They looked at a third house, but it was down by the capitol, right near the train station, and Josh would be driven crazy by the noise. It was also new construction, and very new money, which Josh supposed he was, but he was not the type who needed to brag about his Venetian glass drawer pulls and Italian marble island. “I’m so over this subway tile, all-white kitchen,” Radley said. “But this island, babe. Think of the filthy things we could do up here.”

“Ooh. Chop those vegetables the way Mommy likes,” Sarah said in a breathy voice.

More staggering, more wheezing, more apologies from Josh.

“Are you actually interested in buying a house, or is this just because you’re bored?” Frank asked. “It’s okay if you are. People do it all the time.”

“No, I . . . I just started looking. These two are just comic relief. My wife died in February, and I . . . I guess I need a change.”

“I’m so sorry,” Frank said.

“Thanks.” Hopefully, his tone shut that conversation down.

“Describe the perfect house for you,” Frank suggested, sitting at the island and gesturing for Josh to do the same.

The perfect house would have Lauren in it. Their kids.

Don’t be a loser.

Josh took a deep breath and exhaled. “I don’t want a mansion. This is too . . . imposing. It’s beautiful, but it’s too . . . sterile. The other houses were too much like museums.” He thought a moment. “I want a house where my family can visit. A big yard for my dog. A decent kitchen. I like to cook.” He liked to cook for others. Cooking for himself was boring, and depressing to boot.

“Got it,” Frank said. “I have a place in mind, actually. It’s not in Providence, but it’s just over the line in Cranston. It backs up to Narragansett Bay, and it’s a nice old house with great woodwork and some stained glass windows. Big but not grotesque. It needs some work, but the bones are great. Want to see it?”

“Sure.” Radley and Sarah would, that was for sure.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the house, a fat older house, not quite a Victorian, not quite Arts and Crafts, not quite Tudor . . . a little odd, really, with its steeply pitched roof and lead-paned windows. Big yard. The back led to a set of stairs down to a dock overlooking Narragansett Bay.

It smelled like the ocean and pine trees.

They went up the deep front porch, which wrapped around one corner. It would be nice and shady in the summer, he imagined. Frank fumbled with his key.

“Sorry we were acting like children,” Radley said, smiling. “We’re his friends. This guy here is solid gold, but he needs a laugh every now and then.”