2. Rafferty

2

RAFFERTY

T he truth of it was this. Mama had insisted I stop by the Collins place this morning. Apparently, Arabella hadn’t been to church in “a month of Sundays,” as Mama put it. She’d felt sure there was something afoot and wanted me to check it out for myself. Thus, I’d come by unannounced, which I knew wouldn’t be exactly welcomed by Arabella. Our dislike of each other was so deeply embedded that I couldn’t even remember what I didn’t like about her. Other than she was smarter than me.

That was just the truth.

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 supervision of 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 things the 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 little batty 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.

“Fine. Whatever you say. But if you show up in my office with a broken arm or leg, I’m going to have to report it.”

Her eyebrows lifted, and she gave me a look of utter disdain. “Report it? You’ve got to be kidding. None of this is your business.”

“Tell that to my mama.”

The mention of my mother gave her pause. Regardless of what she felt about me, she loved Stella Moon, just like everyone else in town.

“What are you saying exactly?” Arabella asked.

“Mama sent me out here to check on you. Says you haven’t been to church.”

“Have you?” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, I guess.” She drew in a breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly as if she were fighting with herself to stay calm. I brought out the worst in her. That much was obvious.

I purposely softened my tone. “You’ll let me know if you need help, right? If it gets too much?”

“Yeah, fine.”

I knew she was lying but let it go. For now.

By the time we returned to the kitchen, Mr. Collins was no longer at the table. And the kitchen door was slightly ajar.

Arabella cursed under her breath. “He must have gone outside. I’ll have to go look for him.”

“Put your jacket and gloves on,” I said, sounding like my mother. “And I’ll go with you. It’s started snowing.”

She nodded and grabbed a jacket from a peg by the door, as well as one for her father. “Just in case he’s wandered a ways.”

I donned my jacket and at the last moment, thought to pick up my medical bag. If he’d wandered far, he might be hurt. But really, how far could he get? The man was feeble at best. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Together, we left the kitchen to search the yard. Since my arrival, the sky had darkened even further, and a heaviness hung in the air, dense with moisture. There was an ominous quality to the wintry light. If I weren’t mistaken, temperatures had dropped since I’d been in the house.

A gust of biting wind seemed to come from nowhere. I drew in a deep breath through my nose. It smelled of a coming storm, sharp and metallic. I’d known that smell my whole life, and I knew what it meant.

“Storm’s coming,” I said.

Arabella didn’t answer, seemingly too intent on finding her father to pay me much mind. She pointed to footprints in the thin layer of snow on the ground. “Looks like he just went out to the barn. Old habits die hard.”

The two of us traipsed through the icy snow. As we approached the barn, I expected to see his footsteps stop at the door, where he would have gone in, perhaps thinking horses and chickens remained. Instead, the tracks went toward the right, toward the dense forest. The Collinses’ ranch nestled at the foothills, with the valley sprawling out in a vast, open expanse before it. Behind the house and barn, the terrain rose sharply, the steep incline marking the beginning of rugged highlands.

Arabella stopped, peering in the direction of the tracks. She glanced at me, her eyes wide with surprise. “He went toward the trees?”

“Let’s check the woodshed first,” I suggested.

We hurried over to the structure, yanking open the door and peering inside, using the flashlight on my phone to get a better view. No one.

“Come on. He couldn’t have gotten far. The hill’s steep in that direction.” I led the way, following the indentations in the snow, with Arabella right behind me. We walked for a good five minutes, deeper into the forest until suddenly the tracks stopped.

“Where did he go?” Arabella asked.

“I don’t know.” I squinted, peering in every direction. It was dark in the forest and hard to see. Just then, the wind seemed to change direction, whipping through the trees. Snow dumped from the sky, landing on my lashes and cheeks. We should turn back before it got any worse. However, I dared not suggest it. She wouldn’t give up until we had her father in hand.

“Why would he be out here?” Arabella asked. “It makes no sense.”

I didn’t answer, knowing whatever I said would offend her. I’d been saying it for months now. He needed a care facility.

“Which way should we go?” I asked.

She clasped her gloved hands together. “He might have gone up to the little cabin.”

“Cabin?”

“It’s the log cabin they built a hundred years ago when my family first bought the ranch. No one’s lived there in a long time, but I go up there to get away from my dad occasionally. I’m sure that’s where he went. I don’t know why, but who knows with him these days?”

“Makes sense.” We started out, calling his name as we went deeper into the forest.

The wind picked up, howling through the trees. I had to hold on to my cap with one hand while clutching my medical bag with the other. Our breathing turned labored as the hill grew steeper. We kept on for another five minutes. The snow fell heavily around us, making it harder and harder to see.

