He was functioning. He’d started cooking and eating better. He took better care of Pebbles because the dog deserved it, and looking into her eyes gave him some sense of connection. She had lost Lauren, too, so he tried. Brushed her and threw the Frisbee to her in the dog park, rubbed her belly and told her she was a pretty girl. He was tidying up the apartment more regularly. He let his mom cook him dinner a couple of times, understanding she needed to be needed, and that, like him, she was better with actions than words. He texted or called Donna every third day. He started babysitting for Jen and Darius, the way he and Lauren had.
But God, he still felt so empty. He wasn’t in constant agony anymore—it had been almost six months—but he wasn’t better, either. He went to karate and managed to smile and even laugh there; hard not to with all those little warriors. Same at the Hope Center, and when he got to see Sebastian and Octavia. He and Radley did something once in a while, too—drinks or food or a movie at Josh’s.
But those were a few hours. Three or five hours in a week that lasted one hundred and sixty-eight.
He adjusted the calendar on his computer so it only showed two days at a time, because looking at the days and weeks and months and years ahead of him . . . it was just too hard. All that time would come and go, and still Lauren would not be back. Ever.
Darius called him one muggy Saturday morning. “Dude, there’s a marathon today. It raises money for rare disease treatment and research. Jen and I are running with the kids. Sarah, too. You want in? It’s a 5K. You can handle it, right? Sorry I just told you about it. Jen is giving me a dirty look right now, because I was supposed to call you last week.”
Josh wasn’t used to this kind of rushed decision, to spontaneity. It made him nervous. “You want me to sponsor you?”
“No, brother. Just run with us.”
“Oh.” He winced, then silently chastised himself. “Yeah, okay.” Why not? He liked running, more or less, and had nothing else going on this weekend. Radley was in Chicago, doing the residency part of his low-residency program. Besides, Radley had gone above and beyond already, and Josh didn’t want to give him friend fatigue (another term he’d learned on the forum). “Sure. I’m in.”
“Excellent! Meet us in an hour. Texting you the info now. See you there, buddy.”
* * *
THE RACE STARTED at Providence College, the beautiful Catholic school on the other side of the city from Brown and RISD. Josh brought Pebbles; Sebastian and Octavia loved the dog. He paid the entry fee, filled out a form holding the organizers free from liability should he drop dead at some point—it was pretty hot—and got a chip for his shoelace.
“Are you running in honor of someone?” the lady at the table asked.
“Um . . . yes. My wife.”
“What’s her disease?”
Such a weird question. “Idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis.”
The woman knew enough to flinch. “I’m so sorry. If you want to write her name on your number, go right ahead.”
“No, thank you.” The last thing he wanted was for people to know he was a widower, which would compel him to talk about his beautiful wife with strangers who would say stupid things like she’s at peace now and heaven has another angel.
He found Lauren’s family at their meeting spot and exchanged the usual awkward, sad hugs. He gave Jen a kiss on the forehead, and managed not to pull away from Donna. Sebastian declined to hug him; he hadn’t been the same around Josh since Lauren died. Poor little guy was only four.
“High five?” Josh suggested. Sebastian shook his head, and Josh wanted to cry. Once, the kid had run into his arms. Now, he knew Josh was broken somehow. Luckily, Pebbles came to the rescue and began licking Sebastian’s face, getting the kid to giggle and wriggle. That dog was worth her weight in gold.
“Unca Josh!” Octavia announced.
“Hi, peanut,” he said, his voice husky.
He remembered to ask Darius about work and ask Donna about Bill. People kept coming by to say hello, which Josh hated. Too reminiscent of Lauren’s funeral.
And there was Sarah. She looked at him, then looked away, her face tight. Super. He needed to apologize, but he sensed she wouldn’t make it easy.
“Hey. Got a second?” he asked.
“Sure!” she said, fake smiling.
They walked a few yards away from everyone else, to the shade of a tree. It was a brutally hot day, already ninety, and muggy. The shade felt nominally better. Sarah’s smile dropped.
She looked tanned; he forgot where she’d gone, but it didn’t matter. Her blond hair was lighter than normal, pulled back in those complicated braids. She wore blue running shorts and a matching tank top. She was very fit, he noticed. Athletic, even. Was that new, or had she always been?
“What’s up?” she asked.
“How was your vacation?”
“Great.” She raised an eyebrow.
“Where did you go?”
“The Outer Banks.” She stared, waiting. Expectant and righteous. Which, he supposed, she’d earned. He should do something with his hands, which seemed to hang awkwardly, so he tried to put them in his pockets before remembering that he had no pockets. He put his hands on his hips, then let them fall again.
Peopling was hard.
“Well?” Sarah asked.
“Right. Listen . . . I said some stupid things. Unkind things. About you.”
“Yes. You did.”
“Yeah.” His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “So we’re good, then?”
She twitched. “Excuse me?”
“Um . . . are we okay?”
“No, Joshua. You haven’t apologized.”
He blinked. “I just did.”
“No, you just acknowledged your assholery. You haven’t apologized at all.”
“Oh.” He wished he had Pebbles, but she was with Darius and Sebastian. “Well, I’m sorry.”
“Shitty job, Josh. Try again.” Her face was hard, mouth tight. She looked like she might spit acid at him in another minute.
He blew out a breath, trying to give her what she wanted. “I’m very sorry?” She shook her head. “Sarah, I’m sorry for what I said.” He paused. “You were a good friend to Lauren. She appreciated you.”
Sarah had her hands on her hips. “Still not feeling it.”
“I’m deeply sorry.”
“Do you even have normal human emotions, Josh? Because what you said cut me to my heart, okay? There was nothing you could’ve said that would’ve hurt more. So a few crappy sentences aren’t going to cut it.”