Chapter 8

Mallowater, TX, 1988

The police called off the search on day six of Ridge's disappearance. Sloan returned to school on day eight. Mom said they needed to get back to some "sense of normalcy." Like anything could ever be normal again.

Even her school didn't feel right without Ridge in it. No one seemed sure how to treat Sloan. Even her friends avoided her. Only Noah met up with her at recess and waited for her after school to board the bus. He walked her home from the bus stop every day, even though his house was closer.

So, when Sloan spotted Noah's mom waiting for them at the bus stop Friday afternoon, she sensed something was wrong.

"What's going on?" Sloan asked as soon as she stepped off the bus.

Doreen reached her hand out. "You're coming to our house today. We'll have a snack and watch some tv."

Sloan backed away. "Nope. Tell me what's going on."

"I will," Doreen said. "Once we get home."

Tears stung Sloan's eyes. "They found him, didn't they? They found Ridge?"

"I said we'll talk about it at the house." Doreen looked around at the parents and students, now watching the scene.

Sloan didn't care who watched. "Tell me!" she screamed.

Noah took a step forward. "Come on, Sloan. Let's talk and walk."

Sloan wasn't walking anywhere. Not when Doreen was keeping something from her. Sloan took off running. Doreen called for her, and Sloan heard Noah's footsteps, but they'd never catch up with her; Doreen had asthma, and Noah was slow.

A KBWS news van and two police cars sat outside Sloan's house. The news van door slid open just as Sloan made it to her yard. "Start recording!" A voice inside the van instructed.

Sloan struggled to walk a straight line to the door. The ground seemed to shift. They had to have found Ridge. That's why the cops were here. Why the news was here.

When Sloan pushed through the screen door, she was shocked to see her father on the ground, pinned by two policemen. Walt stood above them, shaking his head. "Let me go," her father screamed as he thrashed.

"Daddy?"

"Stop fighting, Jay. Your girl is here," Walt said.

Her father stilled, and Sloan barely heard the clink of the handcuffs over her beating heart.

"What's she doing here?" Mom emerged from the hallway and took Sloan's hand. "Why would you do this right when she gets home from school?"

"I'm sorry, Caroline. I asked Doreen to—"

"Oh, you're sorry?" Mom lurched towards Walt. "Sorry for what? For arresting Jay in front of his daughter?" Caroline took another step, so she was right in Walt's face. "Or that you didn't give me a heads up that this was happening? You are supposed to be our friend."

"You're making a mistake, Walt." Daddy was standing now. An officer holding each arm.

"I sure hope so," Walt said. "Let these men take you to the station. Just be honest, and we can clear all this up."

Caroline jammed her finger into Walt's chest. "Don't talk to us like a cop."

The door scraped open. "Sorry!" Doreen struggled to catch her breath. "She ran off." Doreen pulled the string on the blinds. They closed with a loud whoosh. "Media's out there," she said.

"What happened?" Sloan finally found her voice. She didn't even recognize it.

"These gentlemen need to take your father. So, we'll let them do that; then we'll talk."

An officer peeked out the blinds. "Another news van from Tyler just pulled up. We gotta get him out of here before this turns into a full-fledged circus. Goddamn vultures."

"Let's get this over with." Walt stepped in front of the officers. "Don't make a scene, Jay. It won't help anything."

It's already a scene , Sloan thought.

Daddy kept his head down and hurried to the patrol car. Sloan slipped past her mom and ran outside. A reporter yelled something, but Sloan couldn't make it out. Everything sounded like she was in a tunnel. A tunnel with no light to guide her out.

"The family would appreciate some privacy," Walt said.

An officer pushed down Daddy's neck to cram him into the police car.

"Easy!" Sloan pleaded. "Don't hurt him!"

Sloan wedged herself between the car door and her father just as the officer went to slam it. She winced as the door cut into her back.