At one point, she stopped and turned to me. “It’s that direction. I know it by the trees. Follow me.” She pointed toward the right.

We didn’t get much farther before the snowstorm hit us like an avalanche. One moment, the world was still recognizable. The next, it was as if the sky had dropped, and we were swallowed whole by a wall of white. I couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction; everything beyond that was lost in the storm. The flakes didn’t just fall from above—they were hurled at us from every direction, stinging my face, blinding me, making it impossible to tell up from down, earth from sky. My hands, despite my gloves, were numb with cold, and my legs ached.

The wind was the worst of it. I’d been in blizzards before, but this was something else. It shrieked and wailed, whipping the snow into a frenzied weapon. In minutes, the snow began to pile up around us—two inches, four, maybe more, in what felt like the blink of an eye. My boots sank into the deepening drifts with every step, the snow clinging to me, weighing me down. The wind funneled through the trees, carving out strange patterns in the snow, piling it high in some places, stripping it bare in others. Every step became a struggle. I don’t know how much time passed. It could have been five minutes or an hour. I was so disoriented that I had no idea.

I called out to Arabella, but my words were swallowed up by the storm. She continued to take the lead, treading forward as if she knew where she was going. But did she know where we were? Because I couldn’t see a darn thing. The snow had turned the forest into a maze. I’d never felt so disoriented, so lost. I tried to keep my bearings, but it was like trying to navigate blindfolded.

We pushed against the wind, heavy and wet, making it feel as if I were wading through quicksand. My muscles burned, and my lungs ached with the effort, but we couldn’t stop. We had to keep moving.

Arabella lifted her arm, pointing in front of her, indicating that I should continue to follow her. I nodded and followed, staying as close to her heels as I could.

Cold sliced through my clothes. I knew we didn’t have much time. The wind chill was deadly. We had to find shelter, and soon, or we wouldn’t make it long.

We kept moving through the blanket of white. I had no choice but to trust Arabella. But she was a Montana girl. Tough and savvy. If she said we were going in the right direction, we probably were.

Finally, I noticed a shadow, a faint outline of a structure. Could it be? We continued toward it until it appeared as a vague, dark shape. Another minute and perhaps eight more steps, and we were there. I’d never been so happy to see a crude log cabin in my life.

Arabella pushed open the door, and we practically fell inside, almost losing our balance before I slammed the door behind us. For a moment, I couldn’t see. Soon, though, my eyes adjusted. Other than a door that led to a tiny bathroom, the cabin consisted of one room. A rickety table and a few chairs took up one corner. A woodstove, looking about a hundred years old, stood in another. Near the only window, someone had left a pile of books on a beat-up old trunk.

Best of all, a stack of wood near the stove would last a few days. I also spotted cans of chili and ravioli stacked on a shelf near the stove. A few plastic cups and bowls sat on a shelf near the stove. How often did she come up here?

I peeked my head into the bathroom, relieved to see a sink and toilet. A quick turn of a knob brought forth water into the sink, cold, but at least we wouldn’t be thirsty. I didn’t know how long we might be here, but by the looks of that storm, it could be until tomorrow morning.

I’d been thinking too fast to realize that Arabella expected her father to be here. He was not.

She sank into one of the chairs and buried her face in her gloved hands.

I knelt next to her. “We don’t know anything, okay? He’s probably somewhere warm and safe.”

She met my gaze but didn’t say anything. The defeated expression in her eyes told me exactly what she thought about my suggestion.

“Do you come up here a lot?” I asked.

“When I was a kid, I used to come to get away from Dad and study. In the spring and summer, I’d spend days and days here—reading, taking walks, splashing in the creek. In the fall and winter, I’d hole up here and hit the books. Eating whatever I wanted.” She gestured toward the canned goods. “He didn’t like me to eat anything like that because of my weight.”

“This was your spot to be free.” The thought made me sad. For a moment, I imagined what it would be like to have someone scrutinize your weight and eating so closely. As a family practitioner, I had patients of all ages struggling with their weight. There was so much shame around it, which made no sense medically. Some folks had slower metabolism than others. Body types were varied, yet the women who came to me always seemed to compare themselves to a stick-thin model or actress, as if everyone should look the same. My younger patients especially struggled. With the influx of social media they’d grown up with, it was only getting worse.

Arabella continued. “Like I said, this was the original house when my family first settled here. They quickly realized that building in the foothills was a much better idea. But the cabin remained. Over the years, it became a sanctuary of sorts.”

“Thank God you could find it in the storm. I couldn’t see a thing.”

“I know the landmarks like the back of my hand. This tree and that tree, a boulder near the creek. Still, I wasn’t sure of what I was seeing. At least I wasn’t positive. I had to go on my instinct.”

