4. Rafferty

4

RAFFERTY

I made us drinks with orange soda and vodka and brought them to our puzzle table. A quick glance out the window didn’t give me any hope of getting out of here any time soon. Not only did the wind and snow continue, it was growing dark. With one cot and one sleeping bag, one of us would be sleeping on the floor with just their jacket for warmth. Of course, I would insist it be me. Mama raised me to be a gentleman. One night on the floor wouldn’t kill me. I just hoped it would only be one night. If we were trapped in here for days, our families would be worried. In addition, Arabella was understandably fretting about the well-being of her father.

I hadn’t let myself think about him too much since we’d gotten here, mostly because I assumed the worst. If he had been caught in this storm, we would not find him alive. The only hope was that he’d ducked inside the barn or back into the house. However, he’d deteriorated rapidly in the last few months. He may have been too confused to act quickly enough to get back to the house.

Arabella took a sip from her drink and smacked her lips appreciatively. “I forgot I even had this up here, but I’m glad I did.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“It was right before Christmas. My dad had had a rough day and was lashing out. I finally had enough and called a caregiver to stay with him overnight so I could have a break. I came up here and drank and read a romance novel and felt sorry for myself.”

“You need help with him.” It was out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

She set aside her drink and looked me in the eyes. “I know that’s what you think. I also know I can’t afford to. There’s nothing in his savings. God knows I’m in debt up to my eyeballs from school.”

I had an awful thought then. Wouldn’t it be better for her if her father had perished in the storm? The moment I thought it, I pushed it out of my mind, feeling ashamed of myself. But the man was mean as a snake. From their interactions during our appointments, I could see pretty clearly how he treated her. It was no less than abuse.

“Do you think your family’s worried?” Arabella asked. “Will they know you didn’t make it to work?”

“Yes, and so will all my patients. I did talk to Mama on my way out the door this morning. She knew I was stopping by to check on you. She probably assumes I stayed at your house and am fine. Other than she won’t be able to get me on my phone.”

“I’m sure they’ve canceled school,” Arabella said. “No one will be out in this looking for us. Hopefully, your mother won’t be too worried.”

“She probably will.” I smiled, thinking of my beautiful mama bear. “No matter how old we are, she still worries about us.”

Arabella nodded but didn’t comment further. A sad, slight frown turned her mouth downward. She had a nice mouth: full, firm lips and straight white teeth. I’d noticed before, of course. But sitting here with her now, really looking at her, her beauty took my breath away.

I’d already gone through my bag of chips by then and got up to grab a few more. When I tried to hand one to her, she shook her head. “I shouldn’t.”

“This is an unusual day, so I think it’s all right.” I tossed the bag over to her.

She laughed. “Fine, but don’t tell my doctor about my weaknesses.”

“We all have them. Things we can’t resist.” We locked gazes for a moment. Something passed between us, like an electric charge. Even the air itself seemed ripe for trouble.

I looked away first. Flirting with the enemy? Was that a condition brought on by extreme weather? A hike that almost killed us? Or maybe it was the vodka.

Yes, that was it. We weren’t attracted to each other. We hated each other.

Wasn’t that the story we’d believed for so long?

“Why did we dislike each other so much?” I asked out loud.

“I’m not sure we really did. We were just supercompetitive with each other, which led to animosity.”

“I wonder if we would have been as successful had we not had each other to push us?”

She rested her chin in one hand, clearly thinking through what I said. As much as she’d irritated me over the years, I’d never doubted how fine her mind was or how thoughtfully she considered things. Jealousy had sometimes clouded my perception and convinced me that she was annoying when, really, down deep, I admired her.

“I don’t know that we would have,” Arabella said. “Maybe we owe each other more credit than we would have thought.”

“What did you think of me back then? In high school, for example?”

“I thought you were amazingly smart and articulate.”

“But? There’s a but coming.” I smiled to let her know it was fine to say whatever she wanted to say.

“Not really a but. It’s that you made me feel bad about myself. You were good at everything. Sports. School. Everyone liked you even though you were obviously super ambitious.”

“How do you mean?”

“Kids liked you even though you were not like the rest of them. A boy can get away with that. A smart girl’s usually not well-liked. Especially if we don’t bother to hide it.”

“I never cared if people liked me. What’s that saying? Your opinion of me is none of my business.”

“See, right there,” she said, tapping the tabletop with her knuckles. “Most teenagers care about what their peers think of them. You were obliviously carefree. You were always yourself, as far as I could tell anyway. Maybe you were just a good actor.”

“No, your assessment’s true. The only people I ever wanted to impress or cared what they thought were my parents and my brothers. That’s still the case, actually.”

