God, he missed being married. Coming home to someone. Someone to ask where his other sock was. Someone to tease. Someone to touch. He was alone in a sea of people, all of them connected, it seemed. He had his mom. The Kims. Somewhere out there, the biological father who had deserted him before he was born, so what good was he? He had Lauren’s small family.

That was it.

What a shit idea it had been to work for himself, by himself. Well, it had been incredibly lucky when Lauren was alive and fighting, but it was shit now. He could get a job somewhere, but the thought of leaving the house every day, coming home to it . . . no. Not yet. The literature said not to make big decisions the first year of widowhood.

He eventually found himself running on his own street, having circled back, unsure of how long he’d been gone. Pebbles was panting and filthy. He took the stairs to their apartment, opened the door and looked at the kitchen clock.

11:09.

Jesus. It was, impossibly, still morning.

Wash the dog. Towel her dry. Take a shower. Get dressed. Clean the bathroom of wet dog fur. Eat. Drink.

12:13.

He sighed and closed his burning eyes. Lay down on the couch, but was tormented by visions of Lauren’s last hours. He sighed again, got up and headed for his computer.

Pebbles came trotting over, but she was wobbly, favoring her left back leg. “What’s the matter, pooch?” he asked, the sound of his voice too loud for his own ears. “You okay?” He ran his hand down her leg, and she whimpered.

“Great, Josh,” he said out loud. “Now you’ve ruined the dog.” Pebbles turned to lick his face. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ll take you to the vet, okay?”

Yes. Even if she was just a little sore from too much exercise, it would give him something to do. If there was one thing he was good at, it was doctor’s appointments.

He called the vet’s office and gave his name.

“Pebbles? An Australian shepherd mix?” the receptionist asked.

“That’s right.”

There was a pause. “I was sorry to read about your wife’s death in the paper. She was lovely.”

Lauren’s obituary had been in the Providence Journal, since she’d been a damn impressive woman and had grown up here. “Thank you,” he said after a pause, remembering to speak.

“Come in at two,” she said. “We had a cancellation.”

“Thank you,” he repeated, and hung up.

By the time they got there, Pebbles wasn’t limping anymore. Still. They were here. It could fill the day.