The other officer pulled the door open and grabbed Sloan by the shirt. "Come on, kid; get back inside!"

"Take your hands off my daughter!" Sloan turned and saw her mom standing in the doorway. "I'll have your job."

"Let her go," Walt said. "Let her hug her father."

"It's gonna be okay. Lo, I promise," Daddy told her. "Now, go inside with your mother."

"Come on, Sloan." Noah reached into the car and took her hand. "Dad can fix all this."

Sloan was fairly certain Walt couldn't fix anything. If he could, why wasn't he?

"How does it feel to know your father is being charged with your brother's murder?" A reporter's voice rose above the noise.

"Goddamn it!" Walt yelled. "She's a child. What is wrong with you?"

"They're trash," Mom yelled again. "All of you are trash!"

Cameras clicked, a microphone screeched, and everyone was yelling. Sloan saw black in her peripheral. The tunnel was narrowing. She needed to get back inside but knew she'd never make it. So, she let it close in on her.

Sloan blinked several times. She wasn't lying on the lawn, but on their couch. Her head hurt, and she was freezing despite the heavy quilt draped across her body.

"She's awake." Mom sat down at Sloan's feet as Sloan pushed herself up. "Not too fast." Mom held up her hand. "Does anything hurt?"

Noah ran into the room and leaned over Sloan. "Are you okay?"

From the corner of the room, Walt cleared his throat. "Go back into the kitchen, Noah. Give us a minute."

"What happened?" Sloan rubbed at an ache on the base of her skull.

Mom pushed a stray hair out of Sloan's face. "You passed out."

"No! What happened with Ridge? Why did that woman say Daddy was being charged with Ridge's murder? Did they find his body?"

Mom scooted in closer. "No, but there were signs of struggle. There was blood."

"Ridge's? How can they be sure it's his?" Sloan asked.

"They found a piece of his shirt, his beanie, and a shoe."

"Where?" Sloan asked.

Mom looked down. "In the water."

"No." Sloan shook her head as if she could make her mom's words fall out. "No!"

Mom put her arm around her. "I'm so sorry."

"What if someone else hurt Ridge and Daddy? How do they know what happened?"

Mom glanced at Walt. There was venom in her eyes. "You want to take this one, Walt? Since you're the one who arrested him?"

Walt knelt beside Sloan. "Do you know what PTSD is?"

Sloan shook her head.

"Well, it's what your daddy has. It's a sickness caused by the war."

"The bad dreams?"

Walt handed Sloan his handkerchief. "Yes. We think that's what happened here. A witness came forward. Saw Ridge playing around 3:00, and your Daddy was asleep. I don't think your dad knew where he was or what he was doing. Sometimes terrible accidents happen, but even with accidents, there are consequences. There are laws."

Sloan couldn't bear the thought of her daddy in some jail cell with bank robbers and murderers. He was a good man. He couldn't help having PTSD any more than Doreen could help having asthma.

Walt stood. "I'll make sure he's taken care of. Make sure he can talk to you soon."

"Can I talk to him right now?" Sloan asked.

"No, not today," Mom said. She stood up and walked toward the window.

There were a few minutes of silence. Walt kept opening his mouth and closing it like there was something else he wanted to say.

"What, Walt? What is it?" Sloan asked.

"Something is going to come out," Walt finally said. "But I want you to be strong."

"What's going to come out?" Sloan couldn't imagine how this could get any worse.

Walt rocked on his heels. "Caroline, why don't you come sit down and talk to Sloan?"

"No," Mom said, her back still turned. "I think she's had enough trauma for one day."

They held a small funeral for Ridge. Only Sloan, her mom, Libby, and the Dawsons were in attendance. Mom said she didn't want the media attention, and they couldn't trust anyone. Sloan understood. Boy, did she understand. Because, as it turns out, she couldn't even trust her own father. Still, it seemed wrong there weren't more people mourning her brother.

