Watching them, I relax for a moment, but anxiety has taken up permanent residence in my body. We are driving home. We do not talk about Nic. It’s not that we’re not thinking about him. His addiction and its twin, the specter of his death, permeate the air we breathe. Karen and I try to gird ourselves in case the next telephone call brings with it the worst possible news. Nic is still gone. Life does not stop.
