Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
We ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the scraping of forks against the stoneware plates we had bought on our tenth anniversary.
David smiled as he took a helping of potatoes, his bedside manner extending even to our quiet dinners.
Our son Ben had called earlier about his final exams, and David seemed genuinely pleased with his progress.
He always worked so hard, even as a little boy who needed ice cream bribes just to wear a tie, David said, his voice warm with old memories.
I managed a small, genuine smile, remembering those dusty summer afternoons at the park.
For a brief second, the shadow of the locked study upstairs seemed to lift, replaced by the ghost of the family we used to be.
Then David cleared his throat and set his fork down, the warmth vanishing from his eyes.
George called the office again today, Rachel, he said.
I carefully set my water glass down on the wooden table, keeping my hands perfectly level.
The developer from the county line, I said.
Yes, David said, chewing slowly. He increased his offer to seventy thousand dollars for the lake cabin.
