Page 62 of A River of Crows

Sloan pushed the button on the side of her watch, lighting it up. “We shouldn’t stay long. No reception, and Dylan may try to call.”

“Right.” Walt smiled. “That Dylan Lawrence seems like a nice young man.”

Sloan grinned. “It’s our first date, but I like him a lot.”

Walt nudged her shoulder. “So why the long face?”

Sloan chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Dylan and I both have so much baggage. My ex-husband said something once when we were fighting. He said he couldn’t carry both of our baggage any longer, so he had to put mine down.” Sloan shook her head. “I don’t even know what baggage Liam Bevan ever had. His life was pretty perfect. So, if someone with so little baggage couldn’t carry mine, how is Dylan going to when his hands are full of his own?”

“What bullshit.”

Sloan flinched backward. She had known Walt Dawson her entire life and this was only the second time she’d ever heard him curse. “Walt . . .” She grinned.

“Well, it’s true. Liam probably read that in some self-help book, not to carry someone else’s baggage, but in the Bible, the word is burdens, and it says we are supposed to carry each other’s.”

Sloan shook her head. “I’m so screwed up, though.”

“No, you’re not,” he said. “You’re the same screwed up as the rest of us.”

Sloan laughed. “I miss these talks.”

“Me too, baby.”

“I’m sorry for leaving like I did. I’ve never apologized. You must have been so angry at how I hurt Noah.”

Walt waved his hand dismissively. “Doreen and I weren't mad. We never really expected you and Noah to grow up and get married. People change. Lives change. Noah ended up just fine, and so did you.”

“Maybe so.” Sloan stood. “I’m going to get back down and keep looking, but if you need to wait—”

“I’m good,” Walt said, but he seemed to struggle to stand. “Let’s find your mama.”

Sloan and Walt were halfway back to the road when her phone sounded with notifications. Three missed calls, two text messages, all from Dylan. She called him back without reading the texts.

“Dylan, we’re on our way back. What’s going on?”

“She’s hurt, Sloan.” Dylan sounded winded. “But she’s gonna be okay.”

Sloan moved the phone away from her ear so Walt could listen.

“She hit her head, and there’s a lot of blood, but she’s conscious. I’m driving her to the hospital now. She’s not saying much, but she’s awake.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

Sloan ended the call, and she and Walt continued. She fell near the end, ripping a hole in her jeans, and Walt struggled to catch his breath, but they made it into his truck and the hospital in record time.

Dylan jumped up as soon as he spotted Sloan and Walt jogging through the automatic doors. “The nurses just took her back.”

“Can I go?” She turned to the front desk. “That’s my mom back there. Can I go?”

The woman behind the plexiglass stood. “Fill out this paperwork, and I’ll check.”

Sloan plopped down on one of the beat-up plastic green chairs next to Dylan and started filling out the first page. She stopped at medical history. “This will fill up at least ten pages with all her mental diagnoses,” she said, tossing the clipboard on the seat next to her. “What was she doing out there?”

“One of my students saw her balancing on the edge—said she almost slipped several times before disappearing out of view. We found her about a quarter mile away. From the shoe prints, it looked like she slipped in the mud and hit her head on a rock.” Dylan shook his head. “She was so close to the water; she could have fallen in.”

“Write this down, Sloan,” Walt said. “Write everything down like you did before.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m going to step outside and call Doreen.”

Sloan looked at Dylan. “Thanks for finding her, for bringing her here. If you need to go home, you can. It’s late.”