Epilogue

Mallowater, TX,

Thanksgiving Day, 2008

"This place looks great." Ridge glanced at the old family photos as he carried his suitcase down the hallway. "You've been busy."

"Yeah, it's finally starting to feel like mine." Sloan opened the door to their parents' old room. "I cleaned everything out and turned it into a room for you."

Ridge stepped inside. "Wow, you didn't need to do all this just for me."

"Who else is going to use it? Just be happy we finally get our own rooms in this place."

"For sure." Ridge studied a painting of Crow's Nest Creek above the bed. "Whoa. Did you paint this?"

Sloan looked down at her shoes. "Yeah. Dylan got me some art supplies. It's been good, therapeutic, to get back into it."

"I love it, like really love it. Can I commission one? It would look so great in my apartment. Just like this, but on a three-panel, maybe?"

"Sure, I can do that. Absolutely."

Ridge pulled out his wallet. "What's a fair price?"

Sloan pushed down it down. "Put your money away. I know you think you have to help me, but you don't. I actually make a little more teaching here than I did in Houston."

Ridge bumped against her shoulder. "And you get to make out with your boyfriend in the teacher's lounge."

"You should talk. Did you ever ask out that research assistant you told me about? Liv?"

Ridge set his suitcase on the bed. "Until I graduate, I'm dating my work."

"Next year, then," Sloan said. "Next year, you'll be Dr. Turner and should have no trouble finding a girl to bring home for Thanksgiving."

"And next year, you might be Mrs. Lawrence." Ridge raised his eyebrows. "Maybe with a little Sloan Jr. on the way?"

"Slow down there, Uncle Ridge. Right now, Dylan and I are just looking forward to the Daughtry trial being over. It's scheduled for next May."

Ridge unzipped his bag. "I heard it's going to be televised."

"Yeah. A regular circus." Sloan stepped back. "Well, I'm sure you are exhausted from your layover last night. Take a nap. Dylan and I can handle the cooking."

"Nah, I'm good. May take a quick shower."

Sloan bit her lip. "Well, that's going to have to wait a few hours."

"Why's that?"

"See for yourself." Sloan stepped across the hallway and pushed open the bathroom door.

It took Ridge a minute to notice what she was referring to. When he did, he started laughing. "You forgot to thaw out the turkey."

Sloan pressed her forehead against the door jamb. "Dylan reminded me to take it out four nights ago when he left. I got distracted and totally spaced it till last night. It wouldn't fit in the sink."

Ridge walked to the tub and put his hand on the submerged turkey. "I don't expect we're going to be having this guy today."

"Really?" Sloan touched the turkey. Ridge was right. It was still solid. "Ugh. I wanted everything to be perfect, and I sabotaged the most important part of dinner. Thank goodness Dylan is smoking a ham."

Ridge shook the water off his hand. "It doesn't matter what we eat; at least we're together."

He was right. But it didn't escape Sloan that they weren't all together. Dad had invited them to his home for Thanksgiving, but Sloan wasn't ready for that.

"Have you talked to Dad again?" Ridge asked as if he'd read her mind.

"Not in a few days. I don't understand why he can't spend half the day with them and half the day with us. I mean, he split his time between us all those years."

Ridge raised his eyebrows. "I think we can all agree that wasn't the best idea."

"And pretending to be some big happy family is?"

"I didn't say that." Ridge put his hand on her shoulder. "Relax. I get you not wanting to go."

"And you did want to go? I'm sorry it's just us. I invited Noah's family, but they went to Dallas."

"Sloan, I don't care who else is here. I wanted to spend Thanksgiving with you, and I am. Now, let me change out of these clothes, and I'll meet you in the kitchen to help."

As Sloan began peeling potatoes, she wondered what Ridge's actual opinion was about having Thanksgiving with their dad. Had she really ever asked him or just assumed he didn't want to?

Ridge returned a few minutes later, changed from his athletic shorts and t-shirt into jeans and a blue button-down shirt. Sloan looked over her shoulder. "Wow, look at you."

