Bikers Were Painting My Dead Mother’s House Pink At 4AM And I Didn’t Know Any Of Them

Rain, snow, hundred-degree heat. We never missed. Neither did she.”

“Even when she was sick?”

Walt’s face changed. “When she got too sick to cook, we brought the food. Set it up in her kitchen. Ate with her. She’d sit at the table and tell us stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“About you, mostly.”

That hit me harder than I expected.

The sun came up while continue reading …