Page 64 of Ride Me Reckless

The words still stung a little, but not like before. Because this time, there was a plan. A way forward. Not a goodbye—just a change.

“I emailed you a list of options,” Helen added, softer now. “Some are right here in Lovelace. A few in Billings and one near Kalispell. You don’t have to decide today, but some of them do have waiting lists.”

“I saw the list,” I replied, voice steadier than I expected. “I’ve started looking. I just…”

She reached out, her hand light on my arm. “You’re doing a great job. I know it’s a lot. But you’re not alone in this.”

For the first time in a long time, I believed that. And it made all the difference.

Inside, Mama was asleep. Her face was softer than it had been on the last few visits. The angry confusion had melted into something calmer. Peaceful, even. I moved to the chair by her bed and sat slowly, the vinyl cushion squeaking beneath me.

Her hands looked smaller these days, but there was something different in her features today—like someone had dusted off the light behind her eyes.

She stirred.

“Hey,” I said quietly. “Morning, Mama.”

Her lids fluttered open, and for a second—just one clear, soul-piercing second—she looked right at me. Not through me. Not past me.

At me.

“Tessa,” she said. Not confused. Not questioning. Just a mother saying her daughter’s name.

I blinked hard and reached for her hand.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

She smiled and glanced down at my hands. “You still bite your nails.”

I let out a half-laugh. “Yeah, well. Some habits die harder than others.”

She looked toward the window, eyes a little watery now. “My roses will be blooming soon, won’t they?” She seemed to question herself.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, unable to tell her that her beloved roses were no longer there. “They already have.” I opened the photo app on my phone and showed her a picture I had taken last year of her tending her flower garden.

“Ah, yes,” she said, touching the picture as if the flowers were real.

Her gaze flicked back to mine. “You’re going to be leaving here soon,” I whispered, brushing a piece of hair from her forehead. “And that’s good news. But I think I’ll wait to tell you more until later.”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes drifted closed again, the moment passing like fog over the sun.

Still, I held her hand and sat there until the aide came in to bathe her. Until things got brighter with the kind of light that hurts when you’ve been in your head too long.

As I stood to leave, my phone buzzed.

Callie: Hey, you busy later? Meet me at Roper’s? Feels like we could both use a drink.

I texted back:

Me: Sure. I’m starving. And you’re right. We could.

I pocketed the phone, took one last look at Mama, and told myself I had a few more days. A few more hours to make the impossible feel manageable.

And maybe figure out where I’d go from here.

I pulled onto the main road, the hospital shrinking in my rearview. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windshield, streaking gold across the dashboard as I tapped the gas, heading toward the one place that hadn’t changed much since we were kids.

Ropers sat on the edge of town like it always had—half roadhouse, half bar, all attitude. It used to be the backdrop for every wild Friday night and hungover Saturday. If the walls could talk, they’d whisper secrets about first kisses, bad decisions, and big dreams made on cheap beer and even cheaper digital jukebox tunes.