Page 15 of Clashing Moon

“But? There’s a but coming.” I smiled to let her know it was fine to say whatever she wanted to say.

“Not really a but. It’s that you made me feel bad about myself. You were good at everything. Sports. School. Everyone liked you even though you were obviously super ambitious.”

“How do you mean?”

“Kids liked you even though you were not like the rest of them. A boy can get away with that. A smart girl’s usually not well-liked. Especially if we don’t bother to hide it.”

“I never cared if people liked me. What’s that saying? Your opinion of me is none of my business.”

“See, right there,” she said, tapping the tabletop with her knuckles. “Most teenagers care about what their peers think of them. You were obliviously carefree. You were always yourself, as far as I could tell anyway. Maybe you were just a good actor.”

“No, your assessment’s true. The only people I ever wanted to impress or cared what they thought were my parents and my brothers. That’s still the case, actually.”

“I think that might have been the quality I was most jealous of,” Arabella said. “I cared what everyone thought. The sneers and exchanged glances between kids when I had to do a presentation or when I was the only one who knew the answer to a question. I saw them all. They worked their way inside me like a disease. Most kids saw me as my father did. A chubby, geeky freak.”

A freak? That made my chest ache for her. What a despicable man. Who would ever want their daughter to feel that way about herself? “You were not a freak. Anyway, you have had the last laugh. Look how well you’re doing compared to most of them.”

“I guess so,” Arabella spoke softly and with a fair amount of sadness. “I still feel totally alone most of the time. I missmy friends from school. Out here, with my dad, feels pretty isolating.”

“Even with all your patients?” I asked.

“They’re not friends. Except for the dogs, of course. I’d love to get one of my own, but there’s no way. Adding a puppy into my already impossible schedule would be a disaster.”

Again, my chest ached for her. Was it possible I’d softened to Miss Collins after all these years? I tried to muster some of the old animosity, but the well seemed dry.

“Tell me about your life before you came home,” I said. “Was medical school as rough for you as it was for me?”

“God, yes.”

“For sure. There are whole months of time I can’t remember because of the sleep deprivation. But I loved my colleagues from day one.”

“Yes, I have two best friends from medical school,” Arabella said. “Intense programs like that bond you with people in a way I’d never experienced before. I can remember pinching myself because I had real friends. People liked me. I didn’t have to pretend to be anyone other than myself. I was admired for being smart instead of mocked.” She looked down at the puzzle, moving a piece from one side of the table to the other.

I placed a piece into the puzzle, completing the snack shop portion of the picture.

“Do you ever think about what you’ll do after your dad…” I trailed off, realizing too late how insensitive the question was. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it’s okay. I think about it a lot, actually. Sometimes, I daydream about what it would be like to finally be free. Isn’t that awful?”

“I’d say human. I’ve seen how he treats you,” I said.

“He’s always been mean, but the dementia’s made it worse.” She placed a piece into the puzzle and looked up at me with a satisfied gleam in her eye. “There, got one. Finally.”

“Don’t feel bad that I’m better at this than you,” I said, teasing.

“Very funny.” She picked up another piece and looked at it carefully. “But seriously, how are you so good at everything? It’s annoying.”

“I can imagine how jealous you must feel.”

She tossed a puzzle piece at me. “You’re a bad person.”

I laughed. “I’m just joking. I’m not good at everything.”

“Tell me something you struggle with.” She glared at me and crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on, admit it. You can’t think of anything.”

“I can’t cook. I never make my bed. I’m sometimes impatient with my receptionist.”

“Norma? Well, how could you not be? She’s the slowest human that’s ever lived,” she said.

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