“I think that might have been the quality I was most jealous of,” Arabella said. “I cared what everyone thought. The sneers and exchanged glances between kids when I had to do a presentation or when I was the only one who knew the answer to a question. I saw them all. They worked their way inside me like a disease. Most kids saw me as my father did. A chubby, geeky freak.”

A freak? That made my chest ache for her. What a despicable man. Who would ever want their daughter to feel that way about herself? “You were not a freak. Anyway, you have had the last laugh. Look how well you’re doing compared to most of them.”

“I guess so,” Arabella spoke softly and with a fair amount of sadness. “I still feel totally alone most of the time. I miss my friends from school. Out here, with my dad, feels pretty isolating.”

“Even with all your patients?” I asked.

“They’re not friends. Except for the dogs, of course. I’d love to get one of my own, but there’s no way. Adding a puppy into my already impossible schedule would be a disaster.”

Again, my chest ached for her. Was it possible I’d softened to Miss Collins after all these years? I tried to muster some of the old animosity, but the well seemed dry.

“Tell me about your life before you came home,” I said. “Was medical school as rough for you as it was for me?”

“God, yes.”

“For sure. There are whole months of time I can’t remember because of the sleep deprivation. But I loved my colleagues from day one.”

“Yes, I have two best friends from medical school,” Arabella said. “Intense programs like that bond you with people in a way I’d never experienced before. I can remember pinching myself because I had real friends. People liked me. I didn’t have to pretend to be anyone other than myself. I was admired for being smart instead of mocked.” She looked down at the puzzle, moving a piece from one side of the table to the other.

I placed a piece into the puzzle, completing the snack shop portion of the picture.

“Do you ever think about what you’ll do after your dad…” I trailed off, realizing too late how insensitive the question was. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it’s okay. I think about it a lot, actually. Sometimes, I daydream about what it would be like to finally be free. Isn’t that awful?”

“I’d say human. I’ve seen how he treats you,” I said.

“He’s always been mean, but the dementia’s made it worse.” She placed a piece into the puzzle and looked up at me with a satisfied gleam in her eye. “There, got one. Finally.”

“Don’t feel bad that I’m better at this than you,” I said, teasing.

“Very funny.” She picked up another piece and looked at it carefully. “But seriously, how are you so good at everything? It’s annoying.”

“I can imagine how jealous you must feel.”

She tossed a puzzle piece at me. “You’re a bad person.”

I laughed. “I’m just joking. I’m not good at everything.”

“Tell me something you struggle with.” She glared at me and crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on, admit it. You can’t think of anything.”

“I can’t cook. I never make my bed. I’m sometimes impatient with my receptionist.”

“Norma? Well, how could you not be? She’s the slowest human that’s ever lived,” she said.

An image of Norma, with her frog-like face and permanent sneer, played before my eyes. “I inherited her when I bought the practice. Mama said it would be wrong to let her go. But she’s the worst. The other day, I found her eating the leftovers that I’d brought to work to enjoy. A small thing, granted, but seriously, who eats someone else’s lunch?”

“That’s terrible. Lunches brought from home should be sacred.”

“Right? And she had the nerve to deny it was mine. She said she’d brought it from home that very morning. I was so flabbergasted at her gall that I just walked away. I had to go down to the diner to have lunch, fuming the whole way and thinking very unkind thoughts about Norma.”

I don’t know if was the vodka or if she found me funny, but she let out a very feminine giggle. Quite adorable, actually.

“What about your staff?” I asked. “Do you have a good team?”

“I inherited a few, too, but so far, they’ve all been great. My predecessor was a great manager. They’re all independent and very supportive of me. I wasn’t sure they would be, given their loyalty to their first boss.”

“Norma is not what you call supportive. Every time I ask her to do something, she sniffs and mumbles under her breath that the former doctor would never have done it that way.”

“That’s annoying. You really should fire her.”

“When we get out of here, maybe I will.” I raised an eyebrow. “Although I hate to get on Mama’s bad side. No one can make a person feel worse about a selfish act than my mother.”

“Your mother’s a great woman.”

The wistfulness in her voice gave me pause. “She is.” Since we were talking about such personal subjects, I decided to ask about her mother. “How old were you when your parents divorced? Three?”

Her face whitened, and she pinched her bottom lip between her thumb and finger before answering. “That’s right. She left when I was three. I barely remember her.”

“Have you seen her since?”

“No. I have no idea where she is. My father says she never wanted to be a mother. You may not remember my grandmother, but she came to live with us after my mom left. She helped raise me. But she died when I was in sixth grade. Sudden heart attack.”

Sixth grade. That was about the time I’d started competing with Arabella for the top of our class. I’d had no idea she was going through all of that. “I didn’t know. Were you close with her?”

