Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
I picked up the folder. It had a surprising weight to it, as if the physical reality of my marriage’s end had been compressed into those fifty sheets of paper. Inside this folder was the destruction of the life I had known, the public exposure of the man I had loved, and the cold truth that would be sent to my children by the end of the weekend.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Karen asked, her hand resting gently on my sleeve.
“I have been ready for a long time,” I said.
I stood up from the table, the leather of my handbag stiff and new as I opened it. I placed the heavy manila folder inside, the paper sliding against the silk lining with a soft, dry hiss. I pulled the zipper shut, the metal teeth locking together with a final, decisive click.
The pine log walls of the Blue Heron Lake Restaurant smelled of beeswax and woodsmoke when we walked through the heavy double doors at exactly six o’clock.
The hostess, a young woman named Clara who had once been a student of mine, smiled and took our heavy coats.
