Page 2 of Clashing Moon

“You need to build a fire,” Dad said. “It’s freezing in here.”

“The furnace is busted. I already called Ralph.” I’d already told him this once that morning.

“Who’s Ralph?”

Ralph was one of my father’s friend’s sons. He’d known him since he was a baby.

“You know Ralph. Billy’s son. He took over Billy’s air and heating business, remember?”

“Billy, sure. When did he have a kid? He was always running around with one woman or the other. Must’ve gotten one knocked up, huh?” Dad pulled on the straps of his denim overalls. I’d managed to get him to change out of his pajamas before he came into the kitchen for breakfast, but they weren’t much better. Those overalls had seen many winters and hadpatches in various places. I couldn’t convince him to get rid of them and let me buy him a new pair.

“Ralph’s my age. We were the same year in high school. He was our quarterback, remember?” Ralph, athletic and nice-looking, had been part of the popular crowd, which I was most certainly not. Dad used to enjoy the high school football games back in the day. I’d never cared much about them, preferring to stay at home and read on a Friday night rather than face the humiliation of yet another high school experience.

I cracked two eggs into the skillet. They immediately started to crackle and pop.

“Do you want me to get you a sweater?” Although Dad wore a flannel shirt under the overalls, I worried he’d grown chilled. Once the cold had seeped into one’s bones, it was hard to recover, especially in a house without a heater. With or without dementia, Dad seemed to have less tolerance for the cold.

“Nope. I’m fine. Takes more than a little winter chill to take me out. I ain’t like you, young folks. All of you marshmallows. Why’s my breakfast taking so long?”

In response, the eggs snapped and sizzled in the pan.

It was ridiculous to make such a big meal every morning, but that was something in my father’s routine that had not changed. He insisted on a big breakfast. Which meant I had to make it and clean up all the mess afterward. I’d have had a cup of coffee and a piece of toast if it were up to me.

For a moment, I thought longingly of my time in the city before I’d moved home. I’d worked at a veterinary clinic after graduation that had been next door to a coffee shop. My coworkers and I had enjoyed lattes and moist muffins most mornings. I’d wanted to stay at the practice—the owners had offered me an opportunity to join as a junior partner. I would have said yes in a second if my father’s health hadn’t deteriorated so quickly.

“What were you doing outside this morning?” Dad asked. “Meeting with someone? Planning my incarceration in the funny farm?”

“No, just getting wood.” I flipped his eggs with the old metal spatula we’d had since I could remember. He liked his fried eggs cooked with a soft yolk so that he could use his toast to soak it all up. For the life of me, I could never get them quite right. They were either too runny or too hard.

“What for?” Dad asked.

“For the woodstove. The heater’s out.” I stifled a sigh.

“You were talking to someone out there. I heard voices.”

My father had gotten paranoid of late. He’d always been prone to suspicion, but with the onset of dementia, it had only gotten more pronounced. Almost every morning, he asked me if I planned to send him to the insane asylum—his words.

I always explained to him, as patiently as I could, that he was in no danger of being locked away.

“I saw that Rafferty Moon sniffing around here,” Dad said. “Just the other day.”

“He’s your doctor. He comes out to check on you from time to time.”

“That idiot’s a doctor?”

I reached for a mug from the cupboard and poured him a cup of steaming coffee, then set it in front of him. “You know he’s a doctor. I’m a vet. We’re all grown now.”

“He’s a dirty dog. One of those Moon boys. Always thinking they were better than the rest of us.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t back-talk me.” He banged his fist against the table at the same time the toast popped up, making it feel as if they were related.

The corner of one of my eyes twitched. I pressed my finger into it, wishing I were anywhere but here.

“The Moon boys don’t think they’re better than anyone else,” I said, except maybe Rafferty. His brothers had all been sweet and laid-back. Not Rafferty. He was like me. Ambitious and driven. One had to be slightly arrogant to decide to try for medical school. We’d known the odds of kids from a place like Bluefern making it all the way through. But we’d set our sights on our goals and not given up. As much as the man rankled me, I admired his spirit and drive. Perhaps because they were so similar to mine.

Rafferty and I went head-to-head academically from the time we were in kindergarten. We’d always tried to beat the other in whatever class we were in. Sometimes I won. Other times, he won. We were mere points apart for the role of valedictorian of our class. I’d ended up slightly ahead because he’d gotten an A-minus in an elective, and I’d never dipped below a 4.0. He’d been bitter ever since. I’m ashamed to say it brought a smile to my lips, remembering the look in his eyes when it was announced that I’d won.

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