Chapter 15

Mallowater, TX, 1989

Sharp white light stung Sloan's eyes as she fought to keep them open. "Come on!" Mom shook her harder. "Get up and get dressed. Wear something comfortable."

Sloan sat up in bed, disoriented. Through a crack in her curtains, she saw the darkness outside. She rubbed her eyes. "It's the middle of the night. Turn my light off."

Mom pulled a pink vinyl suitcase from the closet and threw it onto the floor. Going to Grandma's was written on it above a cartoon girl with two pigtails. Sloan had never liked that suitcase, even when she wasn't too old to be carrying it. The girl on it had bright blonde hair, the kind everyone in the family except Sloan had. Besides, it wasn't like Sloan ever had a grandma to visit.

"Pack it," her mother said. "Clothes only. Anything else you want needs to fit in your backpack."

Sloan threw her legs over the side of the bed. "I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me what's going on."

"Have you forgotten what happened at Leo's? Get packed!" Before leaving the room, Mom grabbed Sloan's blanket off her bed and Ridge's beloved stuffed animal off his.

"Why are you taking Blue?"

"Because we may not be back," Mom snapped. "Now get moving. You have ten minutes."

Sloan kicked the stupid pink suitcase back into the closet and reached up to grab a plain black duffle bag that had belonged to Ridge. She put on a pair of sweats and stuffed what she could into the bag. Her mother's words echoed in her head as she stared at the Christian Slater poster above the dresser. We may not be back.

She turned her school backpack upside down and shook it, emptying her Trapper Keeper, broken pencils, and several elaborately folded notes from her classmates the year before. She replaced them with her pink cassette player and some tapes, grabbing all her favorites—Michael Jackson, New Kids on the Block, Reba McEntire, Tiffany, and of course, Keith Whitley.

There was still some room, so she grabbed her makeup bag, piggy bank, and the tattered paperback copy of The Firebrand from her nightstand. She pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand and retrieved a few birthday cards from her grandpa, trying to ignore the ones from her dad. Underneath the pictures, she glimpsed a photo album, a picture of her and Noah displayed through the circle in the front. Noah. Was she really going to leave without saying goodbye?

"Earth to Sloan!" Mom poked her head into the room. "Why are you just sitting there? Five minutes." She held up five fingers as if Sloan needed a visual.

Four minutes later, Caroline shoved Sloan's things in the back of their Ford Escort as Sloan situated herself in the passenger seat. Behind her, stacks of boxes were nestled among their suitcases and a small safe Sloan had never seen. Her mother must have been packing all night. When was she going to explain what was going on? Sloan thought about the man at Leo's and pushed down the lock on the passenger door.

"Birth certificates, social security cards, water, blankets, cash . . ." Caroline recited a long list to herself as she climbed into the driver's seat. "Am I forgetting anything?"

"That depends on where we're going." Sloan's voice was brittle.

Caroline reached over and pushed Sloan's bangs out of her face. "I'm not trying to scare you, but we're in danger. We can't involve the police."

"Why? That's what the police are for. To help people in danger."

"They can't help us. Not with this. I have a plan." Her mother started the car. "You don't need to worry."

"What about the rest of our stuff?" Sloan asked.

"I may come back and get it, but it all depends." She sighed. "I understand this is difficult, but you are going to have to trust me."

Sloan stared at the small, white-paneled house through her tears. Was this the last time she'd sleep in her bed? Sit on that brown, fuzzy, wood-framed sofa, and watch nightly sitcoms? The last time she'd get up and eat cereal on that well-scratched kitchen table?

"But what about Noah?" Sloan asked as the car reversed.

Caroline put her foot on the brake. "You can call him when it's safe."

"He'll wonder where we are. You didn't let me talk to him at all yesterday. He'll assume something terrible happened to us."

"I've got it all handled. I couldn't let you talk to him because you'd tell him about what happened Sunday at Leo's. Trust me. In one hour, everything is going to make more sense. Deal?"

No deal, Sloan thought, but it didn't matter what she said. She was a kid and had always known she didn't get a vote. She wiped her tears on the arm of her sweatshirt. "Okay."

Caroline reached in the back for Sloan's blanket. "We'll stop for gas in about an hour. Go back to sleep."

Like that was possible. "Can we turn on the radio?"

"Sure." Caroline lifted her foot off the brake. "You be our deejay."

Sloan clicked on the radio just as the clock changed to 12:16. Mom looked over her shoulder to back up, but Sloan stared straight at the driveway. The driveway where Daddy taught her to ride her bike, where she and Ridge had drawn with sidewalk chalk, where she stood in her pink dress the first day of kindergarten as her mother snapped pictures.

She faintly heard George Straight's voice coming through the speakers, "Baby's Gotten Good at Goodbye." The song seemed fitting, so she turned it up louder. Even though the song was sad, Sloan felt strangely comforted hearing about someone having as rotten of a day as she was.

The parking lot of the By and Buy wasn't as empty as Sloan expected it would be at this hour. Were there this many people in the world running from something?

Sloan assumed they were getting gas and leaving, but after her mother filled up the car, she drove to the side of the gas station and parked. "We're a little early," she said.

"For what?"

Caroline grabbed her purse. "Are you hungry?"

"Why would I be hungry at one in the morning?"

"Fine." Her mother pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and put on one of Daddy's ball caps. Sloan had never seen her wear one. "I'm going to grab a coffee. Come in if you change your mind."

