Abigail left her car at the edge of the forest, near enormous gnomes in mushroom hats, roughly carved from tree trunks. One of them held a wooden sign pointing the way to a nearby summer café. Abigail turned onto the path and followed the arrow. In fact, she didn’t need the sign at all—she knew the way perfectly well.

  As she passed, she patted a wooden bear on the back of its neck, as if greeting an old friend. The bear was slightly smaller than the gnomes and darker in color. It had stood by the café entrance for as long as anyone could remember. At any rate, Abigail remembered it from her childhood.

  The gnomes, by contrast, had appeared relatively recently—around the same time that a parking lot had been fenced off near the forest entrance and a billboard had gone up, listing everything one was forbidden to do in the forest.

  She passed beneath a carved wooden archway and entered the summer café. Wooden tables and benches were scattered among the trees. There was no ceiling—only the crowns of old beech trees overhead, stretched above her like a vast tent. Deep between the trunks—smooth and grey, like the columns of a mountain king’s cave—she could see the wooden frame of the café itself.

  Not a soul was in sight. The café was closed for the season.

  Abigail sat down at the nearest table, its surface covered with copper-colored beech leaves. She raked them into a tall pile at the center of the table and laid Charlie’s cane beside it. Then she took a thermos from her pocket and drank a few small sips.

  The coffee brewed by the machine in Tally’s kitchen was mediocre—but it was the best available. At this time of year, the establishment served nothing but fallen leaves.

  She usually ate ice cream at this café. Charlie drank coffee—and claimed it wasn’t very good. Charlie was no stranger to snobbery, especially when it came to food and drink.

  Unlike him, Abigail was not spoiled. She was used to bad coffee from hospital vending machines. Her mother never made coffee at all—only tea, usually herbal. Everything Abigail knew about good coffee, she had learned from Charlie.

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She took it out and looked at the screen. The message came from the medical director’s office of the Old Port hospital. Dr. Martinez was kindly requested to come to the personnel department on Monday with all the necessary documents—the list attached—to apply for the assistant surgeon position.

  An involuntary wry smile crept across her face. Apparently, Dr. Colbert had taken care of it right away.

  Her visit to the Old Port hospital did not go quite as she had expected. She went there this morning straight from the station, without stopping at home, timing her arrival for the end of the morning rounds. She even managed to see the medical director, which she took as a good sign.

  But when Abigail placed her brand-new medical license on the medical director’s desk and expressed her desire to work at the hospital, his reaction was unexpectedly cool. At first, he tried to excuse himself, claiming that there were no vacancies in the hospital. But Abigail wasn’t about to back down. She lived in the area and knew perfectly well that the hospital was short on doctors—everyone who relied on the social hospital’s services knew this. Waiting times for even simple routine operations stretched for months, and some patients had to wait more than a year.

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  Her familiarity with the hospital’s situation made the medical director frown and adopt a different approach: he now insisted that she had no experience. How could he possibly entrust patients to a surgeon with no practical track record?

  By this point, Abigail understood perfectly well that they did not want to hire her. Being delicate by nature, normally, she would not have insisted and would have accepted the refusal. But her current situation was far from normal. She needed a job and something to bargain with in her conversation with her mother. It spurred her fighting spirit. She took her internship certificate out of her folder and placed it in front of the head physician.

  ‘I completed my internship in the surgery department at St. Pio Hospital. If necessary, you can obtain a reference from Dr. Colbert, the chief surgeon.’

  The mention of a prestigious hospital made the medical director look up—for the first time, he met Abigail’s gaze. Dr. Colbert’s name, too, seemed to ring a bell. Abigail felt deeply uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to name-dropping. In truth, she’d never really had any connections to boast of.

  The medical director dropped his gaze to the paper she had placed in front of him. He pursed his lips and muttered:

  ‘Well, if you are really so capable… I’ll see what I can do. Come see me on Monday. I believe we have some vacancies in surgery…’

  Abigail stormed out of the hospital, her cheeks burning. She was angry at the medical director—and at herself—as if she were a beggar pleading for charity, rather than a qualified surgeon applying for a position in a hospital clearly desperate for specialists.

  As soon as she stepped outside, Abigail immediately called Dr. Colbert. Fortunately, he picked up right away. Still reeling from her encounter with the chief physician, she explained her intention to work at the Old Port hospital and recounted the conversation.

  “Could you give me a recommendation, Doctor?” she asked.

  Colbert paused for a moment before replying,

  “It’s a social hospital, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed.

  He let out a sigh.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Abigail, slightly taken aback, answered,

  “I need a job. I really need it.”

  Dr. Colbert kept silent for a moment, then barked,

  “Does he even need a recommendation? He should have carried you in his arms, and, in gratitude, lit a candle to Saint Stephen-on-the-Pier for giving them such a specialist!”

  She hesitated, then said,

  “To be honest, I don’t understand. There’s always a shortage of specialists here. Everyone knows that.”

  Colbert snorted contemptuously.

  “Everything is clear, my dear—a social hospital as it is,” he said matter-of-factly. “There are never enough doctors there. And they always need more money to maintain the hospital. The hospital receives subsidies. Doctors work overtime and receive extra pay. In fact, everyone is happy.”

  He paused for a moment, then said decisively,

  ‘All right, if that’s what you’ve decided, go ahead. There won’t be any problems. A social hospital isn't the best life experience, but it's a good line on your resume. As soon as a decent vacancy opens up in a decent place, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Will you call him?’

  This was what interested her most at the moment.

  ‘That guy? I don’t feel like getting to know him,” Colbert answered grumpily. “I know who I should contact. Don’t worry, you won’t have any problems.”

  Encouraged by Dr. Colbert’s words, Abigail went straight home. She was determined to explain everything to her mother without holding anything back. And, freed from this half-secret, half-lie, to start a new, honest adult life with a clean slate.

  As soon as Abigail crossed the threshold, she almost bumped into her mother. It seemed as if she had been standing in the hallway, right behind the door, waiting for her to come in. And the first words Abigail heard made her freeze and forget everything she was going to say.