Page 11

Mallowater, TX, 1989

The trial began in April. Sloan wasn’t allowed to attend, so all her news came from Noah. And the latest news was that Mom sat on the prosecution's side. Sloan wanted to ask why, but it was impossible to even talk to her mom nowadays without it turning into a fight. Maybe Mom’s seating choice had to do with who sat on Daddy’s side of the courtroom. “His legal wife,” Walt had once called her. The term, the thought of it all, made Sloan’s stomach hurt.

There had to be an explanation. Maybe Daddy had once married this other woman, his “legal wife,” but that didn’t mean they were a family.

Sure, her father worked a lot. That’s because he was a charismatic salesman. He had clients all over Texas. He often lived out of suitcases in hotel rooms, but this was his home.

But then Sloan thought about the special days, the Thanksgivings, the Christmases. Daddy never spent the full day at home. He was often absent in the morning, coming in from a late-night meeting somewhere across the state. Or, if he was there when they woke up, he always had to leave before dinner to drive somewhere for an early morning meeting the next day. Sloan’s family waited on him to open gifts or moved up dinner so he could carve the turkey. Sloan hadn’t considered it before, but were late-night business meetings on Christmas Eve normal?

She needed to see her father and question him, but she’d given up asking to visit him after Christmas. Her mother was a grenade, and asking that question would pull the pin.

But today, the need for answers and the need to talk to her father felt like its own grenade inside her belly, waiting to explode.

“Mom?” Though Sloan had worked up her courage all week, the word came out as a whisper. “Mom!” She repeated louder.

“Yes,” Caroline answered, but she didn’t stop washing the dishes—didn’t even turn her head toward Sloan.

Sloan bit her lip. “I’d like to visit Daddy.”

Mom froze at the sink, body stiff.

For at least a minute, neither spoke, neither moved. The scalding water hissed as it filled the sink. Finally, Mom turned it off. “What was that?”

“I said I want to see Daddy.”

Mom pressed her hands against the counter. “Why would you want to see him after what he’s done?”

“That’s why I want to see him. I want an explanation.”

“What’s there to explain?” Soapy water flung off Mom’s rubber gloves as she spun around to face Sloan. “He’s got another family. A wife. One he married long before I met him.”

“Will he live with her? When he gets out of jail?”

Mom grinned. “Yes, I suppose if he gets out, he’ll have to. Of course, it’s not looking good for him.” She turned back toward the sink, picking up a bowl from the counter, still full of leftover milk from the cereal Sloan had eaten for dinner. Cereal for dinner had been a normal occurrence since November.

Sloan started to leave but caught a whiff of the overflowing trash can. It was Daddy’s job to take it out, or Ridge’s when their father was gone. Sloan supposed she’d be the one doing it now.

Mom kept clanging dishes around in the sink, ignoring Sloan fighting with the trash bag. “Can I get some help?”

Caroline sighed. “You’re thirteen, Sloan. You should be able to handle the trash.”

Sloan gave it another tug, and the bag came out, the trash can toppling over on Sloan’s feet. She kicked it away. “You’re right. I am thirteen,” Sloan said. “Can’t I decide for myself who I see?”

Mom’s head snapped toward Sloan. Her normally light green eyes now brighter. “No.”

“Why, Mom? I have a right—”

“You have no rights!” Mom raised Sloan’s cereal bowl from the suds and slammed it on the tile. Sloan jumped away from the shards of glass. “You’ve always suspected your Daddy hung the moon. I can’t say I’m surprised you refuse to accept the facts.”

“What facts? How would I know any facts?” Sloan screamed. “You never talk to me.”

“The fact that he’s a liar and a murderer. Now, you listen to me,” Caroline said. “I didn’t do enough to protect your brother, but I will protect you, Sloan.”

“Protect me? But Mom—”

“Enough!” She pounded her fist on the counter. “This conversation is over and over forever. Do you understand me?”

“No.” Tears spilled out of Sloan’s eyes. “I don’t understand you at all.”

Her mom answered by picking up another dish, a white dinner plate, and slamming it onto the floor. “Get out of my face! Get out of my kitchen!”

Just a moment ago, Sloan had been so angry she would have looked for something to break too, but she’d traded the anger for fear of this stranger smashing dish after dish. It reminded Sloan of the night her mother destroyed the pantry. So, she ran into her bedroom, barricaded the door, and turned up Keith Whitley as loud as she could.

