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millionaires. Bailey had been called a lot of things in her lifetime, but an “almost millionaire” was not one of them. And surely, with the right investments, they could lose the “almost” and become true millionaires.
    Bailey rolled the word around on her tongue, trying to get used to it. They were lying in bed, having made love for the first time since the accident. One of the benefits of Brad coming back to life was that he had decided to appreciate everything, love everything like it was the first time. And it paid off in bed. Brad seemed to adore every inch of her. And even though he still insisted on wearing a condom, Bailey knew it was just a matter of time before they started trying. After all, they had the money now—Brad would be out of excuses. She snuggled next to him, caressed his head, fuzzy with the hair just starting to come back in. Except for Olivia’s urn looming over them from the dresser, everything seemed just a little bit perfect.
    Brad took Bailey’s hand. “I think you’re absolutely right,” he said. “Relive is much more romantic than remember. Because it emphasizes living .”
    “Uh-huh,” Bailey said. She hoped the baby had Brad’s dimples and her love of spicy food.
    “I think we should learn from this. I think we should start living before it’s too late.”
    “What?” She recognized his tone of voice. It was the tone Brad used before starting every one of his failed business ventures. She sat up in bed. “We do live,” she said. “We are living.”
    “Are we?” Brad said. “Or are we just going through the motions?”
    “We’re not going through the motions. We’re in motion. Motion is good.”
    “We have choices to make,” Brad said. “With money comes great responsibility.”
    “Exactly,” Bailey said. “Wait here.” She jumped off the bed and opened the top drawer of her dresser. It was still dark, but she rattled it anyway.
    “What’s that noise?”
    “Hold out your hand.” Bailey joined Brad on the bed again and placed the rattle in his hand. “Open.” He opened his eyes and stared at it. “A baby,” Bailey said when he didn’t speak. “We should really start trying.” Brad still didn’t respond. “What do you think?”
    “I’d say we already got our practice in for the day.” Brad shook the rattle.
    “You used a condom,” Bailey said.
    “I said practice.”
    “Well, next time let’s practice without a condom, shall we?”
    “Are you sure we’re ready for that?”
    “I can’t think of a better time. Can you?”
    “I’ve got a few things I want to do first,” Brad said. “My bucket list.” He tossed the rattle aside like it was part of a practical joke. Bailey picked it up. You already kicked the bucket, Bailey thought . Isn’t it too late to make a list?
    “Like what?” She sounded harsh. She didn’t mean to, but her resentment spilled out of her. Brad rolled away from her. Silence stretched and then loomed. “It’s not like we have to decide anything tonight,” Bailey said. She reached out and touched Brad’s back. He rolled over and faced her again. She smiled at him and gently traced his lips with the tip of her finger. He kissed her finger, then took her hand.
    “You’re right, you’re right. Nothing has to be said tonight,” Brad said. “But I have some ideas.” Bailey nodded, rolled out of his grip, off the bed, and wandered over to the window. If you laid your stomach on the windowsill, stuck your body out far enough, and looked to the left, you could see the Hudson River.
    He had some ideas? Brad Jordan and his ideas. The surf shop was the first one. They were so young then. Tan, and happy, and looking good in their swimsuits. They had just moved to sunny California and life was easy. Every head on the beach used to turn when Brad Jordan walked by. But he was looking at the surfboards. He didn’t even surf, but he didn’t like the design of the boards or the attitudes of the “dudes in the