Gerald smiles. Answer enough.
"Morning," Nolan says.
"Morning."
Nolan walks to the doors. Takes the coffee. The front-office man says something Gerald cannot hear, and Nolan's mouth moves, not quite a smile but close enough.
They leave together.
Gerald waits until the doors close before he takes out his phone.
Gerald: The quiet one left with somebody tonight.
Lorraine: The hockey player?
Gerald: That's the one.
Lorraine: Good.
Gerald: He wasn't quiet.
Lorraine: No?
Gerald: He was waiting.
Lorraine: For what?
Gerald looks at the hallway. The light stays on after the doors close. It always does. For late workers, lost rookies, men who need one more minute before going home.
At the far end, the young defenseman lingers outside the locker room holding a water bottle, alone in the noise he has not learned to carry.
Gerald: For someone to hear him.
Gerald turns off the desk lamp. The building settles. The last shift is over, but the hallway light stays on.
He won't be for long.
