He’d had more red-outs in the past few years than he had in the rest of his life combined. Now that the rage had passed, he felt ashamed. Lauren had been busy just staying alive, and so what if her note was short? He was a shitty and ungrateful husband—widower—for not being more appreciative of these letters, even if this one wasn’t his favorite. She’d been busy trying to live.

Josh sighed, got Pebbles and went up to the garden, careful to avoid looking over. Instead, he looked up at the sky. Almost sunset now. October’s days were notably shorter, and Josh was relieved. August had been wretchedly hot, the weather and humidity seeming to suck the color and life from everything and replace it with sepia-toned pollution or bland, not-quite-real air from the AC.

After seeing Gertie, he’d fallen into a funk. He wanted to feel completely different after the visit—my wife is in heaven and she sees me!—but it didn’t bring Lauren back. Was there a heaven? Maybe? He hoped so, for her sake.

But his problem wasn’t the afterlife. It was the here and now. He skipped karate classes, not wanting to bring his gloom to the little kids, and emailed Asmaa, saying he had a big project to finish, so he couldn’t help out at the center as much this month. She wrote back kindly, saying to take his time, and they’d be happy to see him whenever he could make it in.

It seemed so long ago that he’d been a married man. That his wife and he had sat in the rooftop garden, or at the Cape house, or downstairs, the two of them made safe by love.

Do something for his professional life, and try something he was afraid of.

He sighed. Pebbles jumped up next to him and put her head on his leg, and he petted her silky head, grateful for the perfect forgiveness of a dog.

Each year, Johnson & Johnson sponsored a giant medical device conference, and he’d gone every year since he was twenty, except for last year, when he was afraid to leave his wife. He could go again; he’d been thinking of it himself, more for a change of scenery than anything else. It was next week, so that would take care of Lauren’s request for this month. But it didn’t have the kismet feeling the volunteering letter had . . . the feeling that they were still in sync somehow, that she’d been able to read his mind.

As far as the “do something you’re scared of doing,” he wasn’t sure what that meant. He’d presented at this conference before, and while he didn’t love crowds, he wasn’t phobic or anything. He just left when it got too overwhelming or loud.

What had Lauren had in mind?

He would never know.