Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
A single loon surfaced near the edge of the wild rice beds, its dark head tilting toward the shore before it dove again without a splash. For twenty-two years, my mornings had been dictated by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the suburban hallway and the quiet, demanding rhythm of David’s schedule. Now, there was only the small, rhythmic slap of the water against the shoreline rocks and the rustle of the dry poplar leaves.
My left hand felt light, almost weightless, in my lap. I reached down to touch my ring finger, my thumb automatically tracing the smooth skin where my silver wedding band had lived for over two decades. I had slipped the ring off before leaving the courthouse, dropping it into the small zippered pocket of my leather handbag alongside the gold-plated key to David’s office. The pale band of skin beneath it was already beginning to take on a faint color from the morning sun.
