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      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      I must first thank Howard Walper, who often Instant Messages me with unsolicited advice on my writing, work, free time and personal life. Everyone should have a friend like Howard. Seriously, he offered amazing insights into this book. I would also like to acknowledge Farrin Jacobs, my editor, for doing such a great editing job and for putting up with me; Cheryl Pientka, whose monumental feats have included putting out fires (literally) and most impressively, putting up with me; and Marc Serges, for being brilliant and also putting up with me; Dawn Eden, for enthusiasm, encouragement and suggestions, and Jeff Hauser, for support and ideas.

      I am very grateful to the following for always encouraging my writing: Stacie Fine, Stacie Fine’s mom, Janet Rosen, Matt Greco, Eileen Budd, Dan Saffer, Jim Damis, Mary Beth Jipping, Barry Macaluso, Julia Hough, Regina Hill, Shanti Gold, Bridget Grimes, Angela Gaffney, John Prendergast, Neil Genzlinger, Eliot Kaplan, Robert Donnell, Linda Wiedmann, Cheryl Shipman, Dennis and Valerie, John R. Lennon, Jon Blackwell, Michael Malice, Jodi Harris, my parents, my brother Todd, Al Sullivan, Jennifer Merrick, Lucha Malato, David Unger, Joe Barry and everyone with whom I work (and yes, who puts up with me) at the fine Hudson Reporter newspaper chain. Finally, no one is to blame for my writing habit more than the outstanding writing and English teachers I had, just some of whom are included here: Frances Doane, Michael Ferraro, Barbara Kitrosser, Mary Sandholt, Roslyn Schleifer, Walter Hatton, Diana Cavalho, Kristin Hunter Lattany, Cary Holiday and anyone I’ve forgotten.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter

       1

      “It can’t be that bad,” Gert said.

      The D train was careening through the subway tunnel, passing through areas of light, then darkness. Gert was squeezed on one of the long gray seats next to her former college roommate, Hallie. Looming high above them was Hallie’s high school friend, Erika, who was tall and always wore huge black boots.

      “It is that bad,” Hallie said to Gert. “You have no idea what it’s like out there.”

      Gert looked up at Erika, who was strap-hanging. They weren’t really straps, though. They were metal triangular things. When was the last time they were straps, Gert wondered.

      She’s triangle-hanging, Gert thought to herself.

      She’d have said it aloud if Marc were there. He liked corny observations.

      Then she felt bad. It was impossible not to think of him in relation to everything. She’d done it for eight years of her life.

      “Let me ask you a question,” Hallie said to her.

      “Fine,” Gert said. “Ask me a question.”

      “You were married to Marc for five years, and you’d dated him for three before that. In those eight years, did you come across even one other man who, had you been single, you would have considered dating?”

      Gert shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking like that,” she said, “because I was with Marc.”

      “But,” Hallie said, “during that time, did you ever just happen to meet a man who was remotely attractive, normal, in his twenties and not taken?”

      “No,” Gert persisted. “I wasn’t trying.”

      “What about in the course of your regular business?”

      “I wouldn’t have noticed.”

      Gert wondered if, in some small way, Hallie and Erika occasionally felt a secret bit of satisfaction that the accident had happened, so they could finally prove to her that the dating scene was just as bad as they’d always said.

      But true friends could never wish that on her, could they?

      Gert knew they were only trying to help by dragging her out. Everyone was always trying to “help”—like the people who told her that eventually, it would hurt less, or that she was strong and she’d move on. But they had no idea how many times per day she heard expressions, songs or references that reminded her of him. Every time something bad happened to her, or she felt lonely, she thought of him on impulse, as she’d done for most of her adult life—and was reminded again that he was gone. They’d met sophomore year of college, so that was eight years or 2,920 days of memories she had to suppress in order to even feel remotely okay. Didn’t people understand that?

      The only people who did understand were the women in her support group on Long Island, where she went every week. Among her circle of friends, there was not exactly a surfeit of twenty-nine-year-olds who had lost their husbands. Most of them had not even been married yet. And Gert, who had counted herself so lucky for so long, and who had been far outside the realm of her lonely single friends, was now—because of one horrible day—among their ranks.

      It had only been a year and a half since the car accident. That was barely enough time to even accept what had happened. It was also barely enough time to stop having those brief moments when she felt as secure as she used to be, then, in a flash, remembered that everything was all wrong.

      But Gert was finally giving in to one of Hallie and Erika’s many exhortations to go out. It certainly

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