got to be in the lead for a few strides before the other overtook them. Josh, on the other hand, was hurting. Leg cramps. Side pain.
At the one-mile marker, his face felt tight and fiery. Why was this so hard? He should be able to do three miles in his sleep. He ran five almost every day.
Ah. He hadn’t eaten today. Or last night, now that he thought of it. Had he had anything to drink other than coffee this morning?
No. “You guys go ahead,” he called. “I’ll catch up.”
Sarah didn’t pause, her braids swinging as she continued.
“You okay?” Jen asked over her shoulder.
“I didn’t drink enough this morning. See you at the finish line.”
“I’ll slow down for you, Josh,” Darius said.
“No, Daddy! Run faster!” Sebastian demanded.
“It’s okay,” Josh said. “You go ahead. Pebbles needs a drink, too.” Yes. Blame the dog.
He swerved to a water station, accepted a water bottle and drank it, watching them get farther and farther ahead. That was fine. He’d never mastered talking and running at the same time anyway.
He gave Pebbles the rest of the water, then continued running. The heat, the thickness of the air . . . ugh. He hadn’t thought to put on sunscreen, either. No baseball cap to cut the ruthless glare of the sun.
A woman was running at about the same pace. She was pushing a tiny stroller that could only fit a newborn. Should she be out so soon after giving birth? Josh wondered. Scientific curiosity got the best of him, and he angled over to look at her child, peered in, then flinched.
Not a baby. A very ugly dog with a bald, fat stomach and scraggly, grayish-white fur.
“Hi!” said the owner.
“I thought your dog was a baby.”
“Oh, he is. My fur baby! Hey! I know you! Don’t I? Have we met?”
It was the woman from the vet’s. Rather a shock that her dog was still alive.
“We both use Dr. Kumar.”
“Right!”
Also, he’d seen her spill a tray of drinks on someone. The night he’d met Radley, and punched the rude man.
“So this is . . . ?”
“Duffy, remember? Duffy, say hi!” Duffy didn’t move, lying on his side, his tongue hanging out. Josh was tempted to ask if he might have died, but then again, the poor woman would find out soon enough. “What’s your dog’s name again?” she asked.
“Pebbles.”
“Oh, right. Like Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm?”
Josh had no idea. “Yeah.”
“This is a great cause, isn’t it?”
“Sure.” Again, the running-and-talking thing . . . difficult.
“My brother has Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. You know . . . the one where your joints are loose and they dislocate all the time?”
“Uh-huh.” The rhythm of his feet on the pavement was hypnotic, echoing a little, almost soothing.
“So he’s doing okay, but there’s no cure. Yet. He needs pain relief, mostly. He doesn’t seem to have the vascular part. Thank God.”
“That’s good.” Was it because Josh was running that he couldn’t quite see the people lining the streets? Or was he—
“He’s only twenty-two, poor kid. And you know what? People think he’s an addict, because he’s really thin. The pharmacists won’t fill his pain meds because they think he’s a junkie, and even though his doctor called—” She glanced at him. “Are you okay?”
Nope. No, he wasn’t. “I . . . uh . . . I think I need a breather.”
And then his knees buckled, and the pavement was gritty against his cheek. Pebbles licked his ear with great vigor.
The woman’s face appeared suddenly, her dark ponytail touching the ground. “Yikes,” she said. “Should I call 911?”
“I think . . . I fainted.”
A medic on a bicycle was there almost instantly. “Stay where you are, sir,” he ordered, kneeling next to him and taking his pulse. “Another one down,” he said into the radio on his collar. “Told you we’d have at least a dozen.” He looked down at Josh. “Sir? What day is it?”
“Saturday. I didn’t
eat this morning,” Josh said. “I’m fine. I’m dehydrated.” He tried to get up.
The guy pushed him back down. “Stay here. I need to assess you. You people make my job hard. A 5K in this weather isn’t for everyone.”
Faint-shaming. Not cool. “Sorry.” Then again, Josh and his ilk also kept the guy employed, so maybe the EMT should be a little more gracious.
“Do you know where you are, sir?” People ran past, gawking, telling him to hang in there.
“Yes. I’m in Providence, Rhode Island, home of the fourth-largest self-supporting marble dome in the world, doing a run to raise awareness for rare diseases. Can I at least sit on the sidewalk?”
