Two ghosts drifted around their apartment—Lauren, and the Josh who had been her husband, so much more than this empty bag of bones.

For the first time since the night she’d gone into the hospital with the pneumonia that killed her, Josh lay on their bed. Not in it . . . just on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. He’d had to wash the comforter after Pebbles and her Korean chicken adventure, but Lauren’s pillow had been untouched by the sticky sauce. He leaned over and inhaled, smelling her, and the invisible fist of grief slammed him in the heart.

He lay on his back, cradling the pillow, worried that it would lose its Lauren smell. Don’t move, he told himself, so tired that the thought made sense. Don’t move, and it won’t find you. If he could stay empty, he wouldn’t wind up on the floor, howling. He prayed for sleep, for a dream about his wife, but his eyes stayed open.

12:14 a.m.

1:21.

2:07.

3:38.

4:15.

5:03.

5:49.

Light filtered into the room. He could get up now. He made coffee. Opened the fridge. Closed the fridge. Took Pebbles out to pee. Came back up to drink the coffee.

He went onto the online forum for young widowers and widows and asked how people survived this. Drink lots of water, people reminded him, his fellow amputees, fellow husks. Congratulate yourself on getting out of bed or eating something. Get some exercise. Be kind to yourself. Process the trauma, the forum people said, whatever that meant.

He tried to remember if he’d taken the dog for a run yesterday. Maybe? He could go for a run now. It was drizzly and gray outside. He might have to give Pebbles a bath afterward. That would kill some time. So he pulled on his running shoes and out they went.

People were on their way to work. Lots of raincoats, lots of umbrellas, lots of fast walkers going into buildings. Josh kept running, turning at the river, running at the base of College Hill. His earbuds were in, though he had forgotten his phone, or left it behind subconsciously. Still, the earbuds would protect him. Providence was a small city, and he’d grown up here, gone to two colleges here. He didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone. They’d blown their chance yesterday.

It was a shock, this continuing world. So many people were happy. Didn’t they know what was in store for them? Look at me and despair, he wanted to tell them, like Jacob Marley’s ghost. I was once you. He wanted to grab one of those happy assholes and shake them.

He stopped at a red light, then ran when it changed, stepping into an ankle-deep puddle of tepid water. Pebbles’s belly was wet and dingy.

God, he missed being married. Coming home to someone. Someone to ask where his other sock was. Someone to tease. Someone to touch. He was alone in a sea of people, all of them connected, it seemed. He had his mom. The Kims. Somewhere out there, the biological father who had deserted him before he was born, so what good was he? He had Lauren’s small family.

That was it.

What a shit idea it had been to work for himself, by himself. Well, it had been incredibly lucky when Lauren was alive and fighting, but it was shit now. He could get a job somewhere, but the thought of leaving the house every day, coming home to it . . . no. Not yet. The literature said not to make big decisions the first year of widowhood.

He eventually found himself running on his own street, having circled back, unsure of how long he’d been gone. Pebbles was panting and filthy. He took the stairs to their apartment, opened the door and looked at the kitchen clock.

11:09.

Jesus. It was, impossibly, still morning.

Wash the dog. Towel her dry. Take a shower. Get dressed. Clean the bathroom of wet dog fur. Eat. Drink.

12:13.

He sighed and closed his burning eyes. Lay down on the couch, but was tormented by visions of Lauren’s last hours. He sighed again, got up and headed for his computer.

Pebbles came trotting over, but she was wobbly, favoring her left back leg. “What’s the matter, pooch?” he asked, the sound of his voice too loud for his own ears. “You okay?” He ran his hand down her leg, and she whimpered.

“Great, Josh,” he said out loud. “Now you’ve ruined the dog.” Pebbles turned to lick his face. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ll take you to the vet, okay?”

Yes. Even if she was just a little sore from too much exercise, it would give him something to do. If there was one thing he was good at, it was doctor’s appointments.

He called the vet’s office and gave his name.

“Pebbles? An Australian shepherd mix?” the receptionist asked.

“That’s right.”

There was a pause. “I was sorry to read about your wife’s death in the paper. She was lovely.”

Lauren’s obituary had been in the Providence Journal, since she’d been a damn impressive woman and had grown up here. “Thank you,” he said after a pause, remembering to speak.

“Come in at two,” she said. “We had a cancellation.”

“Thank you,” he repeated, and hung up.

By the time they got there, Pebbles wasn’t limping anymore. Still. They were here. It could fill the day.

In person, the receptionist was all-business, which Josh appreciated. He checked in, sat down and waited. Looked at Cat Fancy magazine, which was a real thing. Checked his phone. A text from Jen asking him over for dinner this weekend. He answered yes immediately. Thank God. He’d see the kids. It would be noisy. Darius would slap him on the shoulder. He’d be back in the land of the living, in other words. He asked what he could bring. She told him to bring some beer. He would do that.

There was another text from his dentist, reminding him he had an appointment, press Y to confirm, C to cancel. C it was. Wasn’t he suffering enough?

The thought made him smile a little. Lauren would’ve liked that joke.