Page 23 of A River of Crows

“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.

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