Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
“I did not want to hurt you, Rachel,” he said.
“I know,” I said.
Marcus pressed the pen to the paper and signed his name on the line Karen pointed to. The letters were large and slightly crooked, but they were clear.
Karen took the clipboard back. She set her heavy metal notary stamp on the center of the page, her palm flat against the top handle.
The crisp sound of the notary stamp landing on Marcus’s signed statement.
I tucked the certified copy of the affidavit deep into my handbag, leaving Karen to lock up her office.
By half past five, I was standing on our front porch, watching the headlights of David’s sedan turn into the driveway.
The car stopped, and the engine went quiet in the autumn dusk. The metallic ping of the cooling radiator was the only sound in the yard.
David stepped out of the driver’s seat, holding a green paper sleeve filled with yellow roses. He wore his gray wool overcoat, the one with the deep pockets where I had found Arthur Sterling’s business card just days ago.
