Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor

I looked at the black camera sitting between us. It was the same camera David had used to take photos of our children at their high school graduations, the same one we had taken to the Grand Canyon for our twentieth anniversary. He had kept it in the top drawer of his dresser, wrapped in a soft velvet cloth.

“You will go to the restaurant, Marcus,” I said, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest. “You will park exactly where he told you to park.”

Marcus looked up at me, his brow furrowed. “Are you sure, Mrs. Vance? If he sees me talking to you, he won’t pay my mom’s clinic bill.”

“He will not see you,” Karen said, sliding a typed sheet of paper toward him. “This is your schedule. You will arrive at ten minutes to six. You will take three photos of the empty dock to show the time stamp. Then you will wait for Rachel to come out.”

“And then?” Marcus asked.

“Then you will do exactly what we practiced,” Karen said.

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  • Andrew Collins is a contributor who enjoys writing about everyday topics, people, and ideas that spark curiosity. His approach is simple and conversational, aiming to make stories easy to read and relatable. Outside of writing, Andrew follows current trends, enjoys long walks, and likes turning small observations into meaningful stories.

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