Page 5 of Clashing Moon

I’d made the mistake of telling Mama that Arabella had canceled the last checkup scheduled for her father. She’d told my nurse he was stable and, therefore, the appointment wasn’t necessary. I’d fretted about it. Mr. Collins was deteriorating at a rapid rate. Although I’d tried to convince Arabella that she needed to find a memory care facility in Bozeman for him, she was unconvinced. “With what money?” she’d asked me, clearly hot.

When I’d conveyed this to Mama, she’d suggested Arabella think about selling the ranch and using the proceeds to pay for a facility in which he could live full-time under close supervisionof professionals well-versed in Alzheimer’s and dementia. It was an easy solution on paper. Emotionally, not so much. Letting go of land and a house that had been in a family for generations was like cutting off a limb or destroying a vital organ. It was a tie not easily explained to outsiders, other than to say the land lived within us.

Look at me, for example. When I was a kid, I’d wanted nothing more than to get out of here, only to find out once I was gone how much I missed it and my family. One day, sitting in a busy coffee shop in a bustling city I’d never grown accustomed to, it hit me with a clarity I’d rarely felt in my lifetime. I wanted to go home to my loud, somewhat interfering but always loving family and the town that had helped raise us.

I’d made the move after I finished my residency a few years back. Our town’s doctor had recently expressed a desire to retire and had sent word via Mama that his practice was for sale if I was interested. Strangely enough, it hadn’t taken a lot of thinking or reflection. It was pure instinct to say yes. In fact, I’d called him within minutes of my mother’s call and asked if we could talk over the details. Before I knew it, I’d secured a loan, moved back to Bluefern, and taken over the local medical practice. With it, I’d inherited several nurses, an office manager, and a receptionist. Now, I happily serve our community under my terms. I did house calls when needed. I could always be reached in the middle of the night if someone had an emergency, which rarely happened, but when it did, I felt proud to serve the most vulnerable in our area of the world.

In my job in the city, the hospital administration demanded that we spend no more than ten minutes with a patient. They wanted people in and out without considering the softer side of medicine. Most people wanted a chance to ask questions or get advice about health concerns, like weight management or lifestyle changes. Owning my practice meant I could do thingsthe way I wanted. I was a Moon brother, after all. For good or bad, we had a certain way we liked to live. The number one thing on our list? Independence.

Except from one another, of course. We lived by the mantras of Slurfpig and always would.

I followed Arabella down to her basement.

“Here we go,” she said, pointing toward the furnace.

I opened the bulky box-like metal casing to peer inside. Right away, I noticed the pilot light had gone out, which would prevent it from igniting. The blower compartment housed a large, belt-driven fan, which seemed to be working fine. However, the air filters were clogged with dirt and debris.

“Pilot light’s out,” I said. “And air filters should be replaced. Easy fixes.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I’ll ask Pop if he’ll pick up some filters for you and come out to replace them this morning before the storm moves in. He can get the pilot light lit for you, too.” Pop had every tool imaginable, including a long-reach lighter to ignite the pilot light. “I don’t have a lighter long enough to reach it.”

“I hope you’re right. I really don’t have the money to fix this right now.” Arabella had her long brown hair pulled into a high ponytail and fidgeted with it now, tugging at it as if she wanted to let it all loose. To my surprise, I imagined doing so myself, just to feel if the strands were as soft as they were shiny.

It would be a lot easier to continue my dislike of Dr. Collins if she weren’t so devastatingly beautiful. I flushed, feeling ashamed of myself. I could almost hear Mama chastising me that women should be judged for more than their looks. Unlike myself, Mama was a big fan of Dr. Collins, like everyone else in this town. When we were kids, she’d often invited Arabella over to the house for dinner or cookies. One time, in a snit, I’d asked her why she kept inviting her over when I disliked her so much.

Mama had given me one of her looks and clucked her tongue. “You must never forget that she lost her mother when she was very small. Then her grandmother moved in with them, and if that woman ever had anything kind to say to anyone, including Arabella, I sure never heard it. Her grandmother died when Arabella was only eleven, leaving her alone with that snake of a man. That father of hers might be an adequate rancher, but when it comes to loving his little girl, he comes up way short. If we can show her what it’s like to be in a loving family and know she always has a soft place to land here at our home, then we will do it. You must always choose compassion, Rafferty, instead of judgment. We never know what it’s like to walk another’s journey. All we can do is control our own actions. And that means that Arabella Collins is always welcome in our house.”

I have no idea what I’d said to that, but I can bet it was an apology of some kind. No one could evoke guilt like my mama. Rightly so. When it came to me, anyway.

Today, the moment I’d walked into the Collinses’ kitchen, I’d noticed how cold the house felt. This was not good for Mr. Collins. His arthritis didn’t respond well to the chill, causing pain. In turn, that pain manifested into agitation and temper. I felt certain the redness on Arabella’s cheek was not from the chill but from her father’s hand. She wouldn’t admit it to me, but I had strong suspicions that his temper led to outbursts of violence. So far, he hadn’t appeared to harm his daughter in any serious way. But a smack across the face gave me concern. As much as I wanted to hold on to old grudges, my oath to heal the sick was stronger. If I could get her to talk to me and tell me what was really going on, I might be able to help.

“Are you sure it’s not too much trouble for Mr. Moon?” Arabella asked. “I hate to put him out.”

“He’ll be happy to help. Since he retired, he’s had too much time on his hands. I think he might be driving Mama a littlebatty at this point.” I wasn’t sure that was true. Since she’d married him after my biological father’s death when I was nine, the two of them had been virtually inseparable—a love story of all love stories. I wished I could have one of my own, but so far, I’d been too busy getting through school and now focusing on work to spend too much time looking. Within the last few years, all my brothers had met their true loves—soulmates, really—and I couldn’t help but feel a little behind. My brother Atticus had given me a hard time when I’d mentioned it to him, saying I shouldn’t be so competitive about every little thing. “Your time will come when it’s supposed to.”

I’d replied, “Easy for you to say. You’re married to a gorgeous, talented woman who just gave you a baby boy.” Not to mention that my brother was now a billionaire after selling his software creation to a big company. Even though I hated myself for it, I was jealous of his success. I’d thought becoming a doctor would be the success story of my family. Instead, Atticus created a genius app and sold it for more money than he could ever spend in this lifetime. That is, as long as he didn’t go buy an island or a bunch of vineyards like that guy who played the pirate in those movies my brothers and I had been obsessed with as boys.

Arabella gestured toward the stairs. “I should get back to him.”

She turned to go, but I touched her shoulder. “What happened to your cheek?” Blunt, yes, but I couldn’t think of how else to ask.

She looked up and to my right, obviously trying to think of a good lie.

“Did he hit you?” I asked.

“It’s fine.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Rafferty, just leave it alone,” Arabella said.

“Are you safe here?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

I wanted to press her further, but I knew it was useless. The woman was as stubborn as a mule.

---