Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
“We have your usual table by the water, Dr. Campbell,” she said, her voice bright with the deference the town always showed him.
David offered her a warm, practiced nod, the very picture of the tired local physician taking his wife out for a quiet Saturday dinner.
He walked slightly ahead of me, his hand resting lightly against the small of my back, guiding me through the crowded dining room.
Two tables of neighbors looked up as we passed, and David paused to exchange brief, quiet pleasantries.
He mentioned to the Millers that I had been resting more lately, his tone carrying just enough gentle concern to make Mrs. Miller look at me with soft, pitying eyes.
I kept my smile fixed on my face, my silver wedding ring cold against my thumb as I walked.
We sat at the prominent corner table, where the large picture window looked out over the dark, still surface of the lake.
The water was black under the rising moon, reflecting the orange lights of the dining room like oil on stone.
