Page 125 of A River of Crows

“It’s okay. You didn’t say anything. I mean, your face did, but it’s fine. Do you want to talk about the call?”

Sloan set down a potholder and put the skillet of eggs on top of it. “I want to eat with you and not think about anyone with the same last name as me.”

Dylan picked up a fork. “Works for me.”

But as much as Sloan wanted it to work for her, sitting at her childhood table, eating her childhood breakfast, all she could think about was her family.

“Hungry?” Sloan asked when her mom emerged from her bedroom.

“No thanks.” Sloan knew by the faraway stare in her mother’s eyes that she was still out of it. That meant it was going to be one of those days. Zombie days, Sloan used to call them, when Caroline roamed around in a dormant-like state.

Sloan pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “Come on. I actually cooked.”

“Okay, okay,” Caroline grumbled as she shuffled to the chair and plopped down. Sloan looked into her mom’s dull green eyes. Caroline Radel really was a zombie—a shell of her former self. And grief hadn’t caused it like Sloan had once believed; revenge had.

Sloan reheated her mother’s plate, poured two cups of orange juice, and sat at the table across from her mom. “Do you remember last night?” Sloan asked. “At Dad’s?”

Caroline shoveled in a bite of scrambled eggs. “I do.”

“I understand how Dad hurt you. He hurt us all. But you’re going to have to let it go. I have to trust that you can let it go.”

“Did you know that crows hold funerals?”

Sloan rubbed her forehead. Of course, her mom wasn’t going to talk about it. Why had she expected any different?

“Some crows will gather around the dead bird. Many more will fly to nearby trees or rooftops. Soon there’s a continuous, raucous cawing. Screaming almost.”

“Grieving?” Sloan asked.

“No. It probably has more to do with survival than mourning. That crow on the ground, it’s dead for a reason. Something got the better of it.” She paused, pinching a piece of toast between her fingers. “‘What killed that bird?’ they seem to scream. ‘And how can we avoid it?’ Crows are clever, Sloan. If one makes a mistake, you better believe the next one won’t.” Caroline pushed the chair out. “I’m going to the creek.”

Sloan stood and took her mother’s plate. “Alright, but we need to talk about this tonight.”

“I’m not going into any hospital.”

“I don’t want that either. And I don’t want you to go to jail. That’s why we need to talk. So, we can come to an understanding.”

Caroline removed her hand from the back door. “Did you know crows are about as intelligent as a seven-year-old child?”

Sloan threw her head back. “Mom, are you even listening?”

“Do you remember how smart Ridge was at seven?” Caroline smiled.

“He’s still smart. Ridge attended Cornell; he became an ornithologist, just like you. If you’d talk to him, you’d—”

“The night before we carried out the plan,” Caroline continued, “Ridge asked why we were turning on Dad when he was part of our nest. I had to explain that if a crow gets injured, sometimes other crows murder it to protect themselves. But there’s another reason crows turn on one another.” Caroline met Sloan’s eyes. “Territorial transgressions. Sometimes crows venture to a nest they don’t belong in. Just like people. Just like Jay, Ridge, even you, Sloan. Even you.”

“Well, I’m here now. I’m not going to apologize for going to college or getting married. But when you needed me, I came back. Does that count for anything?”

“Of course, it does. I’m glad you’re here, Lo. You’ve always been a good girl.”

The shock of the words nearly brought tears to Sloan’s eyes. It was probably the first affirming statement her mother had said to her since October 1988. “Thanks, Mom.”

Caroline nodded, then opened the back door. “Just remember that flying off to other nests you don’t belong in, whether that be the one on Brookhaven Drive or the one in Hobbs, New Mexico . . . well, it’s a dangerous game to play.” She smiled at Sloan and stepped outside, leaving the back door wide open. “I’ll be home by dark.”

Sloan pushed the door shut and sagged against it. Despite the sticky humidity making her shirt cling to her back, a shiver shot through her.

Sloan couldn’t fully enjoy the time with Ridge, knowing that her mom might come home any second. The back door was locked, but Sloan looked out the window often.