Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
The school bus would not crawl down our street for another hour, and David was scheduled for his hospital rounds until five.
I stood in the carpeted hallway of our home, holding the brass key I had taken from the pantry basket.
My thumb rubbed the small paper tag that had the word study written on it in David’s hand.
I slipped the key into the heavy new deadbolt on his office door.
It turned with a greasy, heavy click that felt far too loud in the empty house.
The door swung open into the dim room.
The shades were drawn tight, leaving the mahogany desk and the leather armchair in deep shadow.
The room smelled of old paper and the cedar shavings David used in his shoe trees.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, leaving the hallway light outside.
I went straight to the mahogany desk, my eyes scanning the tidy piles of mail and medical files.
The top drawers were unlocked, containing only prescription pads, professional journals, and boxes of blue ballpoint pens.
I knelt on the thin oriental rug and pulled the handle of the deep bottom drawer.
