When my face was smooth, I tapped my American Airlines app and checked in for my nine a.m. flight. I hadn’t been home in months, but now had seemed like a good time. I had all those points piled up, waiting. But who wants to take a vacation alone? I didn’t. All being on the beach would do was remind me that Greer wasn’t lying beside me. When I was at her office, I could be surrounded by her: her employees, her things, her energy. That’s why I had gone there almost every day since her death. Even more than our house, that office had become home.

Tomorrow, I would be in Cape Carolina, where I was defined by my baseball stats, not my marriage to a deceased heiress. Where I was the guy who made orangeades at the soda fountain after school, not the one running his dead wife’s company.

I walked into my bedroom. Even after three years, it still smelled like Greer. I pulled the green lattice comforter, which matched the wallpaper, up over the sheets so the bed was sort of made. I threw three shirts, three pairs of khakis, and three pairs of boxers in my roller bag.

As I walked out the door, heading to work, turning to put my key into the lock, it occurred to me, for the first time, that what Amelia had to say might be good news.

Greer FEBRUARY 16, 2015

IT’S WEIRD HOW SOMETHING YOU’VE never considered can suddenly become all you can think about. Like the minute they came in and told me that I had ovarian cancer, all I thought about was my babies. The babies I didn’t have. The babies that, after three years of marriage, Parker and I had just started talking about. In some ways, I still feel too young to be a mother. None of my friends have kids yet. But the biological reality at thirty-one is that, whether our New York to Palm Beach lifestyles and our workaholism allow for it or not, eventually our biological clocks are going to start ticking loudly.

So, as Parker was asking the doctor how early she thought it was and about treatment options and heredity, all I asked was, “Can you save my eggs?”

Parker was near hysterics. “Your eggs? Are you serious right now, Greer? Who gives a shit about your eggs? All I care about is you.”

I just looked back at the doctor, who said, “I don’t see any obvious signs of cancer on your right ovary. I would suggest removing it to be safe, but we can retrieve your eggs from it.”

I told her I’d like to freeze embryos because I hear they have a better success rate than that of eggs frozen unfertilized.

Parker looked truly astounded. But I didn’t know how he didn’t know that. Articles about it were everywhere.

He kind of freaked out and said something like, “How about we discuss the major surgery you’re having tomorrow? Would that be okay with you?”