Page 5 of We Redeemed the Rain

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Like an intrusive thought, I couldn’t stop my knee jerk conclusion: maybe Mom finally found a good one. I could only hope. And something about Sloan’s aura…I liked him. He seemed different than the other sleazy guys my mom gravitated toward.

“Come on, boys.” Mom herded us through the screen door. “Help Sloan bring the groceries in.”

Groceries?

My heart thumped with hope. Cooper squealed and kicked up a cloud of dust on his way to the driveway. The trunk of Sloan’s Taurus popped open like a pirate’s chest. Cooperahhedas if Sloan was a magician.

Our pantry and fridge went from empty to slammed full. We played Tetris trying to get it all to fit. Inhibitions evaporated.Elationdidn’t even begin to describe what we felt. Kids in a candy store. Early Christmas. Tears stung my eyes a few times as I realized I wouldn’t have to rub pennies together and pray for miracles.

Hope dawned in my heart.

Mom was happy.

Cooper was happy.

Even I felt a little happy.

And I wanted to protect that feeling. I was the man of the house after all. Maybe we were going to be alright.

Later that night, Sloan fixedand fired upthe dilapidated charcoal grill that was becoming one with the earth in our backyard. He dug the feet out of the dry dirt, cleaned it, filled it with charcoal, and taught Coop how to flip burgers.

Before, Mama rarely ate with us. But she did that night with a smile on her face. Even made me a plate of seconds and patted me on the head—as if for one fleeting moment she was glad to be my mother. The meal was incredible. Juicy burgers made a mess on my face, and I savored every second of it.

For the first time in months, I wasfull.

Sloan suggested we play a game after dinner. So we played eight rounds of Uno. Welaughed, evenjokedtogether. I thought I’d hit my head and gone to heaven or accidentally stepped into someone else’s life. Sloan seemed like a genuinely good guy. He was into my mom, wasn’t a scumbag, respected me, and had a steady job as a framing contractor.

Mama didn’t even get drunk. They never cracked open a beer the entire time, which really threw me. I held my breath, waiting for it, but it never happened.

We basked in this bliss for four weeks. Eventually, Sloan moved in with us. When Mama joked around about marriage, he would dip her in a kiss and they’d laugh.

So little made the world so right.

I didn’t understand how one guy could make everything better. As the years have gone by, I look back on these days with mountains of guilt. I missed so many red flags. The smiles and food and fun blinded me—an intentional smoke screen for us all.

Sloan became our axis. Without him, we’d spin back to the way we were. Over time, I learned Sloan had a few…quirks…but in the best interest of the family, I ignored them. It was easier to make excuses, to blame myself as crazy or paranoid.

When I woke up at night, sure someone was in my room, I brushed it off. Just a bad dream.

When I caught Sloan staring at me, I tried to wave it off. Just being friendly.

When he confided in me and wanted to discuss “guy stuff,” I shrugged it off. Just liked to talk.

In no time at all, I dismissed every concern I had, second guessed every thought. Eleven-year-old kids weren’t in any position to question adults. Plus, Mama always called me one of the most anxious children she’d ever met, so it was probably just me being stupid.

But my body wasn’t convinced. Something deep inside me stood at attention, never letting my guard down. Waiting, watching for the shoe to drop. Wondering when the new life we were living would dash to pieces over the rocks.

It was late October. I sat on the front row of the school bus. Driver’s radio was on a news station. Hurricanes were the topic. In the moment, it felt like background noise, chatter. I didn’t listen to most of what was said, didn’t really care. I had a writing assignment due in one of my classes. As I reread my report and replaced a few verbs, I half listened to the speakers drone on and on about damages on some faraway island and tropical storms heading our way.

It was the last time I brushed off something as important as the weather forecast.

As if summoned by the meteorologists, rain plinked against the windows as the bus rolled to a stop in front of Burton Falls Middle School. The rain waxed and waned through the day. But by the time I ran from the bus to the front door of our home, it was pouring, wind gusting. My doused t-shirt clung to my sides. The screen door slammed behind me. In our cool living room, my eyes adjusted to the low light. I kicked my shoes off and lobbed my backpack onto the couch.

I went straight to the kitchen to grab a snack—a novelty that still hadn’t worn off. I grabbed a Coke and slammed the fridge closed, nearly crapping my pants when I saw Sloan leaning against the door frame, nursing a beer against his chest.

He laughed when I startled.

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