Page 113 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

A pager sounds somewhere down the corridor. Reality returns.

She glances toward the clock. "I should get back."

"Yeah."

She starts walking again. After a few steps she says quietly, "You know..."

"What?"

"You're getting very good at asking questions."

I smile. "I'm trying something new."

"I noticed."

"What do you think?"

She looks over with that familiar smile that's becoming one of my favorite parts of the week.

"I think..." she says, "...you're finally letting someone get to know you."

I don't answer. Mostly because I think she's right.

***

We step out of the elevator into the main lobby where the afternoon crowd has begun to thin. Visitors drift toward the exits carrying balloons and flower arrangements. A volunteer pushes an empty wheelchair back toward the information desk. Somewhere nearby, someone is laughing hard enough that it echoes across the marble floor.

Annette checks the time.

"I should probably rescue my inbox."

"I should probably start stretching before you send someone after me."

"I absolutely would."

"I know."

We walk toward the front entrance together, no destination beyond the parking lot, no reason to rush.

Just a few extra minutes before life picks back up.

As we pass the volunteer desk, an elderly man struggles with two heavy archive boxes balanced on a small cart.

One slides sideways, and without thinking, I step toward him.

"I've got those."

My hand reaches for the top box, then gentle fingers brush my sleeve.

Annette. I stop. She doesn't pull me back. She simply looks at me. Another volunteer hurries over from the information desk. "I've got it, Frank."

Together they steady the cart and disappear down the hallway. The whole thing lasts less than thirty seconds. I watch them go.

Annette smiles. "That looked painful."

"My shoulder?"

She shakes her head. "No. Walking away."