Page 25 of A River of Crows

Next to their posed picture was a separate snapshot of Sloan’s father from inside the prison. He’d aged so much. Maybe the time in prison was responsible, or possibly grief over what he’d done. But it was easy to appear remorseful for a photo op. The sadness on his face didn’t quite reach those sparkly blue eyes. Those lying blue eyes.

The caption was underneath the photo of the somber-faced family and the snapshot of her bright-eyed father. The one that still hurt her to read all these years later.

Jay Hadfield’s Family Speaks Out

Chapter 10

Mallowater, TX, 1989

The trial began in April. Sloan wasn’t allowed to attend, so all her news came from Noah. And the latest news was that Mom sat on the prosecution's side. Sloan wanted to ask why, but it was impossible to even talk to her mom nowadays without it turning into a fight. Maybe Mom’s seating choice had to do with who sat on Daddy’s side of the courtroom. “His legal wife,” Walt had once called her. The term, the thought of it all, made Sloan’s stomach hurt.

There had to be an explanation. Maybe Daddy had once married this other woman, his “legal wife,” but that didn’t mean they were a family.

Sure, her father worked a lot. That’s because he was a charismatic salesman. He had clients all over Texas. He often lived out of suitcases in hotel rooms, but this was his home.

But then Sloan thought about the special days, the Thanksgivings, the Christmases. Daddy never spent the full day at home. He was often absent in the morning, coming in from a late-night meeting somewhere across the state. Or, if he was there when they woke up, he always had to leave before dinner to drive somewhere for an early morning meeting the next day. Sloan’s family waited on him to open gifts or moved up dinner so he could carve the turkey. Sloan hadn’t considered it before, but were late-night business meetings on Christmas Eve normal?

She needed to see her father and question him, but she’d given up asking to visit him after Christmas. Her mother was a grenade, and asking that question would pull the pin.

But today, the need for answers and the need to talk to her father felt like its own grenade inside her belly, waiting to explode.

“Mom?” Though Sloan had worked up her courage all week, the word came out as a whisper. “Mom!” She repeated louder.

“Yes,” Caroline answered, but she didn’t stop washing the dishes—didn’t even turn her head toward Sloan.

Sloan bit her lip. “I’d like to visit Daddy.”

Mom froze at the sink, body stiff.

For at least a minute, neither spoke, neither moved. The scalding water hissed as it filled the sink. Finally, Mom turned it off. “What was that?”

“I said I want to see Daddy.”

Mom pressed her hands against the counter. “Why would you want to see him after what he’s done?”

“That’s why I want to see him. I want an explanation.”

“What’s there to explain?” Soapy water flung off Mom’s rubber gloves as she spun around to face Sloan. “He’s got another family. A wife. One he married long before I met him.”

“Will he live with her? When he gets out of jail?”

Mom grinned. “Yes, I suppose if he gets out, he’ll have to. Of course, it’s not looking good for him.” She turned back toward the sink, picking up a bowl from the counter, still full of leftover milk from the cereal Sloan had eaten for dinner. Cereal for dinner had been a normal occurrence since November.

Sloan started to leave but caught a whiff of the overflowing trash can. It was Daddy’s job to take it out, or Ridge’s when their father was gone. Sloan supposed she’d be the one doing it now.

Mom kept clanging dishes around in the sink, ignoring Sloan fighting with the trash bag. “Can I get some help?”

Caroline sighed. “You’re thirteen, Sloan. You should be able to handle the trash.”

Sloan gave it another tug, and the bag came out, the trash can toppling over on Sloan’s feet. She kicked it away. “You’re right. I am thirteen,” Sloan said. “Can’t I decide for myself who I see?”

Mom’s head snapped toward Sloan. Her normally light green eyes now brighter. “No.”

“Why, Mom? I have a right—”

“You have no rights!” Mom raised Sloan’s cereal bowl from the suds and slammed it on the tile. Sloan jumped away from the shards of glass. “You’ve always suspected your Daddy hung the moon. I can’t say I’m surprised you refuse to accept the facts.”

“What facts? How would I know any facts?” Sloan screamed. “You never talk to me.”

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