“It worked. Here we are. Safe.” I sat in the other chair and peeled off my wet gloves. “Please tell me the woodstove works.”

“It does.”

“How long do you think it’s been since it’s been used?”

“I’ve been up here recently, actually. One night, I hired someone to take care of my dad, and I headed up with my sleeping bag and a bunch of stuff I never let myself eat plus a bottle of vodka, some wine.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “I must sound so pathetic, but I just had to get away from him and drown my sorrows and stuff myself with chips and ravioli.”

“Not pathetic at all. You’ve been dealing with a lot, and all on your own.”

Her shoulders rose and fell as she let out a breath. “Thanks. You don’t have to say it, but I appreciate it just the same.”

“I’m going to make us a fire, and then we can come up with a plan,” I said.

“Yeah, fine.”

While I found a pack of matches and some newspaper left in the bin next to the wood stove, she put together a cot that had been folded up and stacked against the wall.

One cot.

I really hoped we weren’t here all night.

She moved the books from the chest and opened it, pulling out a sleeping bag and an almost full bottle of vodka as well as bags of chips. “I know. I’m a bad person.”

“You’re not scared staying up here by yourself?” I asked.

Her forehead wrinkled. “Why would I feel scared?”

“I don’t know. Coyotes and bears, maybe?”

“But I’m inside where they aren’t invited in.”

I looked around the room. It didn’t seem terribly secure, what with the thin front door.

Hopefully, the storm would cease this afternoon, and we could walk out of here, but for now, I would make a fire and get us warm. I knelt near the woodstove, opening the chute and peering inside. There were a few charred bits that would be useful as kindling in combination with bark. I crumpled some newspaper and built a teepee with the bark and charred wood, then lit the paper on fire. Once I had that going, I placed a thin log on top, hoping it would catch. The flames fluttered and threatened to die out. I blew on them to get them going. Fortunately, it worked, and the log caught. It was helpful that the wood was so dry. “How long have these logs been in here?”

“I always bring some in before I leave in case the stack outside is covered with snow.”

“You really do come up here a lot?”

“Not lately. He’s been so bad. I haven’t wanted to leave him alone.”

I wanted to give my opinion on the subject, but I didn’t. She already felt bad. I didn’t need to pile on.

I waited for a minute or two before putting another couple of logs on. Soon, the fire was going strong. I shut the woodstove door and opened the vents to make sure the flames had enough air.

In the meantime, Arabella had spread the sleeping bag out over the cot and was now at the window, peering out at the storm.

“At this rate, we’ll be snowed in here for days,” she said.

I pulled my phone from my pocket. No signal. Not surprising. We had notoriously bad cell phone coverage even in town. Out here and with the storm, it was unlikely we’d have any.

I’d sent Mama a text when I got to Arabella’s. Maybe she would assume I stayed there to let the storm pass. “I hope Mama isn’t worried when she can’t reach us.”

“I know,” Arabella said. “I’m so mad at myself. I should never have left him alone.”

“It was only for a minute. Don’t beat yourself up.”

She turned from the door and crossed the room to sit at the table, tapping her fingers against her knees. “If he got caught in this…” She trailed off, clearly unable to bring herself to say out loud what we were both thinking.

“Maybe he returned to the house before it started. Or maybe he never left at all.” Even as I said it, I figured it was a long shot. Arabella knew her own house. If he’d remained inside, she’d have known. If he had indeed wandered off, he would have been as surprised by the blizzard as we were. It wasn’t often we had sudden storms. Maybe once a year, if that. Regardless, this one was the worst I’d ever seen. “I’ve never seen one come so fast, have you?”

“Not of this magnitude, no.”

The room was already warming from the fire. I shrugged out of my jacket, hanging it on a peg near the woodstove to dry. Arabella did the same with hers. I put our gloves near the fire as well.

“Are you okay?”

She gave me a look that reminded me of Mama. Like Mother, there was something formidable about this woman. Not intimidating, exactly. She possessed a quality that was more difficult to pinpoint than I had the vocabulary for. One she’d had since we were kids. Somewhere between guarded and aggressive. Seeing her with her father these last few months and the way he treated her, I understood better why she’d worked to make a life for herself outside of this town and away from her father’s cruelty.

I took a second glance at the two jackets hanging side by side, struck by how nice they looked together. They were the same dark blue, puffy style, only hers was significantly smaller than mine.

My watch told me it was nearing ten in the morning. I was grateful I wore the old-fashioned kind instead of one connected to a smartphone. We’d not been out here for long, even though it had felt like an eternity.

“What do we do now?” Arabella asked.

“Wait it out, I guess.”