“Every detail of Greg’s Parkinson’s diagnosis will become part of the public county record.”

“I understand,” I said.

“The local paper prints the chancery court filings every Sunday morning,” Marcus said, pushing his tortoiseshell reading glasses up his nose.

“Everyone from our church congregation to the bank tellers will know about his condition before the weekend is over.”

I picked up the pen and pressed the steel nib against the signature line on the last page.

My name was written in dark, steady ink right beside the notary seal.