"Well, it's a special occasion. First Thanksgiving with my sister in a couple of decades." He sat at the kitchen table. Sloan stifled a laugh. He'd offered to help and was sitting at the table. Still the baby of the family through and through.

"As much as I like the new furniture, I'm glad you kept the table."

"Yeah, I couldn't get rid of it. Too many good memories. It's pretty much the only thing I didn't change."

"And the tree."

Sloan laughed. "Surprisingly, I'm not even sick of it."

"I noticed the roller-skating rabbit was back in one piece. Sorry about that."

"Dylan glued it back together. No big deal."

"Well, stop peeling those and come sit down."

Sloan threw her head back. "Ridge, I need to start this, or I won't finish in time . . ."

"In time for what? The bathing turkey in there? Come on, sit."

Sloan finished the potato and wiped her hands down her apron. "Okay, five minutes."

Sloan saw a small package on the table she hadn't noticed. Ridge pushed it toward her.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Early Christmas gift."

Sloan unwrapped the small box and pulled out a felt crow hanging from a red string. "An ornament?" Sloan smiled. "How perfect."

"Check under the wing."

Sloan lifted the wing and saw a single word embroidered in yellow thread— Mom. She held it to her chest. "Let's find a place for it."

They stood in front of the tree they'd put up. Ridge pointed to a hole just right of the center. "We actually left the perfect place for it."

Sloan hung it. "That was probably accidental. We were pretty wasted."

Ridge put his arm around her. "Yeah, we were. But it looks pretty damn perfect, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does. Mom would have loved the ornament." Sloan laid her head on her brother's shoulder. "Sometimes I miss her, Ridge. But other times, I'm relieved I don't have to worry about her anymore. I miss her, and I don't. Is that terrible?"

"No," Ridge said. "Not terrible at all. I like to think she's back to her old self again—finally at peace."

Sloan reached out and rubbed the felt crow between her fingers. "She slipped, right?"

"Yeah," Ridge said. "I mean, that's what the police found."

Sloan nodded. "It's just been hard for me to let it go."

"And that's why you don't want to eat with Dad's family? You wonder if one of them was involved?"

Tears pooled in Sloan's eyes. "It's not that big a stretch, is it? Mom pointed a gun at Dad the night before. We all got into that fight."

"It was an accident. Mom slipped before."

"How do I let it go?"

Before he answered, there was a soft knock at the door. Sloan wiped the tears off her face and held the door open for Dylan.

He gave her a quick kiss. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just the normal." She inhaled. "The ham smells delicious."

Dylan carried it into the kitchen. "Can I put it in the oven, so it stays warm?"

"Sure." Sloan opened the oven door. "The turkey's certainly not going in."

"Yeah," Ridge said. "Should I go change its bathwater?"

Sloan touched the side of her forehead. "Ugh. Just drain the tub and put the bird in the fridge."

Dylan suppressed a smile. "We'll cook it over the weekend."

"I know, I know. You told me, and I forgot."

"It's not a big deal." Dylan pushed a strand of hair out of her face.

"So, I get the feeling Ridge wants to go to Dad's," she said after Ridge was out of earshot.

"But you still don't want to?"

"No. I'm too angry."

"So be angry tomorrow."

"Huh?"

Dylan wrapped his arms around her. "Remember? Today's Thanksgiving. No being angry on Thanksgiving."

Sloan pursed her lips. "I should have never agreed to that."

"I get it, I do," Dylan said softly. "But Kyle apologized. Brad and Felicity have always been cool to you. Anna took you to see your dad as a kid. Can you imagine what she was going through, yet she still did that? And I understand you don't want to hear this, but nobody killed your mom."

Sloan pulled away. "You don't know that."

Dylan sighed. "What I do know is you can't let bitterness poison you. Not like Caroline did. You've got to let this go, Sloan."

This wasn't like Dylan to challenge her, but he was right.

