Page 135 of A River of Crows

“Goodbye, Mom,” Ridge echoed, emptying the bag's contents. “I hope you’re at peace.”

The wind picked up just as Ridge finished. A stream of ash flew toward the water just under a formation of crows. The flock flew above the ash as if guiding Caroline to her final resting place.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

They were both quiet for several minutes, listening to the cawing crows, rushing water, and howling wind. Ridge finally spoke. “Knowing Mom, I half expected a crow would rise from her ashes.”

“Guess Caroline Radel was no Phoenix,” Sloan said. “She had plenty of chances in her life to rise from the ashes, but she refused to let it all go.”

Ridge took her hand. “But we can rise from our family’s ashes. We are rising from them.”

Sloan considered his words as she watched the river flow. Was she actually rising? Some days it didn’t feel like it.

No matter how many dinners she had with Dad, how many Detroit Lions games they watched, the fact that he had set everything wrong with her life in motion was never far from her mind.

And as glad as she was to have Ridge in her life, she couldn’t accept his invitation for Christmas in New Mexico. She just wasn’t ready for that. She couldn’t forgive the Turners for their part in ruining her family, no matter how good their intentions had been. The mere thought of them still knotted her stomach.

A similar knot still appeared anytime Dylan’s phone beeped. Her dad was a cheater, her ex-husband was a cheater. To be expected to blindly trust Dylan felt naïve. And they were both so broken, disaster seemed imminent. Like two terrible swimmers trying to save each other from drowning.

She hadn’t looked at the People magazine article in months, but she felt the urge to now. Her mother’s obsession with Anna Hadfield and her children had begun with a birth certificate, Sloan’s with that damn article. She suspected that even after a friendly Thanksgiving, it would still cut to her core to look at that cover photo. To look at Anna, Felicity, Brad, and Kyle, and understand that despite pleasantries, she’d never really be a part of them.

But then again, six months ago, she’d never imagined returning to Mallowater, and here she was. She was back and allowing herself to reflect on her childhood and remember it all—the good and the bad.

Maybe she’d ultimately failed to protect her mother, but she’d tried. She was grieving Caroline while simultaneously trying to forgive her.

She was trying to forgive her dad too. Six months ago, she’d never believed she would ever speak to him again, but she’d just shared Thanksgiving dinner with him. Things could never be the same, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t accept a new, different relationship with him.

And as for the Turners, they loved Ridge; she loved Ridge. If she could sit at Anna Hadfield’s table, sitting at anybody’s felt possible. Another of Grandpa Radel’s sayings came to mind. With enough time, the river can cut through rock.

And she loved Dylan. The water was rising around them both right now, but they weren’t drowning. They were treading water together. Eventually, the Daughtry trial would be over, and sooner or later, Sloan’s grief would subside. Their feet would touch solid ground.

And although she couldn’t force herself into another family, she could stop obsessing over them. She could stop comparing. She could let it go. She could throw the magazine away; no, she could burn it.

Ashes. Ashes.

She pulled her shoulders back and closed her eyes. Ridge was right. She could rise from the ashes. She could. She was.