The bed where he’d first made love to Lauren. The bed where they’d spent their first night as husband and wife. The bed where they’d held each other so close the day of her diagnosis. The last place she’d been in this apartment, that night when she woke up, gasping for air.

“You okay?” Radley asked.

“Yes.”

The new mattress would be delivered later today, and the movers would take the old one with them.

They drove to ReStore and dropped off the bed, which was made out of burled maple and snatched up immediately by a young couple.

“Should I tell them it’s cursed?” Josh asked.

“Probably not,” Radley said. “This place is great. I should totally shop here.”

“What’s your place like?” Josh asked. It occurred to him that he should have asked by now.

“Unremarkable. I share an apartment in a two-family house,” he said. “Nice street. Want to come over some night for dinner?”

No. I never want to go anywhere. “Sure,” he said.

“Okay, pal, let’s go see what you like at West Elm, shall we?”

It didn’t take long. He didn’t really care what his couch or bed looked like. He looked for all of three minutes, chose a couch, a floor model that they could take. Then he picked out a bed that, for a chunky fee, would be delivered today. He agreed.

“How about some throw pillows? These ones that look like llama fur?” He looked at the tag. “Oh, my God, I’m half-right. They’re Mongolian lamb’s wool!”

“Sure,” Josh said. “Uh . . . you pick out the colors.”

“I think it’s important that you pick out the colors, Josh. This is a big step.”

He sighed. “Yellow?”

“Yellow is good.” Radley smiled. “How about a few other things, too? Something cheery, maybe? These vases are very cute. Oh! And these lacquer trays will make it so you look classy when you eat in front of the TV.”

Suddenly, Josh did want all new things. He wanted his place to look less like the place Lauren didn’t live anymore. “Yeah. Sure. The vases and trays. And . . . uh, how about these bookends?”

“No need to ask me. I’m just here to nod wisely at the right intervals. As one does when one is a therapist.”

Josh picked up a small lamp. A few shelves that seemed ugly but might be cool. A small sculpture that looked like a strand of DNA. A cluster of mirrors. As he staggered to the checkout, grabbing a basket (Lauren had loved baskets), it dawned on him that Radley might need something, too.

“Can I buy you something?” he asked, clutching an armful of boxes and items. “You’ve been great.”

“Oh, no, that’s nice of you, but unnecessary.”

“Please? As thanks?”

“Uh, sure. Here. This candle.” Radley grabbed a candle and sniffed it. “Lemon. Nice.”