When the detective sat on my sofa the next morning, he watched me fall to the floor. Asked me what I knew, what was said. Next to medication, alcohol, I was a contributing factor. He told me Nick climbed the fire escape of the building we used to walk past many midnights. Like a hawk he dove. No note in his pocket. I didn’t ask how many stories.
I spent the next week with his family. They packed up his pantry and put it in my car. Said they couldn’t fly it home.
It took me days to eat, then I opened a can of his soup. Hearty chicken noodle, I ate it cold. Saltier with each sip. I threw it up until my stomach was empty, but my cupboard still overflowed.