The medic and Duffy’s owner helped him to his feet, and one of the spectators quickly offered him a chair. He sat, and the medic took his blood pressure. “Ninety over fifty, sir. You are definitely dehydrated. And running on an empty stomach? That’s just dumb.”
“Thanks. I know. Sorry.” It was embarrassing to be the subject of so much attention. He petted Pebbles’s head, and she licked him some more.
“Do you want me to wait with you?” Duffy’s owner asked.
“No.” God no. “You keep at it. Thank you.”
“No worries! Sorry to leave you. It’s just that my brother’s waiting for me at the finish line.”
“Have fun,” he said, and she was gone. Good stride, nice muscles in her legs. People were pretty decent, if you gave them a chance. He needed to remember that more.
Josh was given an electrolyte drink, made to sit with an ice pack on his head, then released with a warning from the surly medic. Josh thanked the person who’d loaned him the chair (another nice, decent person), then cut across a block to get to the finish line back on PC’s campus.
“There you are!” Jen exclaimed. “Everything okay? We heard someone fainted!”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just took it slow. The heat, you know?”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. It seemed to be a thing of hers.
His mom, Ben, Sumi and Donna appeared; Donna had called his mother, they said, and the Kims tagged along, too. The Kims were lugging coolers and two picnic baskets, never ones to skimp on food. They found a spot under a tree and ate, and Josh felt significantly better. Octavia, who finally had learned to walk, toddled around, anointing everyone with drooly kisses and buttercups. In the distance, the white-robed priests strolled the campus, and Pebbles ran off to intercept a Frisbee.
“You doing all right, son?” Ben asked, sitting next to him.
“Yeah.”
“Missing your wife, of course.”
Josh nodded. Ben put his arm around his shoulders.
“She was a flower,” the older man said.
“She was a whole field of flowers,” he said, and Ben nodded.
Neither said anything else, and Josh was grateful for the silence and the company. Ben was the only one who could pull that off. Silence was good. Silence let him imagine his wife here, playing with the kids, chasing them around, giving piggyback rides. Well, of course she’d been too weak for that. But in his mind, she was healthy, and the kids begged for more, and she’d chase them and roar and swoop them up in her arms until she flopped down on the grass next to him. She’d put her head in his lap, maybe, and he would feel real again. Not this fake version of himself, the ghost of Lauren’s husband.
But once, he had been Lauren’s husband. He was proud of that. The two feelings would have to make peace.
“I should get going,” he said. He stood up, helped Ben to his feet and gave him a brief hug.
He was the first to leave, but the urge to get home was strong. He stood up, fist-bumped Sebastian and then Octavia and steeled himself for the goodbye rounds.
“I left something under your door,” Sarah said. “I would’ve brought it if I’d known you were coming.” The eyebrow lifted again.
A letter. A Lauren letter. God, he needed that today. So much.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll text you about getting together.”
He said his goodbyes and headed out. As he walked away, he felt his shoulders drop and the tension leave his legs.
Peopling was hard. It was worth it about half the time, but it took a lot out of him. Pebbles seemed to agree, because she curled up in a ball in the back seat of the car on the way home.
The letter was waiting when he got there.
Josh, #5
This time, he didn’t wait. He tore it open right there in the foyer, despite that fact that his shirt was salty with dried sweat. He was desperate to hear her words.
Dear Joshua Park,
I love you. I love you! I love you so much. I love that you’re half-Swedish. I love that you look nothing like a Swede, not because I have anything against blond hair and blue eyes, but because it’s just cool that you’re a black-haired boy. I love your arms. I love your talented hands. I love that Mrs. Kim taught you to cook. I love how smart you are, even when you tune me out because you’re in your mind palace. I love that you never know what day it is. I love you. You are the best husband in the entire world. No. The entire planetary system, and hell yes, I’m including Pluto on that list.
How are you, honey? Are you doing okay? Settling into a routine yet? I would say that I miss you, but I imagine that I’m haunting you in the really sweet, reassuring way, and NOT in the creepy-little-girl-from-that-terrifying-movie way. WHY did we watch that? Why?
