WHY HADN’T HE gotten a fifth opinion? They’d gone to Dr. Bennett at Rhode Island Hospital, then to Mass General and Brigham and Women’s in Boston and, later, to the Mayo Clinic. Every pulmonologist agreed that the treatment plan Dr. Bennett had laid out was the same one they would’ve followed.

And everyone could see how well that turned out.

Josh should’ve taken her to Yale New Haven. And NewYork-Presbyterian. And National Jewish Health in Denver. UCSF. Cleveland Clinic. Shit, there had to be places that did better.

Earlier in the day—technically yesterday, he noted—he’d tried to work, but got derailed when a notification from Pulmonary Fibrosis News popped up. A new trial was coming, and the lead researcher was from Yale.

They should’ve gone to Yale. He should’ve kept looking. If he had, Lauren could well be here with him now, quite possibly even better. He could move closer to her, put his arm around her, kiss her shoulder. She would turn toward him, sleepy but smiling, and they’d kiss, and he’d slide his hand under her shirt and feel the warm curve of her breast.

He jammed his fingers in his hair and clenched his head. He wasn’t going to make it through this night. He’d call Jen, but—shit, no, it was way too late. That grief forum he’d found for young widowers and widows? The subreddit group?

No. No. He didn’t want to be around more pain.

Time to call AppleCare.

It was that, or he’d start howling or run into the streets or go into the first-floor gym to hit the punching bag, but the last time he did that, Creepy Charlotte had come in (at three a.m.) to do yoga in very little clothing.

Apple it would be. He had an extended warranty, and it was time for that investment to pay off.

He called 1-800-MY-APPLE, so easy to remember from that time when his laptop froze during a system upgrade. It had taken forever, but the person had been wicked nice.

He punched the appropriate buttons and said the appropriate words—computer. MacBook Air. Software not updating. Then, finally, he heard a human voice.

“Hi, this is Rory, who am I speaking to?”

“Joshua.”

“Can I have your phone number in case we get disconnected?”

Josh gave it, then explained his nonexistent problem.

“No worries,” said Rory, his voice chipper. “We can do a safe reboot and see what happens.”

“Great,” said Josh. Rory gave him the instructions, and Josh pretended to do the things.

“This might take a little while,” Rory said.

“Not a problem.” Was Rory going to hang up? “Uh, if you could stay on the line till it’s up and running . . .”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

They sat in amiable silence for a minute or two.

“How’s the weather where you are?” asked Rory.