Page 19 of Clashing Moon

It was no wonder. Naturally, it would tug at her scalp.

I took a sip from the wine, pleasantly surprised by how good it tasted despite having already brushed my teeth.

Feeling her eyes on me, I turned to meet her gaze. She didn’t look away. “What?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking about what your life was like before you came home.”

“Harried,” I said. “Hectic. Stressful. Lonely.”

“Lonely? That surprises me.”

“You know how it is in the city. You can live right next door to someone and never meet them. The sidewalks are packed with people, yet you feel totally isolated.”

“Yes, I do know,” Arabella said. “I missed small-town life much more than I thought I would.”

“Same here. I’m ready for the next season of life, that’s for sure.”

“The season of domesticity?”

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad word,” I said, laughing. “Family life can be a good life.”

“I wouldn’t know.” She gazed into her glass.

“It’s not inevitable.”

“What isn’t?” Arabella asked, looking up at me.

“That you’ll be as miserable as your father. He chose to be that way.”

“You think being paranoid and nasty was a choice? I mean, not now. Before the dementia.”

“That’s what Mama would say. She always told us that we must choose to be grateful and kind, even when it was hard. Pop too. The way they lived and treated other people, including us, was inspiring. Still is.”

“My father inspires me.” Her voice grew husky with her obvious bitterness. “To be the opposite of him.”

“You are. Coming home to take care of him, given how he’s treated you, is the ultimate sacrifice. Unselfish. Compassionate. All the qualities he’s never had.”

Arabella nodded, her expression haunted. “It’s not been easy. And I wouldn’t say I’m exactly compassionate. Most days, I want to run away from home.”

Before I knew what I was doing, I reached over and squeezed her hand. She twitched, my touch obviously startling her, but she didn’t jerk away from me. Instead, she smiled. “Thank you. For what you said. It feels good to be acknowledged.”

“Anytime,” I said, removing my hand from hers. “As your dad’s doctor, I should tell you that more often. Caregivers are often overlooked. They need someone looking out for them too.”

“What was it like working at a big hospital? Do you miss it?” Arabella asked, clearly changing the subject.

“Not at all. I hated it.”

“Really? Why?”

“They wanted me to spend no more than ten minutes with a patient. It was actually measured, and we were evaluated negatively if we went over. I kept going over. Which meant I was always in trouble. One day, after a particularly unpleasant dressing-down by my superior, I walked down the hallway and into our lounge and made myself a cup of tea. My mother alwayssuggested tea when you’ve had a bad day. I sat there sipping my tea, and the delightful smell of burnt popcorn wafting and the sound of my colleagues arguing about politics hit me. I don’t have to stay here. I could move home. Maybe open my practice. Then, divine intervention happened. My mother called me the next day and told me Dr. Wilson was retiring and looking to sell his practice. I jumped at the idea. And voilà, here I am.”

“Any regrets?”

“Not a one. I missed my family and this place. For years I’d dreamed of coming home, and I’ve been happy I did so.” I sipped from my jar, watching her over the rim. “What about you?”

“Right now, I’m so wrapped up in my dad’s care and keeping up with work I haven’t really had that much time for soul-searching or contemplating if this was what I wanted for my life. But I love my job and my clients. If I’m a little lonely, then it’s probably my fault for not putting myself out there more.”

“Dating?”

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