Page 54 of A River of Crows

Dylan shook his head. “It’s where he brought me. That Halloween when I was a kid.”

Sloan’s stomach turned. “How are you still a decent human being after all you survived?”

“God.” A flicker of a smile passed Dylan’s lips. “Well, God and music. Both can save you.”

“Is that when you started playing guitar?”

“Yeah. It became an outlet for me. Music is a miracle, really. The way it heals. Even the saddest songs can bring some sort of twisted comfort. People always say music is a way to escape their pain, but for me, it’s always been a way to face the pain.”

Sloan thought of her Keith Whitley tape. “Yeah, I actually know what you mean. What kind of music do you like?”

As Dylan shared his musical favorites, Sloan glanced at her phone. Brad had responded. No luck with Eddie’s lawyer. Plan B time. You mentioned money. How much did you have in mind? I’ll help.

Sloan figured it would come to this. She fought the urge to text Brad back with an amount. She was already being rude to Dylan.

“I listened to music when Eddie had me, too,” Dylan continued. “It was a song that made me decide to get clean. The Man in The Mirror. I’d heard it before. What ’80s kid hadn’t? One morning, I needed a fix, but I couldn’t find a spoon or lighter. I caught my reflection in the dirty mirror that hung in the attic. I didn’t recognize myself.” Dylan lowered his eyes back to the tablecloth. “I remembered Dad. Remembered home. Right then, the song came on.” Dylan drummed his fingers on the table to the beat of the Michael Jackson hit. “This sounds simplified and cheesy, but the lyrics spoke to me. They kinda saved my life.”

Sloan shook her head. “Wow. That’s incredible. I’d love to hear you play sometime.” She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t guess you know any Keith Whitley?”

Dylan brought his hand to his chest in mock offense. “You don’t think I know any Keith Whitley? I love Keith Whitley. Easily my second favorite musical Keith.”

Sloan cocked her head. “Second?”

“Well, yeah, behind Keith Urban. Obviously.”

“No way. Urban is great, but Whitley is a legend.”

“Excuse me?” Dylan flashed a grin. “If you want to talk about legendary, listen to Keith Urban’s guitar solo in Stupid Boy.”

Sloan was about to suggest that he play it for her sometimes when her phone vibrated again. The vibration continued, indicating it was a phone call rather than a text. “I’m sorry.” Sloan reached into her purse to silence the call.

“What about you?” Dylan asked. “What do you do for fun?”

Sloan laughed thinly. “Well, not much these days. I used to draw, but I haven’t in forever. Now I mostly watch TV or read.”

“What’s your favorite book?” Dylan asked.

“Hmm, tough call. The Iliad maybe? I love Greek Mythology. I actually minored in it.” She swirled her straw around her water glass. “I always squeeze a unit in for my fifth graders. I was offered a job teaching it full-time at a college last year, but I enjoy this age group too much.”

“Me too,” Dylan said. “It’s a chance to really make a difference at a pivotal time in their lives.”

“I agree.” Sloan rested her forearms on the table. “I used to struggle in school. My sixth-grade teacher turned it all around for me. She really took an interest after my home life fell apart and started tutoring me after school. By the end of the year, I—”

Sloan stopped when her phone began vibrating again.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, pulling it out of her purse this time. She was about to turn it off when she saw it wasn’t Brad calling; it was Noah. Sloan rose from her seat. “I need to get this,” she said without looking to see Dylan’s reaction. She walked toward the exit and answered.

“Sloan? Where are you?” Noah sounded angry.

Her defenses rose. “On a date. Why?”

There was a brief pause before Noah spoke. “Oh. Well, I’m sorry to bother you, but I got a call about your mom. She’s out at the creek. I realize she’s there a lot, but it’s pretty dark now. She’s getting loud, walking on the water’s edge like it’s a tightrope.”

Sloan brought her hand to her forehead. “She was asleep when I left. I’m about twenty minutes away. Can you bring her home?”

“I can’t make her leave. It’s not illegal to walk close to the water.” Sloan didn’t even recognize Noah’s voice, cold as a tomb.

“I thought maybe you would go as a friend, not a cop, but obviously, that’s asking too much. I’ll handle it.”

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