At any rate, sweetest heart, I’m hoping that this month, you might start reaching out a little bit. I know you’re a loner, and yes, it was totally hot when I met you. But I don’t want you to fall back into that because of . . . well . . . loneliness. I don’t want you to be stuck because I died.
So I was thinking maybe you could do some volunteering. Asmaa can put you in touch with a project you’d like. Maybe you can do something with the homeless veterans, you know? Or be one of those folks who picks up trash on Sunday mornings? Maybe you can be a Big Brother or something.
You’re too good to waste, Josh. I want the world to get to share you, my truest love, my heart, my honeybun. You have so many gifts. The world is lucky to have you, and I was the luckiest of all.
I love you, honey. Forever.
Lauren
He had tears in his eyes when he finished reading.
Sometimes, when they were married, they’d have the same idea at the same time. He’d call her from the market and say, “I was thinking of making chicken Parmesan for dinner,” and she’d squeal and say, “I was literally texting you this very minute, asking if you’d make chicken Parm!” Or sometimes he’d say, “Turn on the subtitles, okay?” at the very second she was reaching for the remote to do just that.
“Soon,” she once said, before her diagnosis, “we won’t even need words to communicate.” He liked that idea.
It was the same today. “Great minds think alike, honey,” he said aloud, his voice husky.
No one would ever know him the way she had.
But they could know him a little. After all, he was the man who had won Lauren Carlisle’s heart. The luckiest guy in the world.
20
Joshua
Month seven
September
THEY WERE IN Hawaii, but it was the Providence apartment, or maybe it was the Cape house they’d rented. At any rate, they were by the ocean, and it was sunny and beautiful, and he could hear the gentle roar of the ocean. The breeze skimmed their skin, blowing Lauren’s hair against his neck. She was laughing, leading him into the bedroom, wearing a filmy white nightgown, barefoot, no makeup, that cute little tummy, sexy as hell.
He was kissing her again, actually kissing her. She was real, she was back, she was his again. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said.
“Of course I’m here, silly,” she said, and her voice . . . he’d forgotten how much he loved the sound of her voice,
huskier than when they first met, but so beautiful.
“You came back.”
“I’ll always come back, honey.” Then she pulled him closer and slid his shirt off his shoulders, unbuckled his belt and pulled him onto her, falling back on the bed.
“I missed you so much,” he said.
“I know, Josh. You’ve been amazing. So brave and good.”
“You can be dead if you come back like this, okay? I don’t mind, as long as I can see you.”
She laughed, kissing his cheek, mouth, neck, sliding her hands down his back, to his hips, tugging him closer, opening her legs, and she—
* * *
HE JOLTED AWAKE with a raging hard-on and only the sleeping dog next to him.
“No!” he yelled, punching the mattress. “Goddamnit!” Pebbles leaped off the bed and ran into another room, but for the love of God, Josh did not want to wake up. It was like losing her all over again.
If he was going to have a sex dream about his wife, couldn’t he at least finish it? He flopped back on the bed and closed his eyes, but he knew it was no use. He wasn’t going to fall back asleep. His erection tented the sheet. God, it was embarrassing. Ridiculous. He had a boner for his dead wife and nothing to do for it, aside from the obvious. But he didn’t want to jerk off. He’d probably cry, and the combination was too pathetic, even for him.
He closed his eyes and tried to recapture the dream, but already, it was breaking apart, like fog. The hard-on stayed.
Ridiculous.
It had seemed so real. She had seemed so real. Missing her was a gaping maw, an ache in his whole body.
The clock read 3:06 a.m. The loneliest hour in the world.
Jen said dreams were visits from the dead, but to him, it felt like torture, to have been in that dreamworld and to have to come back to find Lauren dead.
Growing up Lutheran, he’d gone to services regularly with his mom—St. Paul’s, a beautiful old church in Providence with lots of stained glass windows and hard wooden pews. It was a nice community—his mom loved the outreach and community service they did. It was good enough in that respect, but the idea of God reaching down to help here and there, of an afterlife . . . harder to swallow. Maybe it was the science geek in him. Maybe his birth father was an atheist, and it was genetic. The idea that God was waiting in the sky somewhere, deciding whether or not to answer your prayers . . . it didn’t make a lot of sense.
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