Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
Sarah stacked the warm pages, tapped them against the laminate counter to line them up, and stapled them in the upper left corner.
She slid the packet into a long white envelope with the bank logo printed on the front.
“Here you go,” she said. “Have a good day, Rachel.”
“Thank you, Sarah,” I said, taking the envelope from her hand.
I walked out of the lobby, the heavy glass door clicking shut behind me.
In the front seat of my Buick, with the heater blowing low against my knees, I pulled a yellow highlighter from my purse.
The car smelled of old upholstery and the wintergreen mints I kept in the glove box.
Through the windshield, I could see the neon sign of the pharmacy across the street, its drive-through lane empty in the mid-morning sun.
I laid the paper packet across the steering wheel, pulling the cap off the marker with my teeth.
My eyes skipped past the utility bills, the grocery store transactions, and the monthly mortgage payment.
I was looking for cash.
Every Friday afternoon for the past eight weeks, there was an ATM withdrawal of three hundred and fifty dollars.
