Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
“The adult high school equivalency program starts on Tuesday,” I said. “I paid his tuition yesterday morning. Two hundred dollars for the books and the lab fees.”
“He was really afraid of Dad,” Emma said, her voice barely louder than the hum of the old refrigerator. “When he was standing in the courthouse hallway, he looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.”
“He did the right thing,” Ben said, his arms crossed over his chest again. “Without his statement about the three hundred and fifty dollar weekly cash payments, the judge wouldn’t have dismissed the petition so fast.”
“Marcus is eighteen,” I said. “He was given a choice between easy money and his conscience. Many men twice his age have chosen worse.”
The sound of an old truck engine sounded from the gravel road, the exhaust rattling as it came to a stop near the woodpile. We watched through the kitchen window as Marcus climbed down from the rusted cab of his Ford, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his faded canvas jacket. He pulled the cuffs of his sleeves down over his knuckles as he walked toward the cabin porch, his head tilted down.
