Why was he here? He had to get home. He somehow had to figure out how to get these groceries put into bags, pay for them, get into the car—he had driven, right?—and get home.

“Hey, Josh,” came a mellow voice. It was Yolanda, their favorite manager here, who always wore earrings proclaiming her name. Lauren used to chat with her about Yolanda’s kids, knowing which grades they were in, what sports they played. How did she do that? How did she know Yolanda had kids? People just talked to Lauren. They trusted her. He was nothing compared to her. He was a piece of plywood, and she had been a rose. It was even her middle name. Lauren Rose Carlisle Park.

Yolanda tilted her head, her eponymous earring brushing her shoulder. “You okay?”

“She died,” he said.

“Oh, baby,” Yolanda said, and she opened her arms, and suddenly Josh had his head on her shoulder, his body stiff, his face aching with the effort of not crying. “I’m so sorry, honey. She was the sweetest thing.”

He straightened up before he broke. Nodded.

“Let me check you out, hon. Come on.” Yolanda led the way, opened a register and started ringing him up.

He hadn’t brought the grocery bags. They were in the back of the car, but going to get them seemed akin to running a marathon. He stood, staring at the floor, as Yolanda bagged. “That’s $159.23, hon.”

“Sorry?”

“You need to pay, hon. Did you bring your wallet?”

He didn’t know. He felt for his back pocket. “Uh . . . no. I don’t think so.” He could feel himself shutting down, powering off.

Yolanda smiled sadly. “Okay. I got you this time. Just pay me back when you come in again. Take care, Josh. Take care of yourself.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

When he got home, he shoved all the bags in the fridge, gave Pebbles some water and went into the guest room. He got into bed fully clothed, pulled the covers up and prayed that he’d dream of his wife once more.

6

Lauren

Eight months left

June 5