Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
He stood up and walked over to me, placing his hands gently on my shoulders.
The warmth of his palms felt like a threat.
You have been under so much strain lately, he whispered, looking at me through the mirror.
I met his gaze in the glass, my eyes wide.
The keys, the grocery store last week, he continued, his voice softer now. I am only asking because I want to protect you from the stress of managing that property.
I looked at our twin reflections, his face full of professional concern, mine pale and rigid.
I am not forgetful, David, I said, but my voice sounded thin, even to me.
Of course you are not, he said, squeezing my shoulders before letting go.
But sometimes we do not see the cognitive decline ourselves, he added. It is a very gradual process, Rachel.
He turned and climbed into bed, leaving me alone in the dim light.
I left the bedroom at eleven, stepping out into the dark hallway under the pretense of getting an aspirin.
The bathroom light was harsh and white when I clicked it on, casting deep shadows under my eyes.
