Chapter 21

Mallowater, TX, 2008

Sloan listened to the wind carrying away the song of the crickets as she waited for Dylan.

She checked her watch. Almost 11:30. This could have waited till morning, but Dylan mentioned on their date that he was a night owl—that he stayed up late and wrote songs. But when she called him, it was clear from his raspy voice that he hadn't been up writing a song about her.

Sloan stood as he approached. His messy hair and wrinkled t-shirt further evidence that she'd woken him. "Hey, thanks for coming. Sorry it's so late."

"No problem," he said with a voice that definitely suggested there was still a problem.

"Here, sit down." Sloan stepped out of the way so he could sit in one of the folding chairs. She sat next to him and wiped away sweat from her forehead. Sticky humidity and stony silence hung in the air. "Sorry we have to stay outside," she said. "Mom's sometimes a light sleeper."

"How is Caroline?"

"She's fine," Sloan said. "Thanks to you. The hospital released her today."

"That's great." Dylan rubbed the hair on the back of his head, flat from where he'd slept on it. "But I assume that's not why you asked me to come over?"

"No." Sloan wiped her hands down her jeans. "I want to be honest with you; it wasn't Brad yesterday in my car."

"Oh." Dylan's shoulders slumped. "I figured."

"But it was my brother," she added. "It was Ridge."

Dylan rubbed his eyes. "What?"

Sloan wiped her forehead again. "I realize it sounds crazy, but he's alive, and he's back. Yesterday morning, I hiked to our old campsite. Ridge was there."

Dylan raised his eyebrows. "And you're sure you're not the one who hit her head?"

Sloan laughed. "I wondered that myself, but it's real, Dylan. He's real."

"Wow. I'm sure it's a long story, but did Eddie have anything to do with his disappearance?"

"It's actually a very short story in that Ridge won't say anything. He looks great, seems like he's been taken care of, but he's made it clear he won't discuss what happened. He came over today when Mom went to the creek, but he was on edge. Constantly looking out the back door for her."

"He doesn't want her to know?"

"He doesn't want anyone to know, but I need to talk about it with someone." She twisted her watch. "And I don't want to keep secrets from you. I know it's soon, but you're special to me."

The corner of Dylan's lips quirked up into a nervous smile. "You're special to me too, Sloan. That's why I came back yesterday. I wanted to apologize for flipping out about you and Brad wanting to talk to Eddie Daughtry. Instead, I see you with another guy and have a second flip out to apologize for." He shuffled his feet against the concrete. "You ever see a smudge on your bathroom mirror and try to wipe it away, but in the process, you just keep making more and more smudges? That's sort of a good analogy for my never-ending ability to make things worse."

Sloan shook her head. "I should have listened to you about Daughtry—should have thought about how that would hurt you. I'm done with all that. I wanted to talk to him, to find out what happened to Ridge. But now that Ridge is here, it doesn't matter." Even as the words left her mouth, Sloan wasn't sure she meant them. She still desperately wanted to understand what had happened to her brother.

"Still, I had no right to demand answers," Dylan said. "I'm still working through some stuff."

"That makes two of us." Sloan tapped her fingers on the lawn chair's armrest. "Sorry for being a psycho about Felicity. It was a first date, and I acted like I had some claim on you. It's just that . . . well, I can't stand her."

Dylan laughed. "Felicity is a nice girl, but you have just as much reason to worry about me and her as I did to worry about you and Ridge yesterday."

Sloan reached for his hand. "Thank you."

"So, are you going to see him tomorrow?"

"As long as Mom goes out to the creek. I mean, I hate her going back after what happened, but at least it buys me some time with Ridge. Not like I can lock her in her room, anyway."

"Do you think she'd stay here with me? Then you can meet Ridge at the creek?"

Sloan tilted her head. "Maybe. She did ask about you today, about that nice boy who rescued her. But I don't want you to have to do that."

Dylan stretched his legs out in front of him. "I don't mind. Maybe some new company is just what she needs. Let's give it a try? What time tomorrow?"

"Um, 3:00? I'll meet Ridge at the RV park just in case you aren't successful at keeping her away from the creek. You know, maybe Ridge will be okay with you knowing about him if it means there's someone to watch mom. He was so nervous today about her catching us."

"Yeah, hopefully so."

"You really are too good to be true, you know?" Sloan turned her body toward him. "Just be careful. Don't slip up and say anything about Ridge."

"Don't worry. I can keep a secret." Dylan mimicked zipping his lips, turning a key, and throwing it to the ground.

Sloan knelt down to the concrete to pick up the imaginary key, used it to unlock Dylan's lips, and leaned in for a kiss.

"You definitely have a type," Ridge said after Dylan drove away. "He reminds me of Noah."

"Really?" Sloan considered the similarities. "Yeah. I guess you're right. They're both the quiet, gentle types, but Noah's practical, and Dylan's a dreamer."

"And you're sure we can trust him?"

"Come on; you just said he reminds you of Noah. Plus, now, we don't have to worry about Mom. You should have seen her face fall when I said Dylan had to drop me off for an appointment before they could hang out. But I wanted y'all to have a chance to meet."

Ridge took a drink of his soda. "So, what about Liam? Same temperament as Noah and Dylan?"

"Ha!" Sloan set her drink on the table in front of her. "No way. Liam Bevan is as bold as brass."

