Chapter 14

Mallowater, TX, 2008

When Sloan's phone vibrated with a text notification that afternoon, she hoped it was Dylan. He'd left only an hour earlier, but she missed his company.

Maybe it was those River Phoenix vibes he gave off to blame, but Sloan couldn't get Dylan Lawrence out of her head. The last thing she needed was a crush on a man in the center of a media storm. A crush on a man who was only beginning to come to terms with the horrific trauma and abuse he'd endured. What a screwed-up pair they'd make.

But when Sloan checked her phone, she saw Liam's name. It still stung. Another reminder that the last thing she needed right now was a crush on anyone.

Good news! House sold for asking price. Closing in July, and you'll get your half. You'll have to be here to sign. Final Decree's filed. Community property sold. Lawyer will send you a check for your half. Hope you are having a nice summer!

Sloan threw her phone on the pillow beside her. She was glad the house sold, but Liam knew a nice summer was impossible, given why she had come to Mallowater. Though Sloan bet he was having a nice summer shacked up at Megan's.

Sloan opened the phone book to the yellow pages and found the ad for Hadfield and Espinoza, Attorneys at Law. She looked at the tiny picture of Brad Hadfield in the advertisement.

Brad Hadfield, her brother. Brother. The word echoed through her head as she dialed. Would Ridge have looked anything like him? Did Ridge look anything like him?

"Hadfield and Espinoza Attorneys at Law. Can I help you?"

Sloan cleared her throat. "Yes, I need to speak to Brad, please?"

"May I ask whose calling?"

"This is his sister." The word left a nasty taste in Sloan's mouth.

Sloan's hands began to sweat as she waited for Brad. She didn't want to do this, but she didn't know who else could help.

"Felicity?" A hint of worry laced Brad's voice.

"No, sorry. It's Sloan."

There was the briefest silence before Brad spoke. "Sloan. Wow. Thanks for calling. Felicity told me she met with you, and I hoped you might reach out."

"Felicity doesn't know I'm calling," Sloan said. "But long story short, I found out some more information that makes me question everything I thought happened to Ridge."

Brad lowered his voice. "Do you want to meet somewhere and talk? Come up with a plan?"

"I already have a plan. I just need help."

"Oh . . . yeah, okay. Whatever you need."

"I need to see Eddie Daughtry," she blurted.

"You what?" Brad's voice lost its professionalism.

"I just want to ask him a few things."

"There's no way his lawyer will allow that. Daughtry's awaiting trial."

"You're a lawyer. Talk to his lawyer. Figure out a way."

Brad chuckled. "I'm an estate planning lawyer, Sloan."

Sloan felt a headache coming on. She unclenched her jaw to speak. "Well, you must have connections, right? I need you to call them in. I realize Dad's getting out either way, but we have a chance to find out the truth."

"So glad to hear you want to clear Dad's name." Brad's voice turned friendly again. "Have you visited him?"

Sloan tipped her head back. She somehow suspected the conversation might go here. Whether or not he committed murder, there was no clearing that man's name. "Not yet."

"But I'm assuming you will? I have to tell you, Sloan, it's broken Dad's heart not to see you. Not that he blames you. I mean, he and my brother were estranged for years. But Kyle's come around, and I sort of hoped you had too."

Sloan didn't know what to say. Why didn't she want to see her dad again if she believed he was innocent? Guilt, awkwardness, and still anger. Fierce, fiery, anger. The anger had never been about whether her father killed Ridge, not really. If he'd done it, Sloan understood it had been an accident. But having two families, well, that was no side effect of anything Jay Hadfield saw in the hostile jungles of Vietnam.

"Sloan? Are you still there?"

"Sorry, yeah. I'll see him. Work out whatever."

"Great!" Sloan heard papers shuffling. "I'll get your email address and send you the paperwork as soon as I get it from the prison."

"Sounds good . . . now, about Eddie. I realize seeing him won't be easy. Maybe this is unethical, but I have some money coming in, and if that's what it takes for Eddie to talk, I'm willing to use it for our advantage."

"So, you really think Eddie took Ridge?" Brad asked.

"Yeah, I do." Sloan straightened her back against the hard kitchen chair. "I can fill you in if it's a lead you want to pursue with me. Felicity wants to help, but it's probably best not to bring her into Eddie's world."

There was a good minute of silence. Sloan would have thought they'd been disconnected if not for the hum of the copy machine in the background.

"Brad?" she finally said.

"Okay, I'm in," he said in a harsh whisper. "I'm all in."

Sloan drove to the prison alone, Keith Whitley's tape blaring and the windows down. She wasn't ready for this. But she never would be. Brad was doing his part in trying to set up a meeting with Daughtry; she needed to do what she agreed to do.

She reminded herself that it was better to visit him here in prison. There were rules—spaces and times were defined.

