The steely knob was an ice-ball in her palm as she twisted it clockwise and nudged the office door open. A shaft of pale light fell slanting across the cot, and the motionless figure lying there. She walked in without a sound, placing her sandals ever so carefully on the plain concrete floor.
Kneeling beside Roger in the dark, she whispered: “Hey Old Hoss, what’cha doin?’”
He lay utterly still. Not even his watch was ticking. Her ears buzzed with the room’s silence. Carefully, very carefully, she eased her head down onto his chest and lay her tear-crusted cheek against the soft wool of his sweater. His heart beat was weak, but steady. She turned her head just slightly and kissed his sweater. Knitted wool pulsed gently and tickled at her lips.
His dry lips kissed at the air once, twice.
