There were half a dozen framed photos of Lauren, on the desk, on the wall. Her face surrounded them, reminding them of all they had lost. All that love. All that happiness.

“How are you?” Jen asked.

“I’m horrible.”

“Me, too. Josh, she left me a letter.” Jen’s eyes filled, and Josh was struck with guilt that he hadn’t taken better care of her. After all, Jen was lost, too. “It was perfect, you know? I had it framed.” Her face scrunched up.

He hugged her again. “I miss her so much,” Jen whispered. “I keep starting to call her. I can’t bear to delete her number from my phone, you know?”

“I do.”

“Of course you do. I’m sorry.” Jen sighed, grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk and blew her nose loudly.

“How’s your mom?” he asked.

“Oh, you haven’t heard? She’s doing great,” Jen said bitterly. “I mean, she’s wrecked, but suddenly this is her new identity. She goes to a grief group every day. It’s like her new religion. And get this, Josh. She met someone. A man. They had coffee last week.”

“Wow.”

“Right?”

“That’s . . . good, I guess.” Lauren had always urged her mother to make new friends or date after her father’s death. Donna had always rejected the idea of doing anything new, but . . . well, now she was. Maybe Donna was doing it for Lauren. If so, that was kind of nice. “Are you okay with it?”

“Whatever brings her peace. Or a distraction. At least she doesn’t call me seven times a day like she did when Lauren was . . .” She took a shaky breath. “I don’t mean to judge. I look at my kids and think of one of them . . . being sick, and I just fall apart. So whatever helps keep Mom together, go for it, right?”

“Right.”

She wiped her eyes again. “You’re such a good guy, Josh.”

Was he, though? He had no idea anymore.

Jen swallowed hard, audibly. “Can I see the . . . tree?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” They left his office, walked through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom, Pebbles padding behind them. Josh stopped in front of their bedroom door, and after a second or two, opened the door.

He came in here to check the tree every third day. That lasted about thirty-five, forty seconds. Fewer, if possible.

But looking at the pristine, empty bedroom now, he remembered the many days when Jen came over and lay on the bed with her little sister, spooning against her. How they always laughed together. How Jen would paint Lauren’s toenails sometimes.

Jen went to the tree in front of the window and gently stroked a leaf. “Oh, Lauren,” she said, her breath hitching. Her tears began again. Josh went over and put his arm around her shoulders. They both looked at the tree. Soil. Soil and a scrawny tree that looked like a stick with seven leaves. That was all they had left of her.

Say something. Tell her something nice, for God’s sake. “You were her hero, Jen,” he said, and it was the right thing, miraculously. Jen hugged him tight, shaking with tears.

“There’s no word for me anymore,” she said. “I’ve been a sister since I was five. Now my sister’s gone. What does that even make me?” She started bawling in earnest.

Would the grief ever lift? Would they—any of them who had loved Lauren—ever be happy again? It didn’t seem possible.

Darius popped his head in. “Oh, sweetie,” he said, and Josh sort of transferred Jen to her husband. Should he leave? He should. Even if it was his bedroom. Pebbles was on the bed, but what the hell. Josh had to get out of the room before he broke.

He went into the half bath and took a couple of breaths. He’d never have to relive this night again. Just get through it, he told himself, but his composure, thin as it was, was cracking.

Try to be normal, loser. Lauren’s voice.

He nodded. Splashed water on his face. Looked at himself in the mirror.

It was a lonely face if ever there was one. Lauren had always told him he was a handsome guy, and yes, women had always sought him out or looked at him twice (see Exhibit A, Creepy Charlotte). He could see traces of his mother—strong bones and wide-set eyes. But his mother’s eyes were blue, and his were brown. Like the man who fathered him, Josh supposed. Whoever that was.

Back to the kitchen. Sarah was cutting up carrots and celery and had found some hummus. Not exactly glamorous, but not bad, either. Ken was leaning on the counter, arranging the vegetables on a plate.

Fuck. Josh would have to make conversation, wouldn’t he?

“So, Ken,” he said. “What do you do for work?”

“I’m in sales for a nutrition company.”

“Cool. Uh, how did you meet Sarah?”

“Online, right, babe?”

“It’s a little early for babe, isn’t it?” Sarah asked mildly.

“Sorry!” Ken said. “I’m jumping the gun a little. Because she’s great, isn’t she? Josh, do you mind if I ask how much this place cost you? I’m looking for a new apartment myself.”

Josh hated talking about money. “Uh, well, it was a few years ago, so the market was different.”

“I hear you, Josh, I hear you. Half a mil, maybe?”

“Sounds about right.”

“Any more places available in this building?”

Oh, Jesus. Don’t move in here. He didn’t want to have to talk to anyone. Creepy Charlotte was bad enough. “Most are one- or two-bedroom units. We got the only three-bedroom, though, because, uh, I work from home, so one bedroom is my office.” The study, Lauren insisted on calling it. It was classier, she’d said.