Shit. Someday Pebbles would die, too, and that would be it, his last tie to Lauren, the only pet they’d ever owned together. Their fur baby . . . no, scratch that, he wasn’t going there.

But Lauren’s dog, still. “I’m sorry, Pebs,” he said in a whisper. “Sorry we lost her.”

As he suspected, Pebbles was perfectly healthy. “No more than five miles on a run, okay?” the vet said cheerfully, giving him some anti-inflammatory. “It’s great for her, because she’s a working dog and used to a lot of exercise, but she’s bred for it in spurts, not a marathon. Give her a week off, then ease back into it.” He scratched Pebbles’s ears, getting a cow-like moo of appreciation.

“Thanks,” Josh said.

“We were all really sorry to hear about your wife,” the vet added, not looking at him.

“Thank you.” He was grateful for the lack of eye contact.

When he got home, he gave Pebbles her pill and a snack, then went to bed and fell into a black, dreamless sleep.

He was awakened by a pounding at the door, an irritable voice calling his name. Sarah. He stumbled to the door.

“What’s wrong?” he said, opening it.

“I texted you three times and called twice,” she said.

“I was asleep.”

“When did you go to bed?” she asked, her voice bossy.

He glanced at the clock. Hours ago. “Um . . . I don’t know.”

“I thought so. Josh. You have to establish a schedule, buddy. Sleeping for God knows how many hours isn’t going to help you move through this.”

He bit down on a sharp answer. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“It’s letter day.” She pulled an envelope from her bag. “There are two this time, so I just brought them both. I was supposed to bring this one the other day, but I got slammed at work with an emergency placement.” Which meant some kid had been removed from his or her home, brought to a stranger’s house with a plastic bag of clothes and maybe a toothbrush. She’d told enough stories that he knew. Lauren used to say that Sarah had always been tough, but she had a “heart like a feather pillow.”

“That must’ve been hard,” he said, remembering to be human.

“It was pretty horrible, yes.”

“Why two letters?”

“She dated this one. I don’t know why. Also, I don’t know what’s in those letters. She didn’t tell me, and obviously, I wouldn’t look.”

She handed him two envelopes this time. One said Josh, May 1, the other Josh #3. Her handwriting was so round and sweet.

Lauren had had something to say yesterday. Yesterday, when he felt so alone and forgotten. His heart started thumping harder.

Sarah tilted her head. “You okay, pal?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine.”