Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
I stood up, folding the printed petition and placing it in my purse. “I will call you when I have it.”
“Be careful, Rachel,” she said. “He has already started talking to people in town, dropping hints about your health.”
I did not ask which of our neighbors had already heard his quiet, concerned lies. I walked out to my Buick, the steering wheel hot from the midday sun, and drove back toward our street.
The drive back was long and quiet, the empty passenger seat staring back at me. When I pulled the Buick into the gravel driveway, the house looked peaceful, the maple trees in the front yard dropping red and orange leaves onto the green grass.
Inside, the house had a heavy, silent quality, the kind that only exists when someone is hiding secrets behind closed doors. I did not take off my coat, walking straight down the carpeted hallway toward David’s study.
I pulled the small brass key from my pocket, my knuckles white as I inserted it into the heavy brass lock. It turned with a smooth, solid click, the deadbolt retracting into the doorframe.