Sloan locked her door and reached across the steering wheel to lock the driver's side. If Mom was concerned for Sloan's life, why was she acting so flippant about her safety? Why was she getting snacks? Sloan thought again of Noah. It was their last week of summer break. In about six hours, he'd probably be at her front door.

"So, when can I talk to Noah?" Sloan asked when her mom returned.

"Noah, Noah, Noah." Caroline set her coffee in the cup holder. "You'll talk to him soon enough, but I suspect things may look different in the light of day. Things that feel so important right now may not soon."

Sloan rolled her eyes. Nothing that happened could make her not want to talk to Noah.

"Go to sleep, Sloan. When you wake up, everything will have changed."

Sloan woke up, and nothing except the time had changed. The clock on the dash read 2:56, but they were still parked at the gas station.

"Mom?" She looked to her left and found the driver's seat empty except for a few cigarette butts. The window was rolled down, which explained the chill in the vehicle. Sloan reached over to her mom's seat to crank up the window and pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her hands.

Sloan wiped the condensation off her own window and looked out toward the gas pumps. An old man finished filling up his 18-wheeler and climbed into the cab. He saw Sloan watching and smiled, tipping his hat. Sloan's Grandpa Radel had been a truck driver. She remembered playing in his truck with Ridge when Grandpa's route brought him to Texas. He was going to retire and be a fly fisherman, but instead, he'd had a heart attack during his last week on the job.

Sloan thought about her grandad as she watched this old trucker pull away from the diesel pump. Before he left the parking lot, he and Sloan made eye contact again. She bent her arm, raised it above her head, and pulled it down. She was too old for something so silly, but she couldn't help herself. The old man smiled again and honked his horn. For some reason, the exchange left Sloan teary-eyed.

Between the resounding honk and her own memories crashing around in her brain, she didn't notice her mom until she opened the door.

"Mom, why are we still—" Sloan stopped when she turned and saw her mother. Her face was red and splotchy, with smears of mascara under her eyes. Her hands shook as she fumbled to open a new pack of cigarettes.

"Mom? What's wrong?"

"I don't know, Sloan. I don't know what's wrong," Mom said, still fighting with the cellophane. "Dammit!" she threw the cigarettes against the dash window.

Sloan reached across the vehicle to retrieve the package and unwrap it. "Here you go," Sloan said, handing her mom a single cigarette.

"Thanks." Mom's hands still shook, but she lit it. She took a quick inhale and sunk back in her seat.

"I need to use the bathroom," Sloan said. "And I'm thirsty."

"There's money in my wallet." Sloan's mother waved the cigarette toward her. "Get whatever you want. This is all a misunderstanding. It'll be okay. We'll be on the road soon," she said, her voice monotone.

Sloan used the restroom and then took her time wandering the store. She got a drink, a bag of chips, and a Lunchable. It wasn't often that her mom gave her free rein over her wallet in a store lined with wall-to-wall junk food.

As she stood in the checkout line, Sloan noticed her mom out of the vehicle again, pacing from the commercial ice freezer to the payphone, smoking. She looked like a crazy person.

When Sloan exited the store, her mom had the payphone receiver pressed against her ear. Her eyes were squeezed close, and she was tapping her foot on the concrete. After a minute, she slammed the phone down and cursed.

"Who are you trying to call?" Sloan asked gently.

"It's a misunderstanding. It'll be okay. We'll be on the road soon," her mom repeated as if in a trance.

"It's cold, Mom. Come to the car and wait. I got a Lunchable; we can split it."

"I could call the police," Caroline said, then shook her head. "No, no, I can't."

Sloan put her arm around her mother. "Come on. Let's get you in the car and warmed up. We'll call again in fifteen minutes."

"Sloan! Sloan, wake up! I need more change," Caroline said, shaking Sloan's shoulder.

Sloan rubbed her eyes. "I already checked all the seats, Mom. There's no more change."

Caroline pulled a ten-dollar bill from her purse. "We won't have time to stop. We'll have to drive all day. Go get two more Lunchables. And tell them you want your change in coins. Quarters, nickels, and dimes only. Got it?"

"I'm not hungry."

"We won't have time to stop," her mother repeated. "We'll have to drive all day. Quarters, nickels, dimes only."

Sloan noticed a broken bag of ice scattered on the concrete in front of the store. "Mom, did you break that bag?" she asked. When no answer came, Sloan touched her mother's arm. "The clerk inside asked me about you last time I used the bathroom. I'm worried she might call the police."

Caroline rubbed her hands over her face. "I can't believe this happened. How could it happen?" She looked at Sloan as if she had given her daughter any information about how this strange night should have panned out.

"I don't know, but it's almost morning. We can figure this out later, but let's go home, please."

Caroline's chin quivered. "Yes. I guess there's nothing we can do but go home."

No matter how many times she asked, Mom never explained that bizarre, cigarette and Lunchable-filled night to Sloan. But Sloan realized that whatever had happened—or didn't happen—at that gas station changed everything. Her strong mom cried uncontrollably, quit eating, and refused to leave the house.

"I told you the grief would get her," Doreen said. "It's a sneaky thing that sadness."

Was that all this was about? Grief? Had her mother broken? Snapped?

Sloan didn't like keeping secrets from Noah. She wanted to tell him about that day at Leo's, wanted to tell him about the night at the station, but Mom said anyone they told would be in danger—that the only way she and Sloan would be safe is to forget all about it.

Forget, like that was possible.