“Well.” Sarah put her hands on her hips. “Um . . . why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll clean up a little? Open the windows, get some fresh air?”
“I was just going to take a nap.”
“Go shower, Josh.” He opened his mouth to argue and then, lacking the energy, trudged down the hall to the bathroom.
He hadn’t liked Sarah that much when he’d first been introduced. The two women had been friends since elementary school, but Josh wondered if they would have been friends if they met as adults. Sarah had an edge to her, a subtle resentment toward Lauren, glittering like a piece of glass in the sand. He saw it immediately, and kept seeing it every time they got together, during their engagement, even at the wedding. She went through the motions required, but it was clear she envied Lauren.
Then again, who wouldn’t? His wife had always been the brightest star in the sky.
But after the diagnosis, Sarah had been a rock. A perfect friend to Lauren. A helper for him, even.
He took a shower, listlessly rubbed soap over himself, then got dressed in not-filthy clothes and went into the living room. Sarah had opened the shades and windows, and had thrown out a lot of food cartons and pizza boxes. Made herself right at home, he saw. She was now using that weird little mop that picked up dog hair. Swiffer, that was it. It irked him that Sarah knew where everything was.
That being said, there was a lot of dog hair on the Swiffer cloth. Sarah took it off, tossed it in the trash and replaced it efficiently.
He sat down on the couch. “What’s so important, Sarah?” Oh. She was wiping her eyes. Right. She’d lost her best friend, and he could be a little nicer. Lauren would want him to. “It’s good to see you,” he lied.
She took a deep breath and let it out, then sank into the chair opposite him. Pebbles sat next to her, whining a little, making Josh feel guilty.
“First of all, this dog is getting a little chunky,” she said.
“Yeah, I . . . I might be overfeeding her.”
“Maybe she needs to get out more.”
He nodded, looking at the floor. Pebbles deserved better, it was true.
“This is tough, being here without her.” Sarah’s voice shook.
“Yes.” He searched his brain for something to say. “How have you been?”
“Shitty. Lonely. Heartbroken. You know.”
“Right.”
Sarah scooped her long hair around her neck to one side. Blond hair. It seemed like blond women valued their hair above all else, always calling attention to it. It was pretty enough, he supposed. Lauren’s hair had been deep, dark red, and so shiny. He didn’t know the word for hair the color of Lauren’s. Chestnut? Burgundy? Irish setter? So much more interesting than blond. To him, anyway.
Sarah pressed her fingertips under her eyes, wiping away more tears. He passed her a box of Kleenex from the coffee table.
“Thanks,” she said. She blotted her eyes and blew her nose, then stuffed the tissue in her bag. “Here’s the thing, Josh,” she said. “Lauren asked me to do something for you.”
What? Clean his house? Become his best friend? No, thanks. He didn’t want anything from Sarah. God help him if she thought she should move in or . . . or cook for him or, oh, God, offer to have his child. Jesus Christ, what was it?
Sarah reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, and suddenly, Josh’s heart was convulsing, because he could see his wife’s handwriting.
Josh, #1
“It’s from her, obviously. So I’m just gonna leave this here and go, okay? I don’t know what’s in it, but she said she’d explain. I’m just the delivery person.” She wiped her eyes again. “I’ll . . . I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay. Sure. Thank you.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the envelope. His hands were shaking.
“Take Pebbles out more,” she said, and then she was gone, the door closing behind her, her heels clicking down the stairs.
He didn’t want to open it right now, he thought as he ripped it open. He should save it. He was hyperventilating a little.
Slow down, slow down, this is the last thing you’ll ever get from her, take your time.
Good advice. He should listen to himself. He took a focused breath, like Lauren used to, then blew it out in puffs. Pebbles jumped up next to him, and he took a second to pet her head, feel her silky ears.
Was now the time to read it? Should he save it? He couldn’t. He needed to hear her in his head. Tears were already burning his eyes.
Okay. He would read it. Now. If he could get his hands to stop shaking. He unfolded the paper, and the sight of her handwriting sliced him open.
Dear Josh,
Hi, honey! Are you doing okay? I’m wicked, wicked sorry I died. Oh, Joshua, I am. But I think you know that already. I hope it was a good ending. I hope I didn’t die on the toilet.
I love you. Did I say that yet? I do. I love you so much.
So, honey, here’s the thing. I’ve been feeling like I might not last that long. Hopefully I’m wrong, and you’re reading this at age ninety-seven, but I kind of doubt it. Please know that I stayed as long as I could, because I loved every day with you. Every single day.
I couldn’t bear the thought of you trying to get through this first year without me to help you. I’m bossy, as we both know. So I wrote up some letters for you, one for each month of this first year, each with a thing for you to do. You know how I love making lists. Sarah will bring the letters to you.
Josh closed his eyes. Oh, thank you. Thank you, Lauren. Thank you. He would still hear from her. She would still be with him. She was still here, in a way. He pressed the letter against his chest and bowed his head for a second. Then he wiped his eyes on his sleeve and continued reading.
I hope it won’t mess with your head, Josh. You don’t have to read them. Maybe this is really morbid.
“It’s not,” he said. “It’s not.”
You can throw them all away, or tell Sarah to burn them or whatever. But I think you won’t. I think—I hope—it might help, honey. The truth is, I’ve never been able to stop feeling guilty for being sick. This is as much for me as it is for you. The past few months, as I’ve written these letters, it’s made me feel like I can still take care of you in the only way I can now. And that makes me happy, because I love you so much.
So in every letter, I’m going to give you a job to do, and you have to do it, because (ahem) I’m tragically dead and also watching you from the GB.
The GB. The Great Beyond. Their joke. He smiled. He damn well hoped she was watching. It made him feel less alone.