Libby stayed in Mallowater for a few extra days. She cleaned the house, cooked, and froze food. Sloan even saw her hand Mom a check. "Take it," she insisted.

Caroline shook her head. "I can't."

"Vince insists. Don't be stubborn. It's not just about you. You've got a daughter to care for, and you've lost all your income. Give her a nice Christmas."

Sloan was glad when Mom took the check. It hadn't occurred to her how they'd make money with Daddy in jail.

"Everything is going to be okay. I promise," Libby said as she hugged Sloan goodbye.

Sloan held on tight. She didn't want to let go. Right now, it felt like Libby Turner was keeping everything together. Sloan was sure it would all crumble once she left.

"Can't you and Vince move back?" she asked.

"No, sweetie. Vince's job is in Louisiana. But you can call anytime. You have my number, right?"

"Mom does."

Libby grabbed a sticky note by the phone and scribbled her number. "Now you do too. Call anytime."

"Thank you." Sloan tried to compose herself. She hated sounding like a baby, begging and crying. But there was something so motherly about Libby. She had always been different from Mom, making cookies with Sloan and Ridge and taking them shopping for things Mom said were a waste of money. Mom always said Libby liked to spoil them because she didn't have any children of her own. When Sloan had once asked why, Mom told her, rather matter-of-factly, that some people just couldn't have children.

"Why can't they adopt one?" Sloan asked.

"They're too old. Who's going to give a baby to a couple of forty-seven-year-olds?"

Sloan had never thought of Libby being older than her mom, but she saw it now. Saw it in the cracks around Libby's eyes and mouth. Saw it in the mature way Libby and Vince carried themselves. Of course, their money helped with that too.

But now they were gone, and Sloan was back at school, like everyone just expected life to move on.

"Do you want to hang out at my house again tonight?" Noah asked as they walked to the school bus.

"Mom won't let me. Not two nights in a row. I don't see why it matters. Not like she notices when I'm there."

Noah didn't appear to be listening. His eyes passed Sloan to a petite woman with strawberry blonde hair standing outside her car, staring at them.

"A reporter," Sloan said. She could smell them now. "Wait here." Sloan stomped over to the car. "You can't be here!" She made her voice boom. "What station do you work for?"

The woman's brows crinkled. "I'm not a reporter." Her voice was polished with a hint of a Southern drawl.

"Who are you then? Why are you staring?" Sloan asked.

"Your father asked me to come."

Sloan swallowed hard. "He what?"

The woman rubbed at her arms as if she were cold. "Jay made a lot of mistakes, but he loved Ridge; he loves you."

Sloan noticed a little girl in the backseat changing the tape in her Walkman. She looked like a first or second grader, but Sloan had never seen her at Golden Oak Elementary. And with the poofy red hair, she'd be hard to miss. Sloan turned her attention back to the woman. "How do you know my dad?"

"It's best you ask your mom if she'll take you to visit," the woman said, rifling through her purse. "But if she says no, here's my number." She handed Sloan a folded piece of paper.

"Sloan, come on!" Noah yelled, running toward the bus lane. "They'll leave without us!"

"Think about it," the stranger said. "Think about seeing your dad. You have every right not to, but you can't imagine how sorry he is."

Sloan took the paper. "I need to go, or I'll miss the bus."

The woman smoothed down her dress. "I'm sorry. I can drive you home."

Sloan looked into the backseat. The red-headed girl made eye contact and lifted her hand in a wave.

Who were these strange people? Friends of her father's or not, there was no way Sloan was getting into the car. She sprinted for the bus, making it just in time.

"What the heck, Lo? Who was that?" Noah asked as she plopped in the thinly padded seat beside him.

While Sloan caught her breath, she glanced out the bus window. The woman was still standing there, still watching her.

"And what is that?" Noah pointed to the paper in Sloan's hand.

"Nothing." Sloan wadded the phone number into a ball and shoved it into her backpack. "Just another reporter trying to get a story."