“They should serve alcohol at these things,” the man said. “It’s not AA, right? Bring out the Dark and Stormys!” Rebecca laughed and then immediately thought she might cry; Peter had loved Dark and Stormys.

“I’m sorry,” the man said. “Did I say something to upset you?”

She shook her head, mute, and he said, “I did. I can see that I did. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” she said, because she couldn’t figure out how to say, “No need to be sorry,” without bursting into tears.

“How can I make it up to you? How about I buy you a drink after the meeting?”

She looked around and realized she didn’t want to be at the meeting—there was so much grief and sadness in the room, and she didn’t have space for the grief of so many other people in her withered heart, which could barely contain her own. She hesitated, and he said, “Are you from Newburyport? You look so familiar.”

She nodded, still not trusting herself to speak, and he continued, “I teach economics at the high school. I’m Daniel.” He held out his hand. Daniel Economics, thought Rebecca. Easy enough to remember. “I’m Rebecca Coleman,” she said, meeting his own hand with hers. Then some part of her that she thought had died with Peter—the part that danced to Nirvana in high school, the part that used to like sunbathing and sex and staying out until sunrise—said, “How about we skip this whole thing, and you buy me a drink right now?”

They went to a new wine bar in downtown Haverhill, and saying, “Red?” and waiting for her nod, Daniel Economics ordered two glasses of Cabernet. She was grateful for this: there had been so many questions in the past year—coffin or urn? Where’s the life insurance paperwork? Do we have the kind of faucets that need to be turned off in the winter?—that she’d have been happy if somebody else answered everything for the rest of her life.

“So . . . ,” said Daniel when they were seated. “Let’s get the inevitable out of the way.”

Rebecca took a sip of the wine and was immediately infused with a great warmth and a sense of peace. Wine!

“Husband,” she said. “You may have heard of him, it was news in town at the time. Ruptured aneurysm. Age forty-eight. I have two daughters, seventeen and eleven.”

Daniel Economic’s brow furrowed immediately. He was sort of adorable when he did that; he looked like an overgrown Sharpei.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Thank you,” she allowed.

“I know, that’s what everyone says. But really, I am so, so, sorry.”

“Thank you,” she repeated. It was what everyone said, but somehow he said it differently—there was something in the directness of his gaze, and in its softness, that made her feel like he really meant it.

He was looking at her very earnestly. “How are your daughters? How are you?”

“Okay,” she said. “I don’t know. Bad. Fine. Terrible, mediocre, fabulous. It depends on the day. It’s hard to read Alexa—she’s older, and she’s in a different situation. But Morgan, she’s only in fifth grade. She’s taking it hard.”

“Ohhh,” said Daniel. “Oh. Yes, I remember now. I know about your husband. Peter, you said?” She nodded. “I remember now. You should know . . . you probably know that I had your daughter, for Intro to the Stock Market. I didn’t make the connection. Does she have a different last name?”

“She does,” said Rebecca. “Thornhill. She kept my ex’s name.” She squinted at him. She’d had only three sips, but the wine was starting to hit her. Her legs felt pleasantly numb, her lips loose. “Now you go,” she said. “Your turn.”

“Sister,” he said. “Breast cancer, five months ago. She left behind a daughter, who’s almost thirteen.”

“Oh my God!” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m really so, so sorry. That shouldn’t be allowed to happen.”

“I know. It shouldn’t. But it did.”

“Older sister or younger sister?”

He took a deep breath; it was a breath that seemed to contain all of the sorrow in the world. He let it out slowly, deliberately. “The same age,” he said. “I’m older, technically, but only by seven minutes.”

“No! Oh, no. No. You were twins?”

Daniel Economics nodded. “We were really close. I was married, and divorced. I never had kids. Her family became my family. My niece feels like my own kid. They live in Boxford, so I see them a lot.” He shrugged. “It’s like a part of me died when she died.”

“Of course it is,” said Rebecca. “You were together from the very beginning.”

“That’s it. That’s exactly it. We were together from the very beginning. I just can’t seem to . . . get over it doesn’t seem like the right term, because I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. But I can’t seem to get back to regular life. I mean, I’m doing everything I need to do, sort of, but I’m just—”

He trailed off, and Rebecca said, “Going through the motions?”

“Exactly!” He smiled, and an unexpected dimple popped out in his left cheek. “Exactly.”

“I get it.”