Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
Marcus took the paper, folded it into a tight square, and slid it into his jacket pocket. He stood up, gave me a brief, tentative nod, and let himself out of the office.
By three o’clock that afternoon, the sun had slipped behind the gray clouds that had been gathering over the lake all day. The suburban streets of Oak Creek were quiet, the school buses already finished with their rounds and the driveways empty. I pulled my Buick into our driveway, leaving the engine running for a moment while I looked at the dark windows of our house.
David was still at the hospital, his Friday afternoon rounds usually keeping him until at least six. I turned off the ignition, took the gold-plated office key from my coat pocket, and walked up the front steps.
The house was cold, the thermostat turned down to sixty-two to save on the heating bill. The smell of old wood wax and David’s lavender shaving soap hung in the hallway, familiar and heavy. I did not take off my coat. I walked straight down the carpeted hall to his study door.
