“I was asleep.”
“When did you go to bed?” she asked, her voice bossy.
He glanced at the clock. Hours ago. “Um . . . I don’t know.”
“I thought so. Josh. You have to establish a schedule, buddy. Sleeping for God knows how many hours isn’t going to help you move through this.”
He bit down on a sharp answer. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“It’s letter day.” She pulled an envelope from her bag. “There are two this time, so I just brought them both. I was supposed to bring this one the other day, but I got slammed at work with an emergency placement.” Which meant some kid had been removed from his or her home, brought to a stranger’s house with a plastic bag of clothes and maybe a toothbrush. She’d told enough stories that he knew. Lauren used to say that Sarah had always been tough, but she had a “heart like a feather pillow.”
“That must’ve been hard,” he said, remembering to be human.
“It was pretty horrible, yes.”
“Why two letters?”
“She dated this one. I don’t know why. Also, I don’t know what’s in those letters. She didn’t tell me, and obviously, I wouldn’t look.”
She handed him two envelopes this time. One said Josh, May 1, the other Josh #3. Her handwriting was so round and sweet.
Lauren had had something to say yesterday. Yesterday, when he felt so alone and forgotten. His heart started thumping harder.
Sarah tilted her head. “You okay, pal?”
“What? Yeah, I’m fine.”
“We should get together. You know.” She shrugged. “Dinner? A movie? An outing somewhere? Let’s hang out. It’ll be good for both of us.”
Her words were a blur. “Okay. Sure. Thank you, Sarah.”
“I have to run. I’m going to Long Island for a conference. I’m presenting a workshop on kinship care. So maybe when I get back.”
He had to drag his eyes off the envelopes. “Um, that’s great. Good for you, Sarah. About the workshop.”
She smiled. “Thanks. See you next week, okay?”
“Okay,” he said. “Thank you for doing this, by the way. Bringing these to me.”
A wave of grief rippled across her face. “Anything for her,” she said, her voice growing husky.
He hadn’t been much of a friend to Sarah since Lauren died. But she’d been there for him a hundred percent, and for Lauren, too. If he did see her next week, he’d try to remember to ask about the conference, her presentation. He’d try to be a better friend.
He leaned in for an awkward hug, bumping his chin against her cheek. She smelled nice. Clean and . . . outdoorsy. Not like Lauren, but still nice. He didn’t like a lot of perfumes or scented soaps, aside from his wife’s. But Sarah smelled . . . pretty. “Take care. Have a good trip.”
“Thanks,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. Then she turned and went down the stairs.
She was good-looking. He’d never really recognized that before, but she was, and it was . . . it was oddly nice to notice. Blond and tall where Lauren had been a redhead and smaller. Attractive, when Lauren had been stunning. To him, anyway. The most beautiful woman in any room, anywhere, anytime.
Time to read what she had to say.
The past two months had taught him to savor this, because as many times as he might reread the letter, the first time was always the best. He would do it right this time.
First, he took Pebbles out for an easy walk. He came back inside, fed the dog her supper and got himself a glass of water.
Then, because the drizzle had cleared and it had become one of those perfect May evenings, he took the letter up to the rooftop garden, avoiding the edge. A seagull was perched on the post, staring into the distance. The spatters of white on the deck said it was a favorite hangout. “Get out of here,” Josh said. “Shoo.”
The bird didn’t even glance at him.
“Seagull. Beat it.” Pebbles cocked her head, amused. “Do something, Pebs,” he said. She wagged her tail and seemed to smile at the bird.
Fine. Josh wasn’t about to go to the edge, and the bird seemed to know it.
He sat on a chaise longue solidly in the middle of the roof. Pebbles leaped up neatly next to him and curled into a ball.
Josh sipped his water, took a few deep breaths. He could smell something floral—the lilacs that grew down in the courtyard, maybe—and it reminded him of Lauren’s soap. “I miss you,” he said out loud. Pebbles wagged her tail. The bird glanced back at them, then turned away again.
Okay. Another sip of water. Then, unable to draw out the moment any longer, he opened the envelope.
Hello, Josh, my darling love.
Today is the anniversary of one of the happiest days of my life—the day you proposed. The way the sun lit up those gorgeous trees, you so handsome in your suit, the beautiful, beautiful ring. I felt like the world stopped for a moment. There was that lady in the pink sweats who got all teary eyed and took our picture, remember? And the little boy who wanted to see the ring and asked why you gave it to me.
He had forgotten that. A cute little kid with curly dark hair and long eyelashes, maybe five years old, asking why Josh gave her a present. Then, upon their explanation, he announced that he was going to ask his friend Hayley to marry him on the school bus the next day.
We went out to dinner at Cafe Nuovo, and our family was there, you sly devil, you. Champagne. Imagine if I’d said no! But of course, I never would have, and clearly, you were feeling pretty dang confident. As you should have been. I don’t remember what we ate, because I was just floating on happiness, but I’m sure it was delicious.
I hope you remember that today, honey. I hope it won’t be all sad for you. Please remember how happy you made me, how perfect that night was, how much I loved the ring you picked out. Maybe you can give it to Sebastian someday, when he’s met a woman he wants to marry. Tell him how happy that ring made me. Don’t let it be unlucky. Let it be a reminder of that perfect day, and all the happiness that followed.
I love you so much, honey. So, so much. Don’t be sad. Okay? That’s a stupid thing to ask. Oh, Josh, I can’t bear thinking of you unhappy. Put yourself back into that day and remember. It was like a dream, the happiest, sunshiniest, most romantic dream in the world. Please don’t be sad.
Lauren
He could almost hear her crying. She had tried so hard not to mourn in front of him. Did he fail her in that regard? Was she able to share that sadness, or did she hide it more often than not? Of course, they’d cried together.