Sloan glanced around the visiting area. She’d never been inside a prison before, never expected she’d ever be in one, especially not to visit her dad.

She considered turning and running out, but she’d come too far. She’d pulled that crumpled paper out of her backpack and called her father’s friend. She’d let this stranger drive her here today, lying to her mother about an after-school art class.

Sloan wanted to remain stoic. Daddy had lied, and she wouldn’t let him off the hook for that. But when she saw him approaching, cuffed hands and legs, it took her back in time to that November day in her front yard, and she couldn’t hold back the tears.

As soon as they freed his hands, he hugged Sloan tight and kissed the side of her head. “Your hair’s lighter,” he said.

Sloan touched her head. “Yeah. I tried lemon juice, but Doreen gave me some stuff called Sun-In. It works better.”

“Well, it looks great,” he said as they took their seats. “I’ve waited so long to see you. I begged your mom and sent letters. I tried, Lo.”

“Mom’s real mad,” Sloan said. “Is it all true? Do you have a wife?”

Daddy’s shoulders curled forward, and his chest caved in. “Yes.”

“You’re not separated or anything? You lived with her too?”

“I’m so sorry. I can’t say how very sorry I am.”

Sloan pulled her shirt collar over her mouth. He was with her all those Christmas mornings while they waited for him. “Does she live in Mallowater?”

Daddy shook his head. “They live in Tyler.”

They. They. Not only a wife. Sloan hadn’t let herself consider the rest. “So, you have other kids?” Sloan leaned back, creating more space between them.

“Three. Kyle’s the oldest. You came next. Bradley was born right before Ridge, and my youngest, her name is Felicity June.”

Sloan’s head pounded. Nothing in her life made sense. Her brother was gone, but she still had siblings. She wasn’t the oldest. She had a sister— a half-sister.

Daddy stretched out his hand. “I’m sorry, Lo, but sometimes you can’t help who you love.”

Sloan wrung her hands under the table. “So, you love them both?”

“Yeah.” Daddy retracted his hand. “When I met your mother, there was electricity, Sloan. A connection.”

“So why didn’t you get a divorce?”

“It’s not that simple. Just because I had this connection with your mother didn’t mean I stopped loving my wife. She was my high school sweetheart. She stood by me through all the mood swings and nightmares.” Tears choked his voice. “She’s still standing by me. I don’t deserve her.”

Despite Sloan’s anger toward her mother, she suddenly felt protective of her. Mom wasn’t less than Daddy’s wife just because she wasn’t standing by her man.

Sloan crossed her arms. “Who do you love more?”

Daddy’s brows pulled in. “I love them both. It’s always been different, separate. Chemistry versus history. I get that it sounds awful. It is awful, but I can’t help how I feel. Someday you’ll understand that.”

Sloan hoped not.

“How is your mom?” He bit down on his lip. “Does she ever talk about me?”

Sloan stared at her shoes. “She says you’re guilty.” She raised her head to meet her father’s eyes. “Are you?”

He flinched backward as if she’d hit him. “No, baby. I mean, if I did something, I don’t remember, but I just can’t imagine doing that to your brother, no matter what kind of nightmare I was trapped in.”

Sloan couldn’t imagine it either. Or maybe she just didn’t want to. She had seen him hurt Ridge.

“Do you have plenty to eat? Are the lights still on and everything?” he asked.

“Yeah. The Turners gave mom a big check.”

Relief washed over her dad’s face. “Good, good. How’s everything else?” he asked. “How’s school and art?”

Sloan shrugged. “Fine, but I’m ready for summer. Keith Whitley has a new album coming out in August. It’s called I Wonder Do You Think of Me .”

Daddy smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

“I’ve been saving my allowance for it.” Sloan’s voice grew louder. “If I bring it here, can you listen?”

Daddy’s expression dulled.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Daddy rubbed the back of his neck. “I just hope I won’t be here come August. The trial should be over in a week.”

“Oh.” A week. Sloan hadn’t realized it was moving that quickly. “Maybe we’ll be able to listen to it at home.”

“Home,” he repeated. “Now I really like the sound of that.”

Jay Hadfield’s defense rested on Monday, May 8 th . Sloan heard it on the radio. She didn’t want to be alone, so she packed a bag and walked to the Dawson’s. Later that night, the jury reached a verdict. They only deliberated for two hours. Walt wouldn’t say whether that was good or bad.

