Page 77 of A River of Crows

Standing in the pantry now, Caroline felt pathetic. Pathetic that she’d spent so much time and energy here. Pathetic that she’d forgotten who she was and what she liked to the point of asking for a goddamn label maker for Christmas. Pathetic that she’d ever believed that these stupid Tupperware containers made her a good mother. Pathetic that she’d always longed for Jay to acknowledge how much easier she made his life by shouldering this fundamental need of nourishing him and his children. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

She swung her arm against the shelf, knocking over rows of canned goods. It felt good, watching them topple like dominoes. Standing on her tiptoes, she shook the shelf above, knocking over the canisters of flour and sugar. But their labeled containers did what they were designed to do, kept their contents contained and prevented a mess. But Caroline wanted to make a mess. She stood on the step stool to reach the sugar, then pushed open the spout on the lid and sprinkled it all over the floor, like snow. She started laughing, and it somehow improved her mood. Like she was releasing some of the chaos inside of her. She grabbed the flour container next. This time, she took the entire lid off and slung the container back and forth until it was empty. It still wasn’t enough.

She broke jars, tore open boxes, and stomped on chip bags. The noise she was making never occurred to her until she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned and saw Sloan standing wide-eyed in her pajamas, watching her mother lose her mind.

“Sorry I woke you, Sloan.” Shame instantly replaced the strange and manic joy Caroline had just experienced.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Sloan’s voice shook.

Caroline bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m just missing my daddy.” She wiped her flour-coated hands on her jeans and put her arm around her daughter. “Come on, let’s get you back in bed.”

Chapter 23

Mallowater, TX, 2008

Sloan smelled mold and damp wood as she climbed the ladder into the attic. “Need a push?” Dylan asked from below.

“I’ve got it.” Sloan pulled herself up into the dark, dank room. Dylan followed closely behind. Sloan used her shirt to cover her nose. “Ugh. Sorry it stinks.”

“No worries,” Dylan said, but even in the dark room, Sloan saw a green tint to his face.

She took a few more steps before finding the string to the light. She pulled it, and the bare bulb flickered on.

Sloan glanced around the room. Spider webs drifted off exposed wooden beams and straddled an old rocking chair in the corner. The floorboards were dusty and littered with dead moths and mouse scat. Stacks of mildew-stained cardboard boxes lined the walls. Some were labeled in her mother’s handwriting and others in an unfamiliar script. Probably Doreen’s, Sloan realized, since she and Walt had been the ones to prepare the house to be rented when Sloan left for college.

“Mind if I let in some fresh air?” Dylan kicked a box out of the way that blocked a small window. He pulled to open the window but struggled. Struggled with the latch. Struggled with his breathing.

“Here, I got it.” Sloan unlatched the window, disturbing a layer of grime and dead flies on the sill. She pushed it open, and Dylan brought his head closer, taking in a deep breath. Sloan rubbed his back. “Are you claustrophobic?”

“A little.” Dylan backed away from the window as his breathing resumed normal patterns. “Sorry.”

“I can handle this. Why don’t you keep Mom company?”

“No, it’s fine with the window open.” He turned toward a pile of boxes. “Any idea where to start?”

“None,” Sloan said. “Some boxes are labeled, but it looks like most aren’t. We’re looking for pictures and albums. Oh, and a stuffed bluebird, if you can find it.”

“Pictures, bird. Got it.”

“Or if you find a stash of money somebody hid up here, that would be great too.” Sloan unfolded a step stool to reach a high box. Dust showered down on her and produced a coughing fit.

The box Sloan found was full of Christmas decorations. It wouldn’t contain what she was looking for, but she couldn’t resist. She tugged out a container of red, green, and gold-colored satin balls. Sloan held one in her palm and scratched her thumbnail against it, remembering doing the same as a child when they hung on the tree.

She continued digging into the box, pulling out strands of thick silver foil tinsel and glass bulbs shaped like tops.

Sloan took her time unpacking napkin-wrapped ornaments commemorating special memories. An engraved brass pair of bells reading Jay and Caroline’s first Christmas 1975, a baby’s first Christmas silver spoon from 1978, a gingerbread man missing one leg that still miraculously smelled the way their kitchen had the day she and Mom made him.

“Oh my gosh!” An excited flutter filled Sloan’s stomach as she pulled out a small Hallmark box.

“What? Did you find something?” Dylan stepped behind her.

“This was my favorite ornament!” She pulled out the appaloosa rocking horse for Dylan to see. “Mom took us to the mall to pick out our own ornaments this year. I got the horse, and Ridge got this little rabbit inside a roller skate. I’ve got to find it and show him.”

“No luck for me yet,” Dylan said. “So far, just clothes.”

“At some point, I’ve got to clean this place out. Sell some of it, toss more of it. But this box stays. If I’m here for Christmas, I’d like to put up our tree again.”

“You should,” Dylan said.

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