For the first time since the night she’d gone into the hospital with the pneumonia that killed her, Josh lay on their bed. Not in it . . . just on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. He’d had to wash the comforter after Pebbles and her Korean chicken adventure, but Lauren’s pillow had been untouched by the sticky sauce. He leaned over and inhaled, smelling her, and the invisible fist of grief slammed him in the heart.

He lay on his back, cradling the pillow, worried that it would lose its Lauren smell. Don’t move, he told himself, so tired that the thought made sense. Don’t move, and it won’t find you. If he could stay empty, he wouldn’t wind up on the floor, howling. He prayed for sleep, for a dream about his wife, but his eyes stayed open.

12:14 a.m.

1:21.

2:07.

3:38.

4:15.

5:03.

5:49.

Light filtered into the room. He could get up now. He made coffee. Opened the fridge. Closed the fridge. Took Pebbles out to pee. Came back up to drink the coffee.

He went onto the online forum for young widowers and widows and asked how people survived this. Drink lots of water, people reminded him, his fellow amputees, fellow husks. Congratulate yourself on getting out of bed or eating something. Get some exercise. Be kind to yourself. Process the trauma, the forum people said, whatever that meant.

He tried to remember if he’d taken the dog for a run yesterday. Maybe? He could go for a run now. It was drizzly and gray outside. He might have to give Pebbles a bath afterward. That would kill some time. So he pulled on his running shoes and out they went.

People were on their way to work. Lots of raincoats, lots of umbrellas, lots of fast walkers going into buildings. Josh kept running, turning at the river, running at the base of College Hill. His earbuds were in, though he had forgotten his phone, or left it behind subconsciously. Still, the earbuds would protect him. Providence was a small city, and he’d grown up here, gone to two colleges here. He didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone. They’d blown their chance yesterday.

It was a shock, this continuing world. So many people were happy. Didn’t they know what was in store for them? Look at me and despair, he wanted to tell them, like Jacob Marley’s ghost. I was once you. He wanted to grab one of those happy assholes and shake them.

He stopped at a red light, then ran when it changed, stepping into an ankle-deep puddle of tepid water. Pebbles’s belly was wet and dingy.