“She told my parents you had left before I arrived.”

For several seconds neither of us spoke.

Through the half-open door came the ordinary sounds of a hospital: a cart rolling over tile, a nurse laughing softly at the station, the distant chime of an elevator.

The world continued with a cruelty that felt almost deliberate.

“I need to call someone,” I said.

“Your parents?”

“No.

My best friend.”