Chapter 4

Mallowater, TX, 1988

It surprised Sloan to find her dad waiting for her in the school's office. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled that megawatt smile Jay Hadfield was famous for. It lit him up, making his blue eyes sparkle. How could a man with a smile that big and eyes that blue ever choke anyone?

"Thought I'd bust you out of here early today."

Sloan looked down the hallway. "What about Ridge?"

"Another time. I wanted to talk to you alone. How about a dipped cone and a drive?"

"Okay." Sloan pointed at the lined sheet on the counter. "You gotta sign me out."

Sloan should have been thrilled to miss school, to spend time with her dad alone, but the air was heavy with anticipation of the difficult conversation she sensed was awaiting her.

"Mom said you had a meeting in Longview today." Sloan kept her eyes out the window as they pulled out of the school parking lot.

Daddy turned down the radio. "Meetings can be moved. Work can wait."

"Oh." Sloan took in a breath. "Is this about last night?"

He nodded. "I get you don't want to talk about it, Sloan. You and I are a lot alike. We're forgetters, you and me, just want to move on. That's not always a bad thing, but I'm sure you have questions about what happened. This was the second really bad one." He touched her shoulder. "I bet you're a little scared."

A single tear leaked from Sloan's eye. She closed her eyes to stop the rest. "I'm not scared now, but it was scary then."

"I bet." Daddy tapped the steering wheel. "Remember how I told you I fought in Vietnam?"

"Yes," Sloan whispered. "That's why you don't like fireworks. Why you have bad dreams."

"It's more than bad dreams, baby. I saw some terrible things. I did some terrible things. Things even an old forgetter like me can't forget."

"Will you ever get better?" Sloan asked.

"Maybe. Your mom thinks I need to see a doctor, and I'm going to. I've always had bad dreams, but this is the second time I've attacked your mother." Daddy tugged at his ear. "You understand, I'd never hurt her, never hurt any of you, not if I was thinking straight."

The tears in her father's voice broke Sloan's heart. She took his arm. "Of course you wouldn't; we all know that."

He wiped his eyes. "In better news, I've been looking at that lot behind us. I'm thinking of making an offer and building us a new house."

Sloan raised her eyebrows. "With three bedrooms?"

"Four rooms at least," Daddy said in the voice he used to sell furniture polish. The voice that didn't sound like his own. "Two stories, with a wraparound porch." He pushed his shoulders back. "You and Ridge can have the upstairs rooms, and I'll build you both balconies to read on."

Read. Crap . Sloan had reading homework, and she left her book at school.

As if Daddy had read her mind, he glanced to the backseat at her backpack. "Mom said it's report-card day."

Sloan rubbed a hand over her face. "Yeah. I was hoping you might talk to her about my grades again."

"How bad?"

"I don't know."

"Yeah, you do. Out with it."

"C in Math and Spelling. D in Science." Sloan slammed her back against the seat. "I know what you're going to say. That I can do better. But I can't! I'm not smart like Ridge. I'm the oldest in my class because I had to take second grade twice."

"Hey, hey! That's enough of that talk." Daddy pulled into the Dairy Queen parking lot. "You repeating second grade paid off because now you're a great reader. What's your reading grade?"

"88," Sloan said.

"88! That's terrific."

Sloan crossed her arms. "Yeah, but Ridge makes straight A's."

"Okay, so Ridge is gifted. That's great, but he's got his own issues. Ridge has a hard time . . ." He tilted his head. "He has a hard time relating to normal folks. It's hard for me to relate to him, and he's my son. Ridge will face social challenges you never will. You know how the kids pick on him."

Kids did pick on him. If only he'd quit being so babyish. Sloan got suspended in third grade for punching a boy who emptied Ridge's lunch box in the trash, replacing the food with an empty baby-food jar he'd found on the playground. Daddy had taken her out for ice cream then, too, come to think of it.

Daddy reached into her backpack and dug out the report card. "Let's see here. B in reading, A in social studies, and S in conduct. What's that stand for?"

"Satisfactory."

"Ah, then what's this say here?" He turned the report card toward her, pointing at the last grade.

Sloan leaned forward. "S+," she said. "But it doesn't matter. It's art."

"Why shouldn't art matter as much as math and science? Your mother will be thrilled."

"No, she won't." Sloan pushed down the report card. "Not when she sees the C in Spelling. She's made me study with her every week, but it's not helping."

"You're an artist, Sloan Hadfield. Nobody gives a shit if an artist can spell or not. We can't all be scientists like your mom. Somebody's gotta create paintings. Somebody's gotta sell toilet brushes."

Sloan giggled.

"It's true! So, what do you say the artist and toilet brush salesmen celebrate this S+ by going inside for our ice cream?"

"Sure!" Sloan unbuckled. Her Cs no longer mattered, nor did the forgotten reading book. Daddy had fixed it all with the promise of a dipped cone and a four-bedroom house.

Sloan couldn't help but notice how Mom was never quite the same after the night Daddy threw Ridge. Then there was the night she destroyed the pantry. She was missing Grandpa, Sloan told herself. But then why had she stopped cooking Daddy's favorite dinners on the nights he came home? Why had they stopped dancing?

Sloan opened the front door quietly in case her mom was napping again. She napped a lot these days.

Mom and Ridge were talking quietly in the kitchen, whispering almost. Sloan stepped closer to eavesdrop but bumped into the coffee table. "Ouch!" she grabbed her leg.

Her mom rushed into the living room. "Sloan, when did you get home?"

"Just now," Sloan said, rubbing her knee.

"Oh. How was art club?"

"Pretty good." This was a first. Her mom never asked about her art. "I drew you a picture today," Sloan said.

