Chapter 2

Mallowater, Texas, 1988

Sloan Hadfield cared little for crows. So, while her mom and brother talked birds, Sloan opened her copy of The Egypt Game and tried to ignore them.

"Is it time for the night roosts again?" Ridge asked. He sat across from Sloan—floppy blonde hair obscuring his eyes as he studied the tattered bird encyclopedia in front of him.

As Mom stirred hamburger meat around in a pan, the spicy aroma of paprika tickled Sloan's nose. "Pretty soon. It's almost fall, and breeding season is over," her mother answered.

Sloan said a silent prayer Mom wouldn't go into any more detail about crow breeding. She already knew more about birds' mating habits than any twelve-year-old should. Daddy said her mom was once a brilliant scientist, the kind that studies birds. Said she gave up some fancy internship to come to the middle of nowhere Texas to be with him. Seeing as how Sloan's father worked as a traveling salesman for the Fuller Brush Company, that part of the story never made sense to Sloan. Why didn't Daddy move to New York to be with the woman he loved? Didn't people in New York need toilet brushes and kitchen degreasers too?

"What's your favorite bird, Sloan?" Ridge asked.

Sloan kept her eyes on her book. "The phoenix."

"That's not an actual bird." He pushed the book towards her. "You can look in here."

Sloan shoved the book across the table. "When's dinner going to be ready?"

"Soon." Mom tossed Sloan an apple from the counter. "Have this while you wait."

Sloan caught the apple, then dropped it on the table and resumed her reading. Ridge reached across and grabbed for it. "Hey!" Sloan snatched the fruit back up. "That's mine."

"You weren't even going to eat it." Ridge's face reddened to the same shade as the apple.

"Yes, I was!" Sloan chomped into the fruit. "Get your own."

"Both of you, stop." Mom pressed the meat down with a wooden spoon, and the grease sizzled. "Do you realize how lucky you are to have one another? Have I ever told you about the special relationship between brother and sister crows?"

"No." Ridge turned his chair away from the table and toward his mother. "Tell us!"

Sloan rolled her eyes. Here we go again.

Mom approached the table. "Well, in most bird species, once the bird leaves the nest, that's it. They go off and find their own way. But not crows." Mom's eyes brightened. "Crows stay with their family for years, sticking around to help protect younger siblings. They even help bring the momma bird food for the baby." She raised her eyebrows at Sloan.

Ridge slowly turned back to the table. "Sorry I tried to take your apple, Lo."

Sloan looked back at her book but felt her mom's eyes boring into her.

The screeching sound of the screen door granted Sloan a reprieve. She jumped up, dropping the book on the floor. "Daddy!"

"Lo! Come give your old man a hug, will you?" Sloan charged and wrapped her arms around her dad's chest. He smelled like aftershave and pine. He lifted the bill of her Detroit Lions cap. "I missed the game Sunday. How are the Lions looking this season?"

Sloan grimaced. "Well, they only lost by one touchdown."

He shook his head. "I don't know, Lo. I think we may need a new team to root for." He handed Mom his briefcase, kissing her cheek. "Hey, we're missing one. Where's my boy?"

"Hi, Dad." Ridge waved from the kitchen doorway.

Daddy walked over and ruffled Ridge's hair, then stuck his head farther into the kitchen. "Something smells delicious."

"Tacos," Mom said.

"Perfect! That's just what I've been hungry for. There's not a restaurant in the entire state of Texas that can hold a candle to your cooking."

"Want me to take your coat?" Sloan asked.

"Sure thing." He kicked off his shoes and walked to the radio. "Let's dance, Caroline."

"Dinner's on the stove, Jay."

Daddy turned the dial until the baritone voice of Ricky Van Shelton filled the living room. "Come on. One song."

Mom wiped her hands on her denim shorts. "Oh, fine, but not a word if the meat's black."

Sloan watched her parents sway, lost in their own private world. Mom was wearing a pink tank top, and her blonde hair cascaded just past her bronzed shoulders. She was tall with long legs, just like Sloan. But unlike Sloan, the long legs suited her. She was always graceful in her movements.

