Page 47 of Ride Me Reckless

She didn’t push.

Instead, she let the silence stretch, then broke it like she always did—with humor like duct tape. “Guess it’s a good thing we never bought those throw pillows off Etsy.”

It hit me sideways, that laugh. Quick and startled, right from the chest.

“Those ridiculous ones with the embroidery?”

“‘Live. Laugh. Lug Nuts,’” she quoted solemnly.

I snorted, and she beamed like she’d won something. Maybe she had.

We sat there a little longer, the sun climbing above the trees, warming the metal trailer behind us. For a second, we could almost pretend we were just two friends on a camping trip. No fire. No hospital. No decisions that felt too big for either of us.

But the weight was still there.

Just tucked beneath the laughter, lingering.

The hospital conference room was small, with beige walls and a round table that tried its best to feel warm. It didn’t succeed. Nothing in this place ever really did.

Helen was already there, seated with a slim folder open in front of her. She stood when I walked in, offering a kind smile and a hand that was both steady and soft.

“Tessa. I’m glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said, though part of me wished I could’ve.

She motioned to the chair across from her and waited until I sat before easing back down herself. The folder remained open, a quiet weight between us.

“I’ll get right to it,” Helen said gently. “Your mother’s recovering well from the smoke inhalation, but she has pneumonia. It’s mild but enough to keep her here for a few more days.”

I nodded. That much I expected.

“But there’s something else,” she continued. “We’ve run a cognitive assessment based on the symptoms you described in her chart—the confusion, the memory lapses, the repetitive stories.”

My stomach tightened. I braced myself.

“She’s showing signs of early-stage dementia. We can’t say how fast it will progress, but her doctors are confident in the diagnosis.”

I blinked. Nodded again. Tried to swallow around the ache building in my throat.

“She can’t live alone,” Helen added. “Not safely.”

I stared at the folder. “Okay. What… what are the options?”

“Well, there’s some good news,” she said, tapping the top sheet. “Your mother qualifies for a clinical trial involving a new memory drug. It’s still early in testing, but results so far are very encouraging.”

Hope flared. Thin, but real.

“She’d receive the medication, monitored here at the hospital initially, then by a certified provider wherever she’s placed. There’s no cost to you—if you’re willing to consent on her behalf, we can start as early as tomorrow.”

“Placed,” I repeated, as my head began to spin.

Helen’s eyes softened. “Tessa… she won’t be able to return to the life she had before.”

I bit my bottom lip as the room seemed to shift on its axis.

Helen grabbed my hand. “Tessa, are you feeling well? Your face just turned pale.”

I shook it off and nodded, “Yes. It’s just a lot to take in. The problem is, Mom doesn’t have a home to go back to,” I said. “The fire took it. Everything.”