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experience that familiar flash of discomfort with the realization that she was surrounded by men.
    Tonight there were wives at Archer's house party, of course, but they seemed to move in a parallel universe, seldom intersecting with that of their husbands. Abby, standing with the surgeons, would occasionally hear far-off snippets from the wives' conversations. Talk of damask roses, of trips to Paris and meals savoured. She would feel pulled both ways, as though she stood straddling the divide between men and women, belonging to neither universe, yet drawn to both.
    It was Mark who anchored her in this circle of men. He and Bill Archer, also a thoracic surgeon, were close colleagues. Archer, chief of the cardiac transplant team, had been one of the doctors who'd recruited Mark to Bayside seven years ago. It wasn't surprising the two men got along so well. Both of them were hard-driving, athletic, and fiercely competitive. In the OR they worked together as a team, but out of the hospital, their friendly rivalry extended from the ski slopes of Vermont to the waters of Massachusetts Bay. Both men kept their J-35 sailboats moored at Marblehead marina, and so far this season, the racing score stood at six to five, Archer's Red Eye versus Mark's Gimme Shelter. Mark planned to even the score this weekend. He'd already recruited Rob Lessing, the other second-year resident, as crew.
    What was it about men and boats? wondered Abby. This was gizmo talk, men and their sailing machines, high-tech conversation fuelled by testosterone. In this circle, centre stage belonged to the men with greying hair. To Archer, with his silver-threaded mane. To Colin Wettig, already a distinguished grey. And to Mark who, at forty-one, was just starting to turn silver at the temples.
    As the conversation veered towards hull maintenance and keel design and the outrageous price of spinnakers, Abby's attention drifted. That's when she noticed two late arrivals: Dr. Aaron Levi and his wife Elaine. Aaron, the transplant team cardiologist, was a painfully shy man. Already he had retreated with his drink to a far corner of the lawn, where he stood stoop-shouldered and silent. Elaine was glancing around in search of a conversational beachhead.
    This was Abby's chance to flee the boat talk. She slipped away from Mark and went to join the Levis.
    "Mrs Levi? It's so nice to see you again."
    Elaine returned a smile of recognition. "It's... Abby, isn't it?" "Yes, Abby DiMatteo. I think we met at the residents' picnic."
    "Oh yes, that's right. There are so many residents, I have trouble keeping you all straight. But I do remember you."
    Abby laughed. "With only three women in the surgery programme, we do stick out."
    "It's a lot better than the old days, when there were no women at all. Which rotation are you on now?"
    "I start thoracic surgery tomorrow."
    "Then you'll be working with Aaron."
    "If I'm lucky enough to scrub on any transplants."
    "You're bound to. The team's been so busy lately. They're even getting referrals from Massachusetts General, which tickles Aaron pink." Elaine leaned towards Abby. "They turned him down for a fellowship years ago. Now they're sending him patients."
    "The only thing Mass Gen has over Bayside is their Harvard mystique," said Abby. "You know Vivian Chao, don't you? Our Chief Resident?"
    "Of course."
    "She graduated top ten at Harvard Med. But when it came time to apply for residency, Bayside was her number one choice." Elaine turned to her husband. "Aaron, did you hear that?" Reluctantly he looked up from his drink. "Hear what?"
    "Vivian Chao picked Bayside over Mass Gen. Really, Aaron, you're already at the top here. Why would you want to leave?"
    "Leave?" Abby looked at Aaron, but the cardiologist was glaring at his wife. Their sudden silence was what puzzled Abby most. From across the lawn came the sound of laughter, the echoing drifts of conversation, but in this corner of the garden, nothing was said.
    Aaron cleared his throat.