Page 4 of A River of Crows

“Want me to take your coat?” Sloan asked.

“Sure thing.” He kicked off his shoes and walked to the radio. “Let’s dance, Caroline.”

“Dinner’s on the stove, Jay.”

Daddy turned the dial until the baritone voice of Ricky Van Shelton filled the living room. “Come on. One song.”

Mom wiped her hands on her denim shorts. “Oh, fine, but not a word if the meat’s black.”

Sloan watched her parents sway, lost in their own private world. Mom was wearing a pink tank top, and her blonde hair cascaded just past her bronzed shoulders. She was tall with long legs, just like Sloan. But unlike Sloan, the long legs suited her. She was always graceful in her movements.

Daddy leaned in and whispered something into Mom’s ear. It sounded like, “I’m sorry.” Sloan hoped this didn’t mean he had to leave again tomorrow.

Mom pulled back. “Sorry for what?”

“That we don’t have everything we dreamed of.”

“Oh, stop it, Jay Hadfield. What more could anyone want than this?”

He leaned in to kiss her, and Sloan turned away. Sometimes it was gross how affectionate they were. However, it seemed more and more parents were getting divorced, parents of her classmates, parents of the neighbors. Sloan was glad that would never happen to her mom and dad—glad they still loved each other.

Daddy sang along as they continued to dance. He had the deep voice and Texas twang of a country singer, but mom said he couldn’t carry a tune.

After the song's last notes played, Mom tried to pull away.

“Oh, come on, one more,” Daddy said. “Listen, it’s Keith Whitley.”

“Nope.” Mom laughed as she wriggled free from his arms. “Dinner’s burning.”

“And it’s almost time for our show,” Sloan said, reaching for the remote.

Daddy held up a hand. “Not yet.” He turned the radio volume up. “It’s a sin to turn off the radio in the middle of a Keith Whitley song.”

Sloan rolled her eyes and tried to look annoyed, but she couldn’t stop smiling. Tacos were cooking, Who’s the Boss was starting, and best of all, Daddy was home.

“Please, Mom. Just one chapter,” Ridge pleaded. “I won’t be able to fall asleep without it.”

Sloan sank into her pillow. Ridge and his routines. Her brother was an enigma. He was smart for a ten-year-old, gifted even, yet he still couldn’t fall asleep without a bedtime story.

“Not tonight, Ridge.” Mom switched off the lamp between their bed. “It’s after ten and a school night.”

Sloan burrowed under the covers. “Not to mention, we’re about five years too old for bedtime stories.”

“Oh,” Ridge said as if that had never occurred to him. Sloan hadn’t meant to hurt him. He’d always been so sensitive. Ridge sat up in bed. “Now that I’m learning all about birds, do you think I can ask for a parrot for Christmas?”

Mom sat on Ridge’s bed. “Pets are a big responsibility. And what makes you want a parrot?”

“They can talk.”

“Well, so can crows.”

“They can?” Ridge’s voice rose an octave higher.

“You can train them to. Crows speak better than parrots and can mimic sounds and voices uncannily.”

“Can they mimic snoring?” Sloan came out from under her pillow. She hated sharing a room with her brother. Not like she had any choice, but he could be especially annoying after ten on a school night.

Mom stood. “Very funny. But it’s late.” She kissed Ridge on the forehead and blew a kiss at Sloan. “Sleep tight.”

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