Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
“Forty thousand dollars, Rachel.”
“I know,” I said, keeping my hands perfectly still on my lap.
“It is a heavy burden for us to carry, especially now when we should be simplifying our lives,” he said, checking his gold watch with a quick, defensive flick of his wrist.
“George called me again from the development office.”
“Did he?” I asked, my voice flat and measured.
“He is offering seventy thousand dollars for the entire parcel,” David said, his voice dropping to a smooth, confidential whisper.
“It is more than fair, and it would put an end to all this needless worry.”
The actual appraisal in my handbag valued the lake property at four hundred thousand dollars.
David watched my face, his eyes searching for the confusion he had spent the last eight weeks trying to cultivate in me.
He reached across the white tablecloth and placed his hand over mine, his fingers warm and dry.
“I am only doing this because I want to protect you from the stress of managing that property,” he said.
I looked down at his hand, then up at his face, seeing the calculations running behind his eyes.
