He studied her back. He remembered once he could run his fingers down the long curve of her spine, and she would laugh because it tickled. There was a brown mole on her shoulder, and freckles from the sun speckled her shoulders. But of course they were hidden now by her clothes. She didn't turn around.
Tonight is as good as any other night.
He picked up his pencils, closed the ledger books and put them under his arms. He picked up the papers from the carpet. She didn't turn around. He could see her face reflected in the glass, but he couldn't read the statement. If he could have only thought of something to do, he would have done it, but there was in fact nothing he could think to do.