Page 100 of A River of Crows

She returned to the room a few seconds later, holding a shoebox of old photos, Ridge’s beloved stuffed animal, and the Randy Travis cassette.

“Blue!” Ridge emerged from the kitchen, where he’d mixed a few more gin and tonics. “I thought I’d seen the last of him.”

Sloan plugged in her old cassette player. “Let’s hope this still works.” She placed the Randy Travis cassette in the tape deck and pressed down the slightly stuck play button. “On the Other Hand” began to play softly. “Wow,” she said, “This song certainly takes on a different meaning now.”

“Right?” Ridge sat on the floor beside her with the box of photos. “No wonder Dad loved country music. His life was a country song.”

“Aren’t all of ours?” Sloan asked.

“Well, my girlfriend broke up with me six weeks ago, so I left New York for Texas. But I drove an RV here instead of a truck, and I had a pet crow instead of a dog.”

“You stayed in New York even after college?”

“After college?” Ridge laughed. “What’s that? I’m still trudging through my Ph.D.”

“So, you don’t work?” Sloan asked.

“Writing a dissertation is work. But no, I got a research grant, and Mom and—I mean Libby and Vince—still help me out.”

Sloan tried to ignore the fact that he’d just called Libby his mom. She bumped her shoulder against Ridge’s. “I’m impressed. My little brother’s gonna be a doctor.”

“I’m studying crow families.” Ridge pulled out a picture from the box and stared. “Specifically, bonds among sibling crows and how they affect social skills and eventual survival and reproductive success.”

Sloan couldn’t stifle her giggles.

“What?” Ridge sounded offended, “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry.” She held her lips together, but a burst of laughter escaped. “Maybe that explains all my problems. If sibling relationships are as important to human success as they are to crows, no wonder I haven’t found any social or reproductive success in life.”

Ridge tried in vain to suppress a smile. “You’re terrible.”

“Nah, just a little past my alcohol limit.” She leaned over to look at the picture Ridge was holding. It was one of them opening presents in front of the fireplace. “Oh, do you remember the year we got to pick out our ornament?”

Ridge pointed a finger at her. “Rabbit in a roller skate?”

“Yes!” Sloan jumped up too quickly and felt light-headed. She lowered herself back to the floor, making a mental note to slow down on the drinks. “It’s in the attic!” She kicked the box of pictures away from her brother. “Go get the Christmas box, please.”

“Hey.” Ridge reached for the shoe box. “You go get them.”

She fanned herself. “Come on, Ridge. I’m a little tipsy. You’re going to freak out when you see this stuff. Honestly, the ornaments brought back so many good memories, it made me want to put the tree up this year. Go get them, please. I’ll tell you right where they are.”

“Oh geez.” Ridge stood. “I remember where they are. Dad and I had to bring them down every year.”

“Yay! Thanks!” Sloan ignored her own inner voice and drank the rest of her second gin and tonic as she looked at old pictures and listened to old country songs.

A few minutes later, Ridge emerged from the attic carrying the Christmas tree box.

“What are you bringing that down for?” Sloan asked. “I said the ornaments.”

Ridge began climbing the attic stairs again. “Yeah. You also said you wanted to set the tree up.”

Sloan laughed. Maybe Ridge was a little drunk, too. “I meant I wanted to put it up at Christmas.”

“I won’t be here for Christmas. Let’s put it up tonight.”

“It’s July, Ridge.”

“And? If putting up a Christmas tree will make us happy, let’s do it.”