Yet, as soon as she sat in the waiting room, it felt like a terrible idea. All the memories, fears, and confusion she'd experienced on her last visit flooded back. She had promised her father she'd be back Friday. A Friday that never came. Sloan heard a roaring in her ears and lost track of what the guard was telling her. She was eyeing the room for an exit when she spotted her father being escorted into the room.

Sloan froze at the sight of him. He was older, grayer, with deep wrinkles around his eyes. Rectangular glasses sat a bit too low on his nose. His arms were bigger, and his hair was longer—but it was her dad. The sight of him made her angry and homesick at the same time.

"Sloan!" Jay's voice shook. He stepped forward, holding out his arms. Sloan took a step backward. She caught the pained expression on her father's face, but he recovered quickly. "I didn't expect you to come. Bradley told me, but I didn't let myself believe it till I saw you."

Sloan couldn't help but smile at her father's voice. "You may look different, but you sound the same."

Jay laughed as they sat. "I've even got my Jersey cellmate speaking with a southern drawl."

"Well, I'd recognize your voice anywhere."

"I know what you mean." Her father leaned forward as if he were going to tell her a secret. "I was a little worried I wouldn't be able to spot you when they brought me in. It's been a long time, but my eyes moved right to you, like a magnet." He adjusted his glasses. "Those eyes, I could pick 'em out of a lineup. They're your mother's eyes."

Sloan pushed her tongue into her cheek. "This is hard. I don't know how to let it all go."

"Understood." Her father's voice came as soft as his blue-eyed gaze. "I never expected you or your mother to forgive me. Nor Anna and the other kids. Kyle and I didn't speak for years. He even changed his last name."

Blood rushed to Sloan's head at the mention of Anna and her children. She leaned away from the table. "How could you do that to us all?"

Jay raised his hands and let them fall. "I was selfish. Young. Stupid. I loved Anna, but your mother . . ." He smiled as though remembering. "Instant electricity." He snapped his fingers. "I told myself it was only an affair, but I couldn't let Caroline go."

"And you thought you could keep two women, keep two families forever?"

"No. It was always my plan to leave Anna. I swear, I tried. But she's a saint. I couldn't hurt her."

"In retrospect, don't you think it would have hurt her less if you left her then? Before all that came after?"

"Probably." Jay raised his chin. "But despite everything, we've been happy together. We are still happy. I'm sure that's difficult for you to hear, but Anna is my wife, and till death do us part, she will be."

Sloan crossed her arms. "And so, Mom was what?"

"The love of my life," her father answered. "I think of Caroline all the time."

"Wow." Sloan heard the edge in her laughter. "Do you realize how selfish you sound?"

"Of course I do." Her father scrubbed his hands over his face. "Try to put yourself in my shoes. That last letter you sent said you were getting married. Well, imagine that today somebody walked into your life, and you connected." He snapped his fingers again. Right person, wrong time. Could you just let him go?"

Sloan's mind went to Dylan, and her cheeks burned. "Yes, I could." She held up her left hand, displaying her empty ring finger. "Not that I'd have to."

Jay inflated his cheeks like balloons. "Sorry. I didn't know."

"You'd relate to him." Sloan's tone was scathing. "Liam met someone else, and there was just a connection." She mockingly snapped her fingers. "At least he had the decency to divorce me instead of attempting some sort of polygamist lifestyle."

Jay brought a hand to his chest. "I make no excuses for anything I've done. I've considered a million times how different my life would be now if I hadn't taken that business trip."

"You should have divorced Anna—given us all a chance at normal lives."

He scooted his chair closer to the table. "I've learned there are two kinds of love. There's the kind that sets the world on fire, and there's the kind that walks with you through fire. As sorry as I am, I can't wish either of them away. Look, Sloan. I was far from perfect, but I tried to do my best for all of you."

His best? Sloan stared at her father. What a flawed, selfish man. What a stark contrast to the image she'd held of him during her childhood. Yet, he'd always been this flawed man, even then. She just hadn't known.

He reached across the table, placing his hand on hers. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Pennies, Blockbuster Video, Pizza Hut, Friday night sitcoms, camping at Crow's Nest Creek, dancing to Keith Whitley. The memories brought Sloan to tears. "It seemed so real."

"What did?"

"Our family."

He squeezed her hand. "It was real. Every second was real. Don't you ever doubt that."

Sloan shook her head. "But—"

"But nothing." He raised his voice. "Jay, Caroline, Sloan, and Ridge. That was real. We were a family. We still are a family. Yes, your mother hates me, and yes, Ridge is gone—"

"What if he's not gone?" Sloan blurted out. "I mean, he's gone, but I'm not sure he's dead." Sloan released her father's hand to blow her nose into a Kleenex.