Ridge came down the hallway, carrying a turkey wrapped in a bath towel. "You may want to bleach your tub," he said. "Unless you want to soak in salmonella."

"Ridge, what would you say to having lunch at Dad's?" Sloan asked.

Ridge stopped. "Really?"

"Why not?" Sloan shrugged. "You came all this way for a turkey. I'm sure Anna's isn't still dripping with dirty bathtub water right now."

"You sure it's okay?" Ridge asked. "You aren't going to get angry at them?"

She took Dylan's hand and squeezed. "No, not today."

"Well, that was awful," Sloan said as she spread out a blanket at Crow's Nest Creek that evening.

Ridge plopped down. "Not awful, just awkward, but I could tell it meant a lot to Dad. Hey, here they come." He looked up at the sky as a group of crows flew overhead. "Dylan didn't want to join us?"

"He said he was tired, but I think he just wanted to give us some time alone." Sloan looked out at the river. The rough water frothed and crashed—like it was vying with the crows for Sloan's attention. She thought back on all her times here at Crow's Nest Creek. Her earliest memory here came to mind first. Standing in a shallow ford of the river, holding hands with her parents, singing "Ring Around the Rosie." They'd circle, fall, splash, laugh, stand up, and do it all over again.

Ashes. Ashes. We all fall down.

When Sloan got older, she'd come here with Dad to fill buckets of water to put out their family campfires. Was there ever a time they both came back dry? As soon as one was crouched over the water, they were a goner.

We all fall down.

She remembered hundreds of times when she, Ridge, and Noah splashed in this water, waiting for the crows, rocks on the creek bottom poking into their bare feet. They were too old for "Ring Around the Rosie," but they played plenty of innocent games of Truth or Dare.

Then she thought of being seventeen in the river with Noah. The cold shock of water against her bare skin as the dares became less innocent. A fist full of wildflowers he'd picked for her, shoved into the pocket of her jeans. Jeans she'd shed on the riverbank.

Pocket full of posies.

Ridge's voice broke through her memories. "It's been a while since we've been here for a roost. We just need Noah."

"Grape Squeezeits and Fruit Wrinkles, too," Sloan said.

Ridge sat up and unzipped his backpack. "Well, I brought the adult version of Squeezits." He pulled out two beers from his backpack, using his ring to twist off the caps.

"Thanks." Sloan took a drink. "These are a definite improvement."

They took a few sips in silence then she spoke again. "Ridge, you can tell me the truth now. Did you know you were leaving the last time we were here?"

Ridge kept his eyes on the crows. "Yeah. I knew."

Sloan couldn't imagine. To be ten years old and hold the weight of such a secret inside his tiny chest. He must have been so scared. Sloan wished she could go back and change how she'd treated him that night. She wished she could go back and save him, save them all. But what was that saying Grandpa Radel always told her? The river can't return to its source.

More crows flew overhead, landing in trees all around them. Minute by minute, the purple sky grew blacker and noisier.

"Just think, amid all that screeching, there's a crow named Crawford saying your name," Sloan said.

"Yeah." Ridge's eyes lit up. "I forgot how cool this is. I mean, we've got plenty of roosts in New York, but not rural ones like this. You can't exactly go lay down on Elmira Avenue like you can here."

"Why are so many roosts in cities?" Sloan asked.

"Hard to say, but probably because cities are a few degrees warmer than rural areas and have more food."

Sloan motioned to the sky. "So why don't these guys move into town?"

"I've wondered. This is one of the longest-running roosts in the country. One of the few in Texas. Something here draws them back year after year."

Sloan leaned back on her elbows. "Guess I can relate. This is the creek I thought you drowned in, yet it was the first place I ran to for sanctuary. I slept out here in our tent hundreds of nights after you were gone. Then, you miraculously rose out of that river, but Mom took your place. Yet here I am — again ."

"Wow. Yeah. This is the river where I ruined dad's life and destroyed our family. It's where I faked my death, where I sat shivering and crying, waiting for Vince Turner to take me away from a life I loved. Yet, when I came home, this is where I spent my days."

