“It left a mark, of course,” Stephanie continued. “The facts are the facts. Joshua’s father deserted him before he was even born. It’s part of his identity, same as being a high-functioning super-genius with Asperger’s, or autism spectrum disorder, or neurodiversity, or whatever we’re calling it these days. Those terms change so fast. Anyway, are you hungry? I’m starving. Want a grilled cheese? It’s my specialty, after all.”

The conversation was over, clearly. “Thanks, Steph. I’d love one.” Her mother-in-law did make the best grilled cheese sandwiches, using at least three types of cheese. Otherwise, she wasn’t much of a cook. Steph patted her shoulder as she went in the kitchen, and Lauren opened her notebook.

* * *

ALMOST EVERY DAY, she and Josh drove to the bay side to watch the sunset and let Pebbles splash and swim and sniff (and roll in) the carcasses of fish or birds or crabs. The house had a very convenient and huge bathroom on the ground floor, and they’d designated it for Pebbles’s baths. Josh would hose her down and shampoo her, then blow her dry (spoiled beastie), so Pebbles would be silky smooth and gorgeous and able to sleep on their bed.

Lauren took to waking up early at the Cape house and tiptoeing to the windows to watch the sunrise by herself, letting Josh sleep. She always started the coffee, because it had been her job even in childhood, when she’d get up early and measure out the grounds. Daddy would come in and act so pleased every time. “Who was so thoughtful? Lauren, sweetheart, thank you! Aren’t you the best girl ever!”

She missed her dad with a constant ache. She missed the reassurance, the comfort a good father brings a daughter. She found herself wondering about the moment of his death, if he’d had any warning, any final thoughts. She hoped it wasn’t “Oh shit, that hurts.”

Note to self: Say something profound for your last words.

Her dad felt closer these days. They had more in common now; she would die young, too. She was glad she knew. Sure, sure, a rogue bus could take her out at any moment, but being someone who liked to have a plan, she’d take a diagnosis like IPF over her father’s type of death any day.

Meanwhile, it was impossible not to love life even more on Cape Cod. Was it just the thrill of the ocean, or was her IPF on hold for a bit? She felt good. Stronger. Maybe it was the salt air. Every day, she did gentle yoga on the deck, filling her lungs, visualizing the air having plenty of room, pushing aside the fibers, filling in every available space. Some nights, she didn’t need her oxygen. She knew there was no cure for pulmonary fibrosis, but maybe . . . just maybe . . . it had slowed down.

The occasional thunderstorm made her giddy with joy, and with every flash of lightning she’d say, “Did you see that?” even though Josh was right beside her. The stars were fierce and bright on clear nights, and they could hear coyotes sometimes, or a fox yipping.

This would be a good place to die, Lauren couldn’t help thinking. This would be such a beautiful last thing to see.

One weekend in late August, Lauren sent Josh home again so she could have a proper girls’ weekend. Asmaa from the Hope Center, Mara from RISD, Louise from work, Sarah and Jen all came up to the Cape, fighting the monstrous traffic on Route 6, and stayed for five days. She had convinced Josh to stay in Providence, saying she needed some time with her girlies, assuring him that Jen would call him if she had a flare-up. They dressed up and put on makeup, then drove to Provincetown and had dinner overlooking the bay, eating lazy-man lobster, drinking fancy martinis, telling embarrassing stories about past loves and bad dates. Afterward, they saw a drag show and laughed so hard Lauren had to up her oxygen flow. Totally worth it.

It was lovely, she thought, looking around at them. They were wonderful friends. She’d miss them. Or not. The Great Beyond probably had contingency plans for spirits who wanted to check in on their friends.

Besides, she reminded herself, she could have years more. Years!

“I could get hit by a bus tomorrow,” people were fond of saying, their way of trying to be sympathetic when they heard about her disease. No one knew what the future held. And hey. Unlucky bus drivers aside, it was true. Staying in the moment was better than wringing hands about the future. She wasn’t going to waste this glorious summer thinking about how sick she was.

7

Lauren

Ten months left

April

Dear Daddy,

You have a granddaughter! Her name is Octavia Lauren, and she is the most beautiful thing in the entire universe, as you probably know because I swear you were there.

 Holding her before she was ten minutes old, Daddy . . . the smell of her, her little sounds, grunting and squeaking. I said, “I love you, sweetheart,” and, Dad, she opened her eyes. She looked right at me, and it was like staring into all the mysteries of the universe, like this tiny baby (well, she was eight pounds, five ounces, so not tiny for Jen . . .) was telling me that no matter what, everything will be okay. We just looked and looked at each other, and I have never felt more perfect or known in my life.

 Eventually, I had to give her back to Jen, who was a champion. She is amazing, Dad. Amazing.

 Then Josh came in with Sebastian, because he was in the waiting room with the little guy. Sebastian ran in with a stuffed bunny and said, “My sister! Hi, my sister! You’re so cute!” Then he started crying with love. He kissed her forehead and said, “I love you, my sister!” and everyone was bawling.

 When Mom came in, for once she didn’t make it about how sad she was that you weren’t there. She was just beaming, and when Jen told her the name, Mom said, “Oh, how beautiful! What a perfect name!” and hugged me.

 There was so much love in that room, Dad. I know you felt it, too.

 Josh and I took Sebastian home with us later that day so Jen could rest, and he slept over. Pebbles slept on his bed, which he thought was so funny. And you know Jen; she was up and about in two days, oversharing about her bleeding and how much it stings to pee.