“It’s beautiful,” Josh said, having no idea what the weather was like at the moment.

“Where do you live?”

“Hawaii. Kauai,” Josh lied.

“Oh, man, you’re lucky! What’s it like there?”

It would be seven o’clock there. The sun would be starting to set, and he’d be sitting on the deck of their house, and Lauren would bring him a glass of ice water with a sprig of mint in it. She’d have a glass of rosé, and she’d curl up next to him.

“It’s beautiful. It’s Hawaii, right? Um . . . our house is up on a cliff. It rained a little while ago, but it’s gorgeous now. Sunset will be soon.” Those sunsets had been incredible, better than any movie.

“Must be amazing.”

“Oh, yeah. A real nice place to live.”

“Kauai, that’s the little island, right?” Rory asked.

“One of them. It’s called the Garden Island, because it rains so much. Really lush. They filmed part of Jurassic Park here.”

“Oh, cool. Were you born there?”

“Yes.” Like every person who visited Hawaii, he and Lauren had talked about living there someday. She wanted to raise their kids close to their families, so living in Hawaii would be down the road a bit, once the kids were in college, but when he and Lauren were still young enough to snorkel and surf and hike.

Yep.

The images were so clear, he could smell the plumeria. He’d wear a Hawaiian shirt every day, and their kids would learn the language and be good stewards of the land. Lauren would manage to get a little tan. She’d work on developing parks and help preserve Hawaiian cultural spots and—

“So if I was gonna go to Hawaii, which islands should I see?” Rory asked.

“Well, definitely Kauai,” Josh said. “Natural beauty, the prettiest beach in the world at Hanalei Bay. My wife loves to bodysurf, and she says that place is the best.” Which was true. She had. “Maui is fantastic, too. Great hotels and restaurants, plus Haleakalā National Park. You have to see the sunset from there, man. Bring a coat, though. It gets cold. For volcanoes, go to the Big Island.”

If the medical engineering didn’t work out, he could become a tour guide, maybe. This other version of himself was quite talkative. Full of information.

On the phone with Rory, he didn’t have to be Josh in gray Rhode Island. He could be Josh who lived in Hawaii and went fishing and knew a sushi chef who’d make you a roll before the catch was even an hour old. He was outgoing, rather than socially awkward, this Josh who sat in the dark and lied. He sure as hell wasn’t Josh Whose Wife Died.

“Where do you live, Rory?” he asked.

“I live in Montana. Also really beautiful, but totally different, I’m sure.”

“Are you near the mountains?”

“Sure am.”