THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN the trip to Hawaii and the trip to Turks and Caicos was the oxygen. In Hawaii, they had been a gorgeous couple on their honeymoon; here, they were That Tragic Couple. Oh, the looks, or overly kind faces, and yes, even tears her mere appearance brought on! So young! So attractive! The horror, the horror, etc.

Josh had chosen a spectacular resort filled with stone pathways and tropical gardens, a spa and five-star restaurants. The sky was impossibly blue, and the turquoise water so clear they could see a turtle from fifty feet away. Their villa had a living room, covered porch, and a bedroom with an enormous bed. First things first—put that bed to good use, and Lauren wasn’t talking about a nap.

They walked slowly down the beach afterward, her long pink summery dress blowing, a big straw hat on her head—redheads were cursed when it came to the sun. Her oxygen was in her leather bag, and if you didn’t look closely, you might not notice the cannula in her nose.

For a little while, she wouldn’t notice it, either. She’d notice the soft sand and hot sun, her husband’s hand in hers, the brush of her dangly earrings on her shoulders. She’d listen to the birds and figure out how to go snorkeling tomorrow.

That evening, they chose one of the restaurants on the resort property. There was a huge terrace scattered with tables, candles and flowers everywhere. They got a table overlooking the garden and the ocean beyond, and ignored the pitying yet encouraging looks that said, Good for you, eating even though you’re sick! Aren’t you brave!

Sigh.

They’d made their way through their appetizers when a server approached. “Another couple would like to pay for your dinners,” he murmured. She and Josh exchanged puzzled looks.

Ah. Over there, an older couple waved discreetly.

“No,” Josh said.

“It’s very kind, but no thanks,” Lauren said.

“They insist.”

“It’s so sweet, but no,” Lauren said. She looked at the couple and shook her head, smiling firmly.

The waiter grimaced. “They said not to take no for an answer.”

“Tell them to donate to a veteran’s group or Save the Children instead,” Lauren suggested.

“They said you were very brave—”

“No!” Josh said, leaping to his feet. “I can pay for my wife’s dinner, goddamnit!” He turned to face the couple, whose expressions had morphed into abrupt shock. “Take your pity and shove it up your ass!”

“Honey!” she said, standing.

“No. Mind your own fucking business!” he yelled, his voice hard. “We don’t need your money. We’re not the Make-A-Wish Foundation!”

“Sir,” the waiter said. “Please, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not you,” Lauren said, putting her hand on Josh’s arm. “Joshua. Sit down, honey.”