It had once been normal to spend the night at the Dawson’s. Normal to camp out on the trampoline, but it was weird without Ridge. It was weird for a lot of reasons. Something had shifted between her and Noah. Something that made her insides wiggly when he smiled at her. Something that made Sloan feel uncomfortable taking her shower that night. Like she shouldn’t be naked inside the same house as Noah Dawson.

As Sloan sat at the Dawson’s table the next morning for breakfast, her mind was on the courtroom across town. Sloan had never been inside a courtroom, but she’d seen plenty on TV. She imagined her father on one side, next to his lawyer. His legal wife behind him, while her mother sat across the aisle behind the prosecutor. And off to the side was a jury. Twelve people who held so many futures in their hands. Futures they had dictated in less than two hours. The verdict had to be innocent, Sloan assumed. No one would decide to take away a daddy in two hours. “Not guilty,” they’d say. Daddy would be out in time to listen to Keith Whitley’s new tape with her. Sloan would mow lawns and buy concert tickets.

Sloan excused herself from the table to brush her teeth and comb her matted hair. She turned off the water when the phone rang. She stepped quietly out of the bathroom and into the hallway where Doreen stood, back turned, phone pressed against her ear.

“You’re kidding,” Doreen whispered. “I’ll talk to her, but you tell Caroline to get herself here soon.”

Guilty, Sloan realized. She had gotten it all wrong. Her dad would not see her grow up. He wouldn’t be coming home. Either those twelve people had gotten it all wrong, or her father had really killed Ridge.

A weight pressed down on her chest, robbing her of breath. The hallway was too hot. She stepped back into the bathroom and splashed her face with water, fighting the tunnel that wanted to swallow her again.

Sloan didn’t pass out this time. She fought against the darkness and made her way to the couch where Doreen held her hand and delivered the news Sloan already suspected. Then Doreen and Noah sat next to her while she sobbed. She didn’t fault them for their silence. There was nothing to say.

Of course, that didn’t stop Walt from trying when he arrived home an hour later. “He can appeal it, Sloan. This isn’t the end.”

But it was , Sloan thought. Appeals required lawyers. Lawyers cost money. Maybe Daddy’s first family was rich, but if his second family’s finances were any indication, Sloan doubted it.

Mom didn’t arrive for two hours. If she was upset about anything, she showed no sign of it on the car ride home.

“Aren’t you even a little sad?” Sloan asked.

“Yes, I’m sad,” Mom said but pulled off her sunglasses, revealing clear, dry eyes and mascara without the slightest streak. “I’m sad your brother’s gone. Sad your father lied to us all these years.”

“But you’re not even crying.”

“What good does crying do?” Mom pulled sharply into their driveway.

With the car in park, Sloan heard the faint song on the radio. Keith Whitley, she recognized. The lyrics suddenly took on a more personal meaning. She was no stranger to the rain either. Not since November, anyway.

Sloan wiped her eyes again with the handkerchief Walt had given her. “How can you be so cold?”

“I don’t expect you to understand any of this, but one day you will,” she said, echoing Sloan’s father’s words. “I need you to trust me. Soon everything is going to make—”

“Shhhh!” Sloan reached and turned the radio knob. “There’s breaking news.”

“Oh, Sloan, don’t listen to the news for a while. You don’t want to hear what they say about your father.”

“If you’re just joining us, there is sad news today in the country music world,” the deejay said. “Rising star Keith Whitley was found dead in his Goodlettsville home around noon today. We will keep you posted on this breaking—”

Mom killed the car, and the radio stopped. “Come on. Get in the house. I didn’t see any reporters, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t here.”

But Sloan couldn’t move. Had she heard right? Was her dad guilty? Was Keith Whitley dead?

“Suit yourself.” Mom climbed out of the car and slammed the door.

Once her mom entered the house, Sloan allowed herself to cry, to scream. She cried not just for her Daddy now, but for Keith. Sloan wondered if his wife and little boy felt just like she did now. Wondered how many lives in the world were simultaneously crashing down with her own.

When the car got too hot, Sloan reached to crank down the window and spotted the cameraman in the bushes beside their home. She wondered how long he’d been there. Wondered what pictures he’d taken. She didn’t care. She and Daddy would never see Keith Whitley in concert together. They’d never even lay on her floor and listen to his new album together. Keith was dead, and it felt like every dream Sloan had was gone with him.