"Maybe it's like visiting a grave," Sloan said. "Respect. Remembrance."

"Speaking of . . ." Ridge reached into his backpack. "Are you ready?"

Sloan pushed herself up. "Ready or not."

Ridge pulled the lid off the cardboard box, revealing the bag of their mother's ashes. "Where should we do it?" he asked.

"I think here is fine. Close to the water, close to the crows."

They stepped beyond the canopy, and Ridge handed her the bag. "You can go first."

Sloan tilted the bag, but Ridge held out his hand. "Wait. Shouldn't we say a prayer or something first?"

"Go ahead." Sloan held up the bag as Ridge said a quick prayer. "Anything you want to say?" he asked when he finished.

Sloan wished it were that easy. What could she possibly say about such a complex life? About such a complex relationship? Tears filled her eyes as she poured. "Goodbye, Mom," were the only words she could manage.

"Goodbye, Mom," Ridge echoed, emptying the bag's contents. "I hope you're at peace."

The wind picked up just as Ridge finished. A stream of ash flew toward the water just under a formation of crows. The flock flew above the ash as if guiding Caroline to her final resting place.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

They were both quiet for several minutes, listening to the cawing crows, rushing water, and howling wind. Ridge finally spoke. "Knowing Mom, I half expected a crow would rise from her ashes."

"Guess Caroline Radel was no Phoenix," Sloan said. "She had plenty of chances in her life to rise from the ashes, but she refused to let it all go."

Ridge took her hand. "But we can rise from our family's ashes. We are rising from them."

Sloan considered his words as she watched the river flow. Was she actually rising? Some days it didn't feel like it.

No matter how many dinners she had with Dad, how many Detroit Lions games they watched, the fact that he had set everything wrong with her life in motion was never far from her mind.

And as glad as she was to have Ridge in her life, she couldn't accept his invitation for Christmas in New Mexico. She just wasn't ready for that. She couldn't forgive the Turners for their part in ruining her family, no matter how good their intentions had been. The mere thought of them still knotted her stomach.

A similar knot still appeared anytime Dylan's phone beeped. Her dad was a cheater, her ex-husband was a cheater. To be expected to blindly trust Dylan felt na?ve. And they were both so broken, disaster seemed imminent. Like two terrible swimmers trying to save each other from drowning.

She hadn't looked at the People magazine article in months, but she felt the urge to now. Her mother's obsession with Anna Hadfield and her children had begun with a birth certificate, Sloan's with that damn article. She suspected that even after a friendly Thanksgiving, it would still cut to her core to look at that cover photo. To look at Anna, Felicity, Brad, and Kyle, and understand that despite pleasantries, she'd never really be a part of them.

But then again, six months ago, she'd never imagined returning to Mallowater, and here she was. She was back and allowing herself to reflect on her childhood and remember it all—the good and the bad.

Maybe she'd ultimately failed to protect her mother, but she'd tried. She was grieving Caroline while simultaneously trying to forgive her.

She was trying to forgive her dad too. Six months ago, she'd never believed she would ever speak to him again, but she'd just shared Thanksgiving dinner with him. Things could never be the same, but that didn't mean she couldn't accept a new, different relationship with him.

And as for the Turners, they loved Ridge; she loved Ridge. If she could sit at Anna Hadfield's table, sitting at anybody's felt possible. Another of Grandpa Radel's sayings came to mind. With enough time, the river can cut through rock.

And she loved Dylan. The water was rising around them both right now, but they weren't drowning. They were treading water together. Eventually, the Daughtry trial would be over, and sooner or later, Sloan's grief would subside. Their feet would touch solid ground.

And although she couldn't force herself into another family, she could stop obsessing over them. She could stop comparing. She could let it go. She could throw the magazine away; no, she could burn it.

Ashes. Ashes.

She pulled her shoulders back and closed her eyes. Ridge was right. She could rise from the ashes. She could. She was.