Page 48 of A River of Crows

Jay shifted in his chair. “It’s a shame what’s happened to your mother. Once I get out, I’ll help you figure something out for her.”

“I can take care of Mom,” Sloan said.

“Maybe you can, but that doesn’t mean you should. Doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility. It is possible to be loyal to a fault.” He pointed to her shirt. “That’s why you’re a Detroit Lions fan.”

Sloan looked down at her faded blue and gray t-shirt, washed so many times that you could barely see the outline of the lion. “This is old.”

“Ah. So, you’ve given up on them? Realized it’s a lost cause?”

Sloan crossed her arms over her chest. “They actually started strong last year. Were 6-2 at the halfway mark. Just had a rough end to the season.”

Jay smacked the table and pointed at Sloan. “That’s my girl. Loyal.”

“Okay, okay. But I’ve been more loyal to the Lions than Mom. I don’t want to stay here, but I hoped I could convince her to return to the treatment facility. Kinda like I’ve been hoping Ridge is alive.” Sloan rubbed her forehead. “All this hoping is out of character for me. There’s a better chance of Ridge being a crow than alive.”

“Hey, now.” Jay held up a finger. “I’d never tell you not to hope, Lo. Hope might as well be my middle name, but being too hopeful and not living in reality can get you into trouble. Just ask me and my literary namesake, Jay Gatsby.”

Sloan grinned. “That green light’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

Jay’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. “Sometimes, yeah. But occasionally, hope pays off.” He reached into the chest pocket of his orange jumpsuit and pulled out a familiar cassette. “You promised you’d be back on Friday, and we’d talk about this here Keith Whitley album.” He raised his eyebrows. “Well, it’s a Friday, and we’ve still got time.”

“Twenty years later,” Sloan said.

“Hell, that’s alright. Keith Whitley don’t go out of style.” He set the tape between them. “Now, let’s talk favorite songs on Side A.”

When Sloan returned to the car, she was met with Keith Whitley singing just where he’d left off before she went into the prison. She turned the music up. For the first time, the lyrics didn’t fill her with overwhelming sadness. She’d left the meeting cautiously optimistic about a future relationship with her father. The anger had always been a boot on Sloan’s chest, slowly suffocating her. Though she still felt it, the heaviness had lifted just enough for her to catch a breath.

Sloan needed to get home. The sun would set soon, and Caroline would return from the creek. Then it would be up to Sloan to measure her words and actions to keep from setting her mother off. Even sleep didn’t give Sloan a reprieve as it once had. It was harder to slip the pills to Caroline now that she knew about them, so neither of them was sleeping well. Every groan of her mom’s bed or creak of the bathroom door awoke Sloan. She imagined this is how it must feel to be a mother of a newborn—one who might sneak off to Crow’s Nest Creek in the dark of night.

So instead of going home, Sloan drove in the opposite direction. She’d listen to the entire tape and then turn around. She needed to sort out her thoughts after a whirlwind few days.

Sloan had driven an hour outside of Mallowater when her phone rang. Mom, she bet. Home from the creek, wondering what was for dinner. Sloan should have turned around when the tape ended, but driving with no destination in mind had been therapeutic. When Sloan picked up her phone, a much more welcome name flashed on her screen.

“Dylan.” Sloan tried to temper her voice. “Hi.”

“Hey, Sloan.” Something about the way he said her name made the hairs on the nape of her neck rise. “I just wanted to call to see how things were going. I mean, with your mom and everything.”

“Mom’s okay.” Sloan spotted a gas station and pulled into the parking lot. She wanted to focus on Dylan, not the road ahead. “Maybe okay is the wrong word, but it’s been three days and no broken flour jars in the sink.”

“Well, if it happens again, just remember not to rinse it down the drain with water.”

Sloan groaned. “Yeah. I almost made Elmer’s Glue. Thank God you were there.”

“Yeah.” Dylan’s voice softened. “I’m glad I was there.”

Sloan leaned forward onto the steering wheel. “I’d invite you back,” she said, “But well, my mother.”

“That’s why I’m calling. I mean, not your mother, but . . . sorry. Let me start over.” Dylan took in a sharp breath. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner sometime. And not to talk about Ridge. I mean, we can, but we don’t have to.”

Sloan bit down on a laugh. He was so adorably awkward. “Yeah, for sure. Tell me when and where.”

“Um, well, I noticed you ordered pasta at Applebee’s, so does that mean you like Italian food? I heard that new place, L’Ultima Cena, is good.”

“That sounds great.”

“Should I pick you up or . . . ?”

“I’ll meet you there.” Sloan was nowhere near ready to explain Dylan to her mom nor introduce them.

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