"Yeah, Bradley filled me in. I still can't remember what happened that day." He poked his forehead with his thumb. "I've tried therapy, hypnosis, everything. But I can't remember." His chin quivered. "I should've gotten help back then. Caroline told me I needed help. But nobody knew much about PTSD in the eighties."

"That's clear from the verdict. I've been reading through your trial transcript. Your lawyer did a terrible job. Why didn't you ever appeal?" Sloan asked.

"No way I was spending money on a better lawyer when it could go to you kids."

Sloan leaned back in her chair. " All of us kids?"

"Anna tried, Sloan. We didn't have much, but when money started coming in from the community, I wanted your mother to have some of it. Caroline refused to even speak to Anna." He tugged at his earlobe. "Not that I blame her."

Sloan cleared her throat. "So, did Brad tell you my theory?"

"Yeah, Eddie Daughtry." He looked over his shoulder. "He's here, you know? Daughtry. They've got him away from the general population, so I can't talk to him."

"Working on that," Sloan said. "Well, Brad is."

Jay leaned forward. "Seven years ago, I got a letter from a man doing time in Huntsville. Claimed that his cellmate, a guy named Reid Hunt, confessed to kidnapping Ridge. I turned the letter over, but they said his claims were unfounded. He never lived in Mallowater, and he had a history of false confessions."

"But why confess to a crime that's already solved? And so many years later?" Sloan asked.

"The People magazine article. Not sure if you saw, but People interviewed Anna and the kids in 2000."

An accidental laugh escaped Sloan's lips. "Yeah, I saw it."

"Right, of course you did. Anyway, a friend has some connections on the outside and heard Reid Hunt is being questioned in the Pruitt abduction. They think he may have been Daughtry's accomplice."

"Reid Hunt," Sloan repeated, cementing his name into her mind. "I'll ask Dylan about him."

"Don't get your hopes up," Jay said. "Stories like Dylan's, they're rare. Bradley says stranger abductions are unusual, and when they do happen, the child is almost always . . ." he stopped and blew out a breath . . . "always killed within a day."

Sloan remembered the torn piece of Ridge's shirt, his blood, and the shoe recovered from the water. All the evidence suggested he'd been killed and dumped in the creek. But maybe that's what Reid or Eddie wanted everyone to assume.

"Even if they realize I'm innocent, it won't bring your brother back."

Sloan drummed her fingers on the table. "We know Eddie took Logan and Dylan and that he abused others. I don't think it's reaching to assume he had something to do with Ridge's disappearance. But whether Ridge ended up like Dylan or Logan, that's what I am going to find out."

"I want Ridge to be alive too. But if he's alive, where is he?" Jay asked. "Why has he never visited your mother?"

Sloan grimaced. "Mom claims he has. Claims he's come back to her as a crow. She's probably out at the creek right now talking to some poor bird."

Jay shifted in his chair. "It's a shame what's happened to your mother. Once I get out, I'll help you figure something out for her."

"I can take care of Mom," Sloan said.

"Maybe you can, but that doesn't mean you should . Doesn't mean it's your responsibility. It is possible to be loyal to a fault." He pointed to her shirt. "That's why you're a Detroit Lions fan."

Sloan looked down at her faded blue and gray t-shirt, washed so many times that you could barely see the outline of the lion. "This is old."

"Ah. So, you've given up on them? Realized it's a lost cause?"

Sloan crossed her arms over her chest. "They actually started strong last year. Were 6-2 at the halfway mark. Just had a rough end to the season."

Jay smacked the table and pointed at Sloan. "That's my girl. Loyal."

"Okay, okay. But I've been more loyal to the Lions than Mom. I don't want to stay here, but I hoped I could convince her to return to the treatment facility. Kinda like I've been hoping Ridge is alive." Sloan rubbed her forehead. "All this hoping is out of character for me. There's a better chance of Ridge being a crow than alive."

"Hey, now." Jay held up a finger. "I'd never tell you not to hope, Lo. Hope might as well be my middle name, but being too hopeful and not living in reality can get you into trouble. Just ask me and my literary namesake, Jay Gatsby."

Sloan grinned. "That green light's a bitch, isn't it?"

Jay's eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. "Sometimes, yeah. But occasionally, hope pays off." He reached into the chest pocket of his orange jumpsuit and pulled out a familiar cassette. "You promised you'd be back on Friday, and we'd talk about this here Keith Whitley album." He raised his eyebrows. "Well, it's a Friday, and we've still got time."

"Twenty years later," Sloan said.

"Hell, that's alright. Keith Whitley don't go out of style." He set the tape between them. "Now, let's talk favorite songs on Side A."

When Sloan returned to the car, she was met with Keith Whitley singing just where he'd left off before she went into the prison. She turned the music up. For the first time, the lyrics didn't fill her with overwhelming sadness. She'd left the meeting cautiously optimistic about a future relationship with her father. The anger had always been a boot on Sloan's chest, slowly suffocating her. Though she still felt it, the heaviness had lifted just enough for her to catch a breath.

