“You look better,” Tally remarked when Abigail returned with the dogs from their walk.

  Tally, meanwhile, was enjoying the chance to stay indoors. But she had also made dinner—and somehow managed to find a bottle of red wine.

  “One thing I really envy about the rich,” she said, “is that they always have excellent wine on hand.”

  Abigail slipped out of her rubber boots and hung her coat—which was also too big for her—on the coat rack.

  “Anything else you’re envious of?” she asked.

  “Does it make you?”

  Abigail looked around. She loved absolutely everything about the house—its secluded location, the dogs and cats, the aquariums, the flowers on the windowsills, even the simple carpeting—so understated it was obvious how expensive it must be.

  “Rich people can live however they want,” she replied.

  “Not only can the rich live like that,” Tally shrugged. “It’s a typical country life.”

  Abigail couldn’t respond. Unlike Tally, she had grown up in a crowded apartment and had no idea what life in the countryside was like. And unlike Tally, who had grown tired of animals at an early age, Abigail had always wanted a pet at home—a dog, a cat, or even an aquarium. But she had never had one. Her mother had always refused.

  Now she partly understood that her mother had a point. There wasn’t enough space in their apartment for the two of them. But it wasn’t just about space. Her mother made no secret of the fact that caring for Abigail alone was enough, and she had no intention of taking on responsibility for anyone else.

  Charlie, whose house seemed enormous, didn’t have any pets either.

  “Why don’t you have a dog?” Abigail asked.

  “What—no?” Charlie replied, sounding almost offended, as he carefully removed a porcelain figurine of a hunting dog with a dead bird in its mouth from the shelf.

  Abigail looked at it with disgust.

  “Don’t you like it?” Charlie asked, surprised.

  With a sigh, he admitted, “You’re absolutely right. It’s a disgraceful piece. But… early 19th century.” He returned it to the top shelf of the rack with a gentle shrug.

  Abigail knew nothing about rural life. Yet Tally was right—after a walk with the dogs, returning to the house where the wood crackled merrily in the fireplace, Abigail felt an unusual serenity. Peaceful. Almost happy.

  “I think I could live like this,” she said. “In the countryside.”

  Tally regarded her skeptically.

  “You just don’t know what you’re talking about,” she admitted. “However…”

  Some idea seemed to strike her. She set down her glass, went to her room, and returned a moment later with a colorful brochure, which she handed to Abigail.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “If you think you could handle life in the boondocks, here’s a little hint.”

  Abigail looked at the brochure. It was a prospectus for young doctors offering positions in provincial social hospitals. She had seen similar brochures before—they were handed out at the university. The one Tally gave her described a mountainous province far to the northwest. Judging by everything, the hospitals out there were hanging on by a thread. That didn’t surprise Abigail—these were very poor regions. Yet the communes and hospitals were doing everything they could to hold things together. So, the doctors who agreed to work in local hospitals were immediately provided with housing, personal transport, and decent working conditions. As decent as conditions could be at 1,000 meters above sea level.

  Abigail smiled faintly, peeking at Tally over the top edge of the brochure.

  “I might as well work at the social hospital in the Old Port,” she said. “I don’t think things with the medical personnel are any better there than in the mountains. And here I already have a place to live. And I don’t need personal transport—the hospital is only a few blocks from my house.”

  She set the brochure aside and took a thoughtful sip of her wine. Actually, it wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “There will always be plenty of opportunity for fussing over the poor and the hopeless,” she said with a wry smile. “No need to climb 1,000 meters above sea level for that.”

  Tally looked at her in disbelief.

  “Poor and hopeless? Where did that come from?”

  “From Chuck,” Abigail replied. “He thinks it’s my calling—fussing over people like that.”

  Tally laughed.

  “Of course he does,” she said, with a faint note of embarrassment. “Little Chuck was completely hopeless himself when you picked him up. He’s just judging from personal experience.”

  Abigail stared at Tally in surprise. Was it really she who had ‘picked up’ Chuck?

  “Was Chuck hopeless?”

  “Of course. Without you, he’d never have passed his exams or gotten that internship. He followed you everywhere, copied everything you did, repeated everything you said.”

  Tally shrugged—to her, this was all perfectly obvious.

  But not to Abigail. Her memories looked entirely different. Despite being quite attractive, she had never drawn the attention of young men. Chuck was handsome, and the girls at the university flocked around him. So when he chose her, she had felt nothing but immense gratitude.

  “He was the only one who noticed me,” she said quietly. Then, with a warm smile, added, “I wasn’t like you, pretty Tally.”

  Unlike Abigail, Tally had never lacked admirers.

  “Didn’t you get it? Most boys are cowards. They’re terrified of being rejected, terrified of looking ridiculous. So they usually go for easy, reliable prey. You were too much for them—and they knew it. Chuck wasn’t the smartest of the bunch. Just the boldest. And the most desperate.”

  Tally topped up her glass and added,

  “I’m glad you left him behind. Don’t waste your time on boys who need nurturing and raising. Better find one who’s already grown.”

  By the time they retreated to their bedrooms, it was already late. A huge moon shone straight through the window—so brightly that Abigail didn’t even need to turn on the light. She changed into her hostess’s pajamas, which, like everything else here, were noticeably too big for her, and slipped under the covers.

  The cat—who, as it turned out, had already claimed the bed—let out a disgruntled meow but didn’t budge. Instead, she inched closer to Abigail’s side and began to purr, loud and steady.

  The pillow was a little damp, but it didn’t bother Abigail. Nor did the moonlight, which flooded the room and cast a whimsical play of shadows on the wall before her. She could hear the old mongrel grumbling in its sleep, curled up just outside the bedroom door. Even at night, he kept to his duty, guarding Abigail from who knew what.

  Abigail replayed the events of the day. It felt almost like a prayer—they were all moments that filled her with quiet happiness. She drifted into sleep with a smile still lingering on her lips.

  “Everything will be fine,” she murmured. “I’m a doctor.”