Daddy leaned in and whispered something into Mom's ear. It sounded like, "I'm sorry." Sloan hoped this didn't mean he had to leave again tomorrow.

Mom pulled back. "Sorry for what?"

"That we don't have everything we dreamed of."

"Oh, stop it, Jay Hadfield. What more could anyone want than this?"

He leaned in to kiss her, and Sloan turned away. Sometimes it was gross how affectionate they were. However, it seemed more and more parents were getting divorced, parents of her classmates, parents of the neighbors. Sloan was glad that would never happen to her mom and dad—glad they still loved each other.

Daddy sang along as they continued to dance. He had the deep voice and Texas twang of a country singer, but mom said he couldn't carry a tune.

After the song's last notes played, Mom tried to pull away.

"Oh, come on, one more," Daddy said. "Listen, it's Keith Whitley."

"Nope." Mom laughed as she wriggled free from his arms. "Dinner's burning."

"And it's almost time for our show ," Sloan said, reaching for the remote.

Daddy held up a hand. "Not yet." He turned the radio volume up. "It's a sin to turn off the radio in the middle of a Keith Whitley song."

Sloan rolled her eyes and tried to look annoyed, but she couldn't stop smiling. Tacos were cooking, Who's the Boss was starting, and best of all, Daddy was home.

"Please, Mom. Just one chapter," Ridge pleaded. "I won't be able to fall asleep without it."

Sloan sank into her pillow. Ridge and his routines. Her brother was an enigma. He was smart for a ten-year-old, gifted even, yet he still couldn't fall asleep without a bedtime story.

"Not tonight, Ridge." Mom switched off the lamp between their bed. "It's after ten and a school night."

Sloan burrowed under the covers. "Not to mention, we're about five years too old for bedtime stories."

"Oh," Ridge said as if that had never occurred to him. Sloan hadn't meant to hurt him. He'd always been so sensitive. Ridge sat up in bed. "Now that I'm learning all about birds, do you think I can ask for a parrot for Christmas?"

Mom sat on Ridge's bed. "Pets are a big responsibility. And what makes you want a parrot?"

"They can talk."

"Well, so can crows."

"They can?" Ridge's voice rose an octave higher.

"You can train them to. Crows speak better than parrots and can mimic sounds and voices uncannily."

"Can they mimic snoring?" Sloan came out from under her pillow. She hated sharing a room with her brother. Not like she had any choice, but he could be especially annoying after ten on a school night.

Mom stood. "Very funny. But it's late." She kissed Ridge on the forehead and blew a kiss at Sloan. "Sleep tight."

Sloan flopped to face the wall. She was almost asleep when she heard Ridge stirring. "Go to sleep," she said without turning around.

"Sorry. Just have one question." He flipped the lamp on. "Do you ever wish Mom and Dad would get married?"

"Not usually at 10:30 p.m.," Sloan said but rolled over to face him. "It's the eighties. Moms and dads don't have to be married."

Ridge's brow furrowed. "But I want them to stay together forever."

"They will. They aren't old-fashioned, Ridge. Mom said they don't need some piece of paper or ring to prove they love each other. Plenty of moms and dads sign pieces of paper only to rip them up." Sloan scooped up a stuffed animal from the floor by her bed. A blue jay named Blue that Ridge used to carry around everywhere. She threw it at him. "Now go to sleep."

Ridge dropped the bird on the floor before flopping down on his pillow. Sloan knew if she hadn't teased him for sleeping with it a few months ago, he still would be. "Night, Lo. I love you."

"Love you too, dummy." Sloan reached for the lamp but froze at the sudden crash across the hall.

Ridge jolted up. "What was that?"

"I'm not sure," Sloan said, but every muscle in her body went rigid.

Tears filled Ridge's eyes. "It's happening again."

"Maybe not," Sloan said, but her mother's wild scream confirmed their fear. It was happening again. Twice now in one month. Sloan jumped out of bed. The floor felt even colder than usual. "Let me handle this. You stay put."

"But—"

"No buts! Do as I say!" Sloan realized she was yelling, too, further frightening Ridge. "It'll be okay. I promise." She grabbed Blue off the floor and handed him to Ridge. "If you go, it'll only make things worse. Do you understand?"

