Page 50 of A River of Crows

“Why? That’s what the police are for. To help people in danger.”

“They can’t help us. Not with this. I have a plan.” Her mother started the car. “You don’t need to worry.”

“What about the rest of our stuff?” Sloan asked.

“I may come back and get it, but it all depends.” She sighed. “I understand this is difficult, but you are going to have to trust me.”

Sloan stared at the small, white-paneled house through her tears. Was this the last time she’d sleep in her bed? Sit on that brown, fuzzy, wood-framed sofa, and watch nightly sitcoms? The last time she’d get up and eat cereal on that well-scratched kitchen table?

“But what about Noah?” Sloan asked as the car reversed.

Caroline put her foot on the brake. “You can call him when it's safe.”

“He’ll wonder where we are. You didn’t let me talk to him at all yesterday. He’ll assume something terrible happened to us.”

“I’ve got it all handled. I couldn’t let you talk to him because you’d tell him about what happened Sunday at Leo’s. Trust me. In one hour, everything is going to make more sense. Deal?”

No deal, Sloan thought, but it didn’t matter what she said. She was a kid and had always known she didn’t get a vote. She wiped her tears on the arm of her sweatshirt. “Okay.”

Caroline reached in the back for Sloan’s blanket. “We’ll stop for gas in about an hour. Go back to sleep.”

Like that was possible. “Can we turn on the radio?”

“Sure.” Caroline lifted her foot off the brake. “You be our deejay.”

Sloan clicked on the radio just as the clock changed to 12:16. Mom looked over her shoulder to back up, but Sloan stared straight at the driveway. The driveway where Daddy taught her to ride her bike, where she and Ridge had drawn with sidewalk chalk, where she stood in her pink dress the first day of kindergarten as her mother snapped pictures.

She faintly heard George Straight’s voice coming through the speakers, “Baby’s Gotten Good at Goodbye.” The song seemed fitting, so she turned it up louder. Even though the song was sad, Sloan felt strangely comforted hearing about someone having as rotten of a day as she was.

The parking lot of the By and Buy wasn’t as empty as Sloan expected it would be at this hour. Were there this many people in the world running from something?

Sloan assumed they were getting gas and leaving, but after her mother filled up the car, she drove to the side of the gas station and parked. “We’re a little early,” she said.

“For what?”

Caroline grabbed her purse. “Are you hungry?”

“Why would I be hungry at one in the morning?”

“Fine.” Her mother pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and put on one of Daddy’s ball caps. Sloan had never seen her wear one. “I’m going to grab a coffee. Come in if you change your mind.”

Sloan locked her door and reached across the steering wheel to lock the driver’s side. If Mom was concerned for Sloan’s life, why was she acting so flippant about her safety? Why was she getting snacks? Sloan thought again of Noah. It was their last week of summer break. In about six hours, he’d probably be at her front door.

“So, when can I talk to Noah?” Sloan asked when her mom returned.

“Noah, Noah, Noah.” Caroline set her coffee in the cup holder. “You’ll talk to him soon enough, but I suspect things may look different in the light of day. Things that feel so important right now may not soon.”

Sloan rolled her eyes. Nothing that happened could make her not want to talk to Noah.

“Go to sleep, Sloan. When you wake up, everything will have changed.”

Sloan woke up, and nothing except the time had changed. The clock on the dash read 2:56, but they were still parked at the gas station.

“Mom?” She looked to her left and found the driver's seat empty except for a few cigarette butts. The window was rolled down, which explained the chill in the vehicle. Sloan reached over to her mom’s seat to crank up the window and pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her hands.

Sloan wiped the condensation off her own window and looked out toward the gas pumps. An old man finished filling up his 18-wheeler and climbed into the cab. He saw Sloan watching and smiled, tipping his hat. Sloan’s Grandpa Radel had been a truck driver. She remembered playing in his truck with Ridge when Grandpa’s route brought him to Texas. He was going to retire and be a fly fisherman, but instead, he’d had a heart attack during his last week on the job.

Sloan thought about her grandad as she watched this old trucker pull away from the diesel pump. Before he left the parking lot, he and Sloan made eye contact again. She bent her arm, raised it above her head, and pulled it down. She was too old for something so silly, but she couldn’t help herself. The old man smiled again and honked his horn. For some reason, the exchange left Sloan teary-eyed.

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