She sounded worried as she told me a friend of Pete’s had died. She didn’t know who. Someone from before us. Someone he loved. “He went into his room and turned on the music,” she said, taking back the cigarette. “I tried to talk to him, but—” she stopped because truly, what do you say? We hold our friends’ hands as their hearts break: lost lovers, lost children, divorce and illness and addiction. There are no perfect words. We can be there. “How can I help?” we say. We say, “I’m sorry.”