He nodded, squeezing Blue against his chest.

Sloan walked into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

"Jay, wake up!" her mother cried.

Daddy was talking too, but his words made no sense. It was all gibberish.

Sloan cracked the door to her parent's room. "Mom?"

"Go, Sloan!" Mom pleaded. "Call Walt!"

Sloan pushed the door the rest of the way open. Her parents were on the floor between the bed and the window, Daddy on top, pinning Mom to that cold, cold floor.

"Daddy, stop!" Sloan stepped into the room. Her father didn't get up but looked over his shoulder at Sloan. His normally sparkling eyes dull, his wavy blonde hair drenched in sweat.

"Sloan, no. Get the phone. Call Walt," Mom repeated.

Sloan ran for the phone in the hallway. She misdialed twice before she steadied her hand and called Walter Dawson.

"Hello?" a sweet, sleepy voice said.

"Mrs. Dawson, it's Sloan. We need Walt."

That seemed to wake up Doreen Dawson. "Walt, wake up," Sloan heard her say. "Is it your daddy again, Sloan? Are you okay?"

Sloan still heard her mother crying and her dad mumbling. She turned back down the hallway and noticed her bedroom door open. She hadn't left it that way.

Sloan felt like she was moving in slow motion back down the hallway. She peeked into their room, but Ridge was gone. She saw the camouflage sheath on his bed and winced. Their father gave Ridge that hunting knife—a knife he had refused to use until now, apparently.

She turned toward her parents' room and watched Ridge tiptoeing toward their parents. His grip was so tight on the knife that his hand was white. "Ridge, no!"

Ridge dropped his hand to his side. His lips and chin trembled. "He's choking her."

Sloan looked across the room. Ridge was right. Their mom kicked and thrashed as she tried to force their father's hands from her neck.

Before Sloan could figure out how to stop her dad, Ridge jumped on his back, hitting and screaming. Sloan watched Ridge and her mom try to fight off Daddy, but they were no match for him. She realized she wouldn't be either, but she couldn't stop thinking about Ridge's knife, just inches from her foot. Could she use it if she had to? Hurry, Walt. Please hurry.

Her father climbed to his feet. Ridge was still on him, pounding his fists. In one swift motion, Daddy raised up higher, throwing Ridge behind him. Sloan screamed when Ridge hit the wall. It was a thud so terrible, she'd remember it forever.

Her mom screamed, too—a sound almost as loud as the crash. It seemed to stun Daddy, who moved away from her, blinking rapidly, and rubbing his head.

Mom charged for Ridge, who had sat up. "I just bumped my head," he said. "It doesn't hurt." He flashed a smile at Mom, but Sloan noticed blood in his shaggy, matted hair.

"Is he okay?" Sloan's voice shook.

"I think so," Caroline said, examining her son.

"What's going on?" Daddy stood behind them, his voice still thick with sleep. "My god, Ridge. What happened?"

Outside the window, a motorcycle roared. The sound of salvation. The sound of Walt.

Sloan met Walt at the door. He was still in his pajamas, the white of his tee-shirt contrasting against dark brown skin, his gray flannel pants not quite concealing the gun tucked into them. "What happened, Sloan?" He pushed past her into the house. Though he was a small man, Walt had a commanding presence and unexpected strength, as he'd proven the last time he had to restrain Sloan's sleepwalking father.

"It's over." Sloan surprised herself by throwing her arms around Walt. "But Ridge hit his head. Can you help him?"

"Does he need an ambulance?"

"No!" Sloan backed away. "You can't report this, Walt. They'll arrest Daddy. It was just one of his nightmares. From Vietnam. Like last time. You understand, right?"

"Hey, hey." Walt's voice was calming. "I understand. Remember, I fought in the war too? I promise I'm not gonna let anything happen to Ridge or your dad, either. Understand?"

Sloan nodded, wiping her snotty nose across the sleeve of her nightgown. As thankful as she was for Walt, as much as she wanted to believe his words, she somehow knew that he'd never be able to keep this promise.