Page 130 of A River of Crows

“More like a huge pain in the ass to build.” Jay chuckled. “I assumed we’d leave it in the box, that you and I would build it later, but Caroline insisted it be built so you could see it. I spent half the night putting together that damn toy.” He tore his gaze away from the tree. “After that incident, it’s no wonder Caroline was suddenly okay with leaving Santa toys in their boxes.”

Sloan smiled. She liked remembering good things about her mom. She had experienced twelve years of good with her mom, and Caroline Radel had lived twenty-five good years before that. Why did the end have to be all there was? Didn’t beginnings count for anything? Sloan would try hard to remember her mother by her best moments, not her worst.

And she was going to try it with her father, too. Sloan realized it would never be the same now. There was no turning back time. And she didn’t want to be a part of the family he’d made with Anna, but why couldn’t she, Ridge, and their father make a few more memories around this kitchen table? Ridge had another family. Dad did too. But for Sloan, this was it. And as they sat together sharing memories, this actually felt like enough.

By 2:00 a.m. Ridge had crashed out on the couch. “I’m not gonna be far behind,” Jay said. “I should probably hit the road.”

Sloan felt an unexplained pang in her chest. A phantom pain from all those years ago, from all those goodbyes with her father.

“Why not stay the night? You’re too tired to drive to Tyler.” Sloan looked down at the table. “Plus, given everything, it would be nice to have you here.”

He pulled out his phone. “I appreciate the offer. I’ll text Anna.”

“And what does she think of all this?” Sloan asked.

Jay rubbed his chin. “Anna’s a very compassionate, empathic woman. She wouldn’t have stuck by me if not. I’m sure she thought she’d had her share of surprises for a lifetime, but they keep coming. Ridge being alive, Caroline being,” he raked a hand over his face, “no longer alive. It’s been a complicated and emotional few days.” He put his hand on top of Sloan’s. “But she’s always supported me having a relationship with you. In fact, she’d like to have one as well.”

Sloan pulled her hand back. “I’m not up for that. This here,” she touched the table, “this is familiar; this is us. It’s something I think I can handle. But your house, your life with Anna, with the boys, with Felicity June, that’s not my life. I don’t want it to be my life. I’m still so angry.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. But don’t be mad at Anna or the kids; be mad at me. When I reflect on my life, all I see is this black wintery river of pain I left behind me. Some I loved kept their heads above water; some drowned in it. But everyone’s cold; everyone’s exhausted from treading water all these years.”

Sloan considered his words for a moment. “Yeah. I guess we’ve all left a lot of pain in our wake. But it’s not all we leave. It’s not all you left.”

Her father reached for her hand again, and this time, she took it. His skin felt different. It was as calloused as their relationship but still brought comfort. She’d lost Ridge, Daddy, and now Mom. It was miraculous that she’d gotten two of them back. She would try her hardest to tread through the pain to keep from losing them again.

He checked his phone. “Anna thinks it’s a good idea to stay. Says a big storm woke her up earlier. Guess it’s heading this way.”

Sloan rose from the table. “I need to make sure my bedroom window is closed, and then we should get some sleep.”

“Yeah. Should I wake Ridge up? I can sleep on the couch.”

Sloan covered her brother with a blanket. “Nah, leave him. You can sleep in Mom’s—” Sloan stopped herself. “Well, in your old room.”

Jay put his arm around Sloan as they walked, stopping at the end of the hallway. “Man, this is weird,” he said, glancing into the bedroom. “It’s hard,” he added. “Really hard.”

“It is.” Sloan looked into her own room. The window was closed, but the blinds were open. It was already raining, fat drops slapping against the glass. The image took her back to hundreds of summer nights like this, hundreds of summer storms she watched out that window, surviving each storm, surviving her life, one day, one memory, one Keith Whitley song at a time. “But we’re no strangers to the rain, are we, Dad?”

He smiled just as a flash of lightning lit up the hallway. “Damn right.”

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?”

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