"Oh?"

Sloan pulled the sketchbook out of her backpack. The edge of the page ripped as she tore it out.

Mom looked at the picture. "It's a crow."

"Yeah." Sloan bit her lip. "I'm not good at birds yet. I need more work on feathers."

"No, it's great. Thanks." She set it on the couch. "Ridge, your sister's home. Why don't you both head to the river?"

"Do we have to?" Sloan's stomach growled. "When's dinner?"

"Leftovers tonight, so you can eat when you get back. Ridge wants to watch the crows."

Sloan groaned. "It's not even November yet."

"Some come in October," Mom said. "I'd go with you, but Libby is stopping by. I need a girls' night."

"What? Libby's always over. You had a week of girls' nights."

"Yes, and she's leaving in two days, Sloan. My one friend in this desolate town is moving in two days." Mom raised her voice. "Following her husband to a new job—giving up everything—and I can't stop her."

Sloan wanted to tell her mom that she was sad Libby was leaving too. With no grandparents left, Libby and Vince Turner were the closest things she and Ridge had to extended family. But she saw the tears in her mother's eyes, and she suddenly wanted to leave. "Come on, Ridge; let's go."

"Can Noah come?" Ridge stood in the doorway.

"Yeah, whatever," Sloan said. Ridge smiled, but Sloan sensed something off about him. He looked pale. Sick, almost. "Get your jacket," Sloan told him. "You aren't wearing mine this time, no matter how much you whine."

"See you in a few hours." Mom rubbed her head like it ached.

Sloan started for the door but stopped at the couch, seeing the crow picture tossed where her mom had left it. She crumbled it into a ball and dropped it in the wastebasket on the way out the door.

"Race ya in," Sloan told Noah as she propped up the kickstand to her bike. Noah dropped his bike and ran for the water, shedding his backpack halfway down the embankment. Sloan followed, kicking off her shoes and peeling off her socks and jacket, losing only by seconds. The green water was colder than she expected, and it stung.

"Mom didn't say we could go in," Ridge called from the bank.

"Come on." Sloan swam farther out, the soil-like scent of the water giving way to a less pleasant fishy smell. "Your clothes will dry."

Ridge shook his head. "It's too cold."

"Don't be a chicken," Noah called.

Ridge was undeterred. He climbed off his bike and sat in the grass, looking up into the towering trees. "Be quiet, or you'll scare them away."

"Fine." Sloan swam back to the bank. Someone would probably recognize her and tell her mom if she went any further.

Noah followed Sloan out of the water. Even though he was Ridge's friend, it was always Sloan's lead he followed. Noah was eleven, smack in between Sloan and Ridge in age, but he and Sloan were in the same grade since she'd been held back. At least they had different teachers this year. Last year in fifth grade, all her friends teased her about how Noah followed her like a shadow.

"There's a blanket and snacks in my backpack," he said.

Of course there was. Sloan never had to worry about needing anything when Noah came along. He was a model boy scout if there ever was one.

Ridge and Noah spread the blanket while Sloan looked over the creek at the deepening blue sky. A few crows flew overhead. The first sign of a night roost.

Sloan looked at her brother. He smiled for the first time since arriving at the creek. "They're coming," he said.

Ridge's excitement grew as the number of crows did. Sloan still couldn't believe her mom hadn't come. She lived for these night roosts. Something wasn't right. Sloan shivered, and she wasn't sure if it was the fault of her cold clothes, or something more.

By the time Noah handed out the Grape Squeezits and Fruit Wrinkles, even more crows had arrived. Thousands swarmed in from every direction, converging like it was some sort of summit. They flew over the creek in winding formations, mirroring the water's graceful and wild movements. A river of crows.

The birds grew louder. Sloan couldn't hear the flowing water or chirping crickets over the flapping wings and angry caws as the birds jostled for position in the surrounding trees. Sloan knew from her mom why crows roosted together at night—protection, warmth, better access to food—but why here? What had brought so many to this creek?

Sloan turned. Her brother's mouth was wide open, but he'd stopped shoving fruit snacks into it. He stared into the sky, transfixed by the show.

The creek grew quieter as the birds settled. The branches bent under their weight. Ridge grabbed Sloan's hand. His eyes were full of tears. Tears over birds? Man, he was strange.

"Thanks for bringing me here, Sloan," he said. "I love you just like a crow loves his sister."

"I love you too. Now stop being weird." She shook her hand free.

Noah wiped grass off his pants leg. "We better get home." He always worried about getting home on time. Sloan supposed that was natural with a father on the police force.

"Can't we stay a little longer?" Ridge asked.

"No." Sloan stood. "It's almost dark." She looked up at the trees dotted black with birds, feeling like an intruder in their home. "We'll come back another time."

"No, we won't," Ridge argued.

Sloan held up her pinkie. "Here, I'll pinkie swear on it."

"It's fine." Ridge jumped up and tugged at the blanket. He was careful when moving his bike from the tree it rested against, careful not to disturb the crows.

"Hey, look!" Noah pointed to the sky. "A shooting star."

A second star flashed in Sloan's peripheral. "And there's another one!"

"Wow!" Ridge lowered his bike and walked to stand beside Sloan and Noah. "It's a meteor shower. Mrs. Baker told my class about it. We have to stay."

Neither Sloan nor Noah argued this time. They all sat back down for another half hour, watching the lights paint the sky, coming in from all directions, just like the crows.

"We should make a wish," Sloan said. "Before it's over."

Ridge spoke first. "I wish for another night like this one."

Sloan would have normally rolled her eyes at her brother's sentimentality, but something about the night felt special, magical even. And of all the wishes in the world, Sloan couldn't think of one better.