“She was like my dad. Quiet. Kept to herself. She wasn’t as mean as my dad, but not by much.”

The hurt in her voice saddened me. “I had no idea. About your home life, that is.”

“How could you? We weren’t friends.”

True enough.

“After she died, it was just the two of us. I pretty much took over the household chores and cooking—all the things my grandmother had done. My father kept me on a tight leash. But he never interfered with my studying. That was the one thing he was supportive of.”

“Were you trying to please him? You know, by being such a good student.”

“No. I was trying to please myself. All I wanted was to get out of here and start my own life. I knew from the time I was in high school I wanted to be a vet. Animals are so often better than people.”

“True enough.”

A crash outside the cabin startled both of us. Heart thudding, I ran to the window, peering out into the white world. A tree branch had broken off a tall fir not far from the cabin. “Snow must have gotten too heavy,” I said, feeling Arabella standing right behind me.

“I really hope one doesn’t crash into the roof.”

“Me too. But think of it this way—this cabin’s been here for a long time. It’s lasted through a lot of winters.”

I turned away from the window in time to see her shiver.

“You cold?” I asked.

“A little.”

“I’ll put another in the log in the fire. It’s about time to heat something up for dinner anyway.”

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,” she said, 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.”

She flushed and looked away. “I suppose there’s no other way. Feet to head?”

“Impossible. I’m too big. We’re going to have to spoon it up.” I kept my tone light, hoping to make the whole situation less awkward.

“Spoon it up? Really?” She rolled her eyes, but her mouth had curved into a half smile.

“I’m just kidding. You take the cot. I’ll sleep on the floor near the woodstove and use my jacket for warmth.”

“Thank you. That’s very generous of you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m pretty sure I have some new toothbrushes in the bathroom. I’ll take a look.”

“Great.”

She didn’t say anything else, just went into the bathroom and rummaged around for a moment before returning with a toothbrush still in its package and a small tube of toothpaste, the type they sent you home in the goody bag after getting your teeth cleaned. “I brought these up from the last time I went to the dentist.”

I took them from her and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I did my business and brushed my teeth. The mirror over the sink was old and dark around the edges from the desilverizing process, but I could still see myself well enough. I was working on a good five-o’clock shadow by this point. My eyes were bloodshot, and the end of my nose was red from the chilly cabin. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if I was trying to impress my nemesis.

What did she see when she looked at me?

I certainly didn’t see her the same way I had when we were kids. She’d grown into such a lovely woman. It was amazing she was single. Of course, like me, there weren’t that many prospects in Bluefern, or she might have married already.

Anyway, none of that mattered. I wasn’t interested in Arabella Collins. I didn’t even like her.

Yes, you do.

Fine. Seeing her vulnerabilities today had started to change my mind about her. Plus, she’d impressed me. Getting us to the cabin in that storm had not been easy.

I went back into the main room. To my surprise, she’d opened a bottle of wine and brought two canning jars to the table.

“Where did you find this?” I asked, picking up the bottle to look at the label. It was a decent red from California.

“It was in a box I brought up last time I was here. I’d almost forgotten about it. Don’t judge. Vodka and now this. I know. The place is stuffed with booze.”

“No judgment here. Although I just brushed my teeth.”

“Yeah, but you can brush them again.” She smiled before pouring us each a generous amount.

“If you insist.” I sat gingerly on the cot, hoping it wouldn’t collapse under my weight, but it held up just fine. “Come sit next to me? We’ll be warmer together.”

She did so, bringing our jars of wine with her. We settled in with our backs against the wall.

“This is great,” I said. “I mean, considering.”

“It’s not bad. Considering.”

“Did you ever bring a boy up here?” I asked.

She laughed. “A boy? Are you kidding? My dad would have killed me. Not that a boy would have wanted to be up here with me anyway.”

This boy does now.

Where had that thought come from?

She’d taken her thick brown hair out of its ponytail, and it now cascaded about her shoulders in a very becoming fashion. “You look nice with your hair down.”

“Thanks. I keep it back for work, but my head starts to ache by the end of the day.”

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 always suggested 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?”

She made a guttural sound in her throat. “No dating for this girl. That’s all I need to finish me off.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t have room in my life for romance. Not now, anyway. I’m probably doomed to a life of spinsterhood.”

I seriously doubted that. This woman was a gem in every way. The man who won her heart would be one lucky guy.

Did I wish it was me?

Ridiculous. At best, she was a friend. I must keep my head and not blow it before we got out of here. All she needed was me making a clumsy advance when she was worried about her father.

“You deserve to have love in your life,” I said. “Everyone does.”

“Maybe someday. When my life isn’t so complicated, can you imagine introducing some poor guy to my dad?”

What if the man already knew her father? What then?

I kept those questions to myself.