Sloan needed to get home. The sun would set soon, and Caroline would return from the creek. Then it would be up to Sloan to measure her words and actions to keep from setting her mother off. Even sleep didn't give Sloan a reprieve as it once had. It was harder to slip the pills to Caroline now that she knew about them, so neither of them was sleeping well. Every groan of her mom's bed or creak of the bathroom door awoke Sloan. She imagined this is how it must feel to be a mother of a newborn—one who might sneak off to Crow's Nest Creek in the dark of night.

So instead of going home, Sloan drove in the opposite direction. She'd listen to the entire tape and then turn around. She needed to sort out her thoughts after a whirlwind few days.

Sloan had driven an hour outside of Mallowater when her phone rang. Mom , she bet. Home from the creek, wondering what was for dinner. Sloan should have turned around when the tape ended, but driving with no destination in mind had been therapeutic. When Sloan picked up her phone, a much more welcome name flashed on her screen.

"Dylan." Sloan tried to temper her voice. "Hi."

"Hey, Sloan." Something about the way he said her name made the hairs on the nape of her neck rise. "I just wanted to call to see how things were going. I mean, with your mom and everything."

"Mom's okay." Sloan spotted a gas station and pulled into the parking lot. She wanted to focus on Dylan, not the road ahead. "Maybe okay is the wrong word, but it's been three days and no broken flour jars in the sink."

"Well, if it happens again, just remember not to rinse it down the drain with water."

Sloan groaned. "Yeah. I almost made Elmer's Glue. Thank God you were there."

"Yeah." Dylan's voice softened. "I'm glad I was there."

Sloan leaned forward onto the steering wheel. "I'd invite you back," she said, "But well, my mother."

"That's why I'm calling. I mean, not your mother, but . . . sorry. Let me start over." Dylan took in a sharp breath. "I was wondering if you'd like to go to dinner sometime. And not to talk about Ridge. I mean, we can, but we don't have to."

Sloan bit down on a laugh. He was so adorably awkward. "Yeah, for sure. Tell me when and where."

"Um, well, I noticed you ordered pasta at Applebee's, so does that mean you like Italian food? I heard that new place, L'Ultima Cena, is good."

"That sounds great."

"Should I pick you up or . . . ?"

"I'll meet you there." Sloan was nowhere near ready to explain Dylan to her mom nor introduce them.

"Great!" Dylan's voice sounded giddy. "Is tomorrow night too soon? At 7:00?"

At that moment, tomorrow night didn't seem soon enough. Sloan wanted to see Dylan now, to share about the meeting with her dad and to talk through her mixed emotions. But given that she'd only been legally divorced a few weeks, this was the very definition of a rebound. She needed to keep her head. "Sure. See you at 7:00."

Sloan hung up and slumped against the seat. Despite her sense that a date with Dylan Lawrence was not what she needed, she couldn't calm the fluttering in her chest.

"Coffee," she said aloud. Coffee ought to sober her up. Remind her that she was not a lovesick teenager, but a woman who knew better.

She was almost to the door of the By and Buy convenience store when she stopped in front of the commercial ice freezer. It used to be on the other side of the door, and there was a payphone here instead. Sloan wondered how she knew that. Had she been here often as a child? She couldn't imagine why she would have been. They rarely left Mallowater.

The inside of the store was familiar too, but no different from any other convenience store. It smelled like Lemon Pine-Sol and grease from the hot dog machine on the counter. She passed the aisles of pain relievers, snacks, and impulse buys on her way to the self-serve coffee area, unable to shake the strangest sensation of déjà vu. As she prepared her drink, she stared at the wall of built-in coolers in front of her.

Lunchables, she remembered. There had been Lunchables there, and she'd bought one. A ham and cheese Lunchable, a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, and a Slice Soda. How was she remembering this? Why was she remembering this?

Sloan overfilled her foam cup, and coffee spilled over, burning the top of her hand. "Shit!" She jerked her hand back and blew on it. Suddenly, the shop was loud. Next to her, someone tapped a straw on the counter to break the wrapper, while ice clanged into his cup. The slush machine roared as a small child pleaded for the big cup, not the small one. The vacuum seal on a refrigerated case broke open as a woman pulled on the door handle, then reached in for a drink, causing other bottles to slide forward.

Sloan stepped back, leaving her coffee on the counter. Her throat tightened, and her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Then, for no discernable reason, she started to cry.

Sloan ran out of the store, gulping in the night's fresh air. A sharp pain permeated through her chest. She stumbled into her car and reached for her cell phone.

The payphone. The Lunchable and bag of Doritos, ice strewn across the concrete . She realized why she felt a strange familiarity here. Suddenly, she understood her sense of panic. She remembered this place.

She remembered everything.