Page 17 of Clashing Moon

The room had grown almost too dark to see the puzzle. Arabella suggested moving it to one side so we would have room to eat. “I’ll light the lamp so we can see what we’re doing,” shesaid, gesturing toward the kerosene lamp on a small table in the corner of the room.

After I tossed a few more pieces of wood into the fire, I searched through the cabinet for something to open for dinner. There were cans of ravioli, chicken noodle soup, chili, and baked beans. “You want ravioli or soup?” I asked.

She’d lit the lamp and returned to sit on the cot, folded over with her hands around her knees. Her shoulders were shaking. Was she crying?

“Hey, you all right?” I rushed over to her, kneeling on the floor by her feet.

She rocked back and forth, her voice muffled against the fabric of her jeans. “I’m scared. What if he’s dead out there? It’ll be my fault.”

“None of this is your fault. Not your father’s illness or this storm.”

“I should have been watching him more carefully. It’s just that he frustrates me, and I get angry. This morning, he was acting awful. Belligerent.”

“Could you tell what set him off?”

“He said I didn’t cook his eggs correctly, which is ridiculous because I made them exactly how he likes them. Or how he used to like them, anyway. This disease is changing him. I didn’t think it was possible for him to get meaner, but I was wrong.”

“How often does he hit you?” I asked softly.

At first, I thought she would deflect and change the subject, but she surprised me by answering. “Occasionally. It’s been getting worse, though. This morning, he called me by my mother’s name.” She paused for a moment. “I have one photograph of her. I look like her.”

“Did he hit you when you were young?” The moment I asked the question, I knew the answer. Her veiled expression told me everything I needed to know.

“Sometimes.”

“I had no idea.”

“There were a lot of things going on behind closed doors at my house. I suppose that’s true of many families. Right?”

I nodded. “I’ve seen some things in my line of work. Especially since I make house calls.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen some things out at some of the ranches too. Usually, it’s cruelty to animals, not people.”

I realized then I was still kneeling on the floor, and rose to my feet, offering her my hand. “Come eat. It’ll warm us up to have some soup.”

She returned to the table while I fixed our dinner. When the soup was ready, I divided it evenly and brought the bowls to the table. We ate in relative silence. Outside, the storm raged, battering the walls and roof of the cabin.

After we were finished eating, we rinsed the dishes in the sink as we’d done earlier. Not the most hygienic, but we had little choice.

It was completely dark outside by this point. We had a lot of firewood still stacked beside the stove. Enough for a few days, I figured. If we were stuck much longer than that, we would be in trouble. But surely the snow would stop soon, and we could begin to dig ourselves out in the morning.

We played cards in the light shed by the kerosene lamp. After an hour or so, I caught her yawning and suggested we get some sleep.

“About that. How do we sleep with only one bag between us?” Arabella asked.

“You sure there aren’t some other blankets stuffed somewhere?”

“No. It’s just the one sleeping bag. Usually, I’m alone up here.”

I looked over at the cot, wishing it were wider. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You won’t sleep a wink.”

“Then there’s only one solution. We’re going to have to share the cot and the sleeping bag.”

“Share? As in, sleep next to each other?”

“It would provide warmth,” I said. “You know, two bodies. Pressed together.”

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