Chapter 3

On the third day after my father resigned, Justin showed up.

He stood at our door with a basket of fruit.

Those knees that used to lock stiff and wouldn't bend now moved like anyone else's.

If anything, he looked healthier than most people, chest out, chin up, like some official arriving for an inspection.

I opened the door, saw him, and moved to shut it without a word.

He jammed a foot into the gap.

“Abby, don't be like that. I came to see your dad.”

“My dad doesn't need to see you.”

I planted myself in the doorway.

“Leave.”

Just then my father came out of the study. He saw Justin and his steps hitched for a second.

“Dr. Gilbert,”

Justin's face was all smiles.

“I just came to check on you.”

“I said I'd repay you, didn't I? So here I am.”

My father didn't take the fruit, didn't open the door any wider.

“No thanks. I'd hate to get reported again, this time for privately accepting gifts from patients.”

“Take it back. I can't afford to eat it.”

Justin's smile froze for a beat.

“Dr. Gilbert, that's a little petty, don't you think?”

My father's expression didn't change.

“Being petty is my business. Are you going to report me for that too?”

Justin shifted his tone.

“Dr. Gilbert, let's talk seriously.”

“You know that physical therapy shop of mine. Business is good right now,”

“you've done acupuncture your whole life, why not come lend a hand at my place?”

I honestly wanted to slap him.

He wanted to bleed us dry?

But my father laughed.

“One report wasn't enough for you?”

“I can't afford to lend that hand.”

Justin couldn't keep his face together.

“Dr. Gilbert, aren't you being awfully small-minded?”

“I hear you resigned too. You're sitting around with nothing to do anyway. Come to my shop, keep your skills sharp and help me out, isn't that a win-win?”

“Win-win?”

My father stared at him. “You win, fine. What do I win?”

“The chance to get reported again?”

“Reported, reported, that's all you say. Stop being so small-minded.”

Justin changed direction and looked at me.

“Abby's learned plenty from you, hasn't she? She can come instead.”

“Good for a young girl to practice, makes it easier to find work later.”

“My shop's got plenty of patients. Stick needles in whoever, all free.”

That set me off.

“Justin, get the hell out!”

“You bite the hand that fed you, and now you want me to come be your free labor?”

“You think you're the only genius in the whole world?”

Justin backed up half a step from my shouting.

He looked at my father, then at me, and his eyes went cold.

“Fine. You don't know a good thing when you see it.”

“Otto Gilbert, don't come crying about it later.”

Then he picked up his fruit and left.

My father shut the door, shaking with anger.

I helped him sit down.

“Don't waste your temper on him. He's not worth it.”

Two days later, the industry association held a traditional medicine sharing and exchange session.

I brought my father along.

Everyone there was an old practitioner, some even older than him.

They sat together talking acupuncture and remedies. Someone pulled out a yellowed casebook.

A few of them leaned in to look, clicking their tongues in praise.

My father sat there and smiled.

His mood finally lifted a little.

At the session, one old master taught everyone how to brew a traditional herbal ointment for bone conditions.

He said it worked even better paired with acupuncture.

I studied it for two days and came home to try it myself.

The spent herb dregs filled a big basin. I carried it out to the trash bins by the back gate of the complex to dump.

I'd just poured the dregs in when I looked up and saw Justin standing under a streetlight a few meters off.

I don't know how long he'd been there.

He was staring at the basin of dregs in my hands, eyes like a wolf's.

My chest went tight.

“What are you doing here?”

He said he was just passing through, but he took two steps toward me and glanced into the trash bin at the dregs.

Then he turned and left.

I stood there holding the empty basin, my skin crawling.

Early the next morning, the health board called my cell phone.

“Is this Abigail Gilbert?”

“Someone has reported you for practicing medicine without a license and privately brewing herbal medicine for people to take.”

“There are concerns it endangers people's health. We need your cooperation with the investigation.”

I stood in the living room gripping the phone, the blood rushing to my head.

My father was furious, but all he said was one thing. “He won't even leave you alone.”

I looked at my father.

“Dad, this time I'm not putting up with it.”