"Did you meet him at LeTourneau?"

"Yeah. Sophomore English. I was so surprised someone like him could be into—" Sloan stopped. "Wait. How did you know where I went to college?"

Ridge's eyes widened. It was brief, but Sloan noticed. He got up and turned toward the cabinets above him. "You must've told me."

She hadn't. They hadn't talked at all about college.

"Or I might've seen it online somewhere." Ridge opened a cabinet and pulled out what appeared to be a scrapbook. "Wanna see my college days?"

"You went to college?"

"Yep," he said.

Sloan huffed. "Ridge, you've really got to tell me what happened . . . why you disappeared . . . where you've been."

His face darkened. "I told you. I don't want to talk about it. Now, do you want to see these pictures or not?"

Sloan scooted over to make room for her brother. "What school did you attend?"

"Cornell."

Sloan rubbed the cover of the scrapbook. The words Freshman and Sophomore years written in black Sharpie. "Cornell," she repeated. "Same as Mom."

"Yeah." Ridge reached over and turned to the first page. "This is the campus."

Sloan saw that it wasn't her brother's handwriting below the picture. It was tiny, neat, and decorative. She turned the page and saw a photo of a younger Ridge, sitting in his dorm room surrounded by boxes. Big man on campus, day one , the caption read.

Sloan's brain felt waterlogged. This was a book a mother would make. She lowered her eyes down the page and noticed a photo was missing. All that remained were the four corner tabs and a caption: We were so proud.

Sloan stared at the page until her vision blurred. Whoever was in that missing photo had likely taken Ridge and raised him as their own. "What happened to this picture?"

Ridge shrugged. "Must've fallen out somewhere."

Her eyes bounced to the adjoining page, searching for more clues. Pictures of the dorm room were decorated with Chicago Bulls posters, signed jerseys, and ticket stubs. Whoever raised her brother had money—an expensive college, tickets to Chicago Bulls games. "Since when do you like basketball?"

Ridge scratched his cheek. "I got into it around middle school."

"I see." Sloan's stomach tensed. None of this made sense. Ridge had developed a relationship with his captors. They were obviously terrible people to take a child, but not as terrible as Eddie Daughtry. These pictures, these captions, this life Ridge had lived, proved that.

Sloan turned page after page, looking at pictures of birds, football games, bonfires, and Ridge with various friends. Each photo captioned in the same loving handwriting. Ridge and Tracy, one caption read above a picture of Ridge with a pretty blonde.

"Girlfriend?" Sloan asked.

"She was. Didn't stick."

Sloan turned the page. There was a picture of Ridge wearing a suit and American flag tie, standing in a group of other well-dressed students, hands all clasped in front of them. Next to it, Ridge in the same suit and tie, holding a stack of blue "Dole/Kemp" yard signs. Hard at work with the Young Republicans , the caption read, a peeling American flag sticker above it.

Sloan pushed down the sticker's edges. "You were a Young Republican?"

Ridge gave a curt nod. "Yeah, so?"

Sloan laughed. "Don't tell Mom and Dad."

Ridge joined her, but his was a nervous laughter. Did he even know their parent's political beliefs? He'd left so young and been gone so long, probably not. He probably didn't even consider them Mom and Dad.

A few pages later, Sloan found a second spot with a missing picture . Home for Christmas, it read, a hand-drawn string of lights looping through the words.

Ridge flipped the page before Sloan had the chance to comment. "Check out the snow we got that January."

Sloan pressed her back against the couch. This felt just the same as finding out about her father's secret life all those years ago.

"This is a lot to take in," she said. "Mind if I take it and look at it later?"

"Oh yeah, you bet." Ridge closed the book for her. "Be sure you put it somewhere Mom won't see it."

"Yeah, of course." Sloan picked up her drink, downing it in one guzzle.

"What about you?" Ridge asked. "Do you have any pictures?"

"I have some with friends and stuff," she said. "And Mom has a few scrapbooks of us when we were kids somewhere."

"I'd love to see them."

Sloan picked at the tab on her empty can. "I'll check the attic."

"Thank you," Ridge said. "And if you come across Blue, it would be cool to have him again too."

And it would be cool to know what the hell happened to my brother, Sloan thought.

"I should go." Sloan pulled the phone out of her pocket. "I don't want to overwhelm Dylan on day one." She glanced around the RV. "Is there anything you need from the store?"

Ridge stood. "Nah, I'm stocked up. Need a ride home?"

"No thanks. Dylan and I are going to pick up some dinner and eat with Mom. What are your plans for the evening?"

"Gonna head out to the creek and work with Crawford. He seems to be adapting well on his free flights. Probably won't be long before he finds a mate and doesn't come back."

Sloan understood the implications of that. Once Crawford flew away, Ridge would do the same. "I'll dig around for the pictures tonight too."

Ridge smiled. "Digging up bones."

Sloan understood his meaning immediately: their dad loved Keith Whitley, but Randy Travis came in a close second. And "Diggin' up Bones" was one of his very favorite songs. Sloan had been reluctant to bring up their father again after Ridge's first reaction, but maybe this was a sign he was willing to talk about him, evidence that he was remembering better times.

"Yep," Sloan said. "Resurrecting memories indeed. I'll bring whatever I find tomorrow."