Page 46 of Born to be Wilder

But instead of flying off like the rest of us, Alice stayed on… and on… and on…

She rode that mechanical bull with pure spite and showmanship and the force of a woman who had been told lately that her body was doing something it wasn’t supposed to, and who had apparently decided that her body would be taking instructions from nobody but her.

Her arm over her head. Her chin up. Her expression magnificent.

The entire bar went wild as they screamed for our friend, watching her manhandle that bull like I knew she’d manhandle her cancer.

When she finally came off—gracefully, on her own terms, sliding down rather than being thrown—the bar erupted. Stomping boots. Ear-piercing whistles. Cheers so loud they rattled my bones.

Alice took a single bow, then walked back to us, smoothed her hair, and said, “I’ve still got it.”

We burst into laughter, and Sylvie slid an arm around her shoulder. “I don’t think anyone has ever, nor will ever, question if you’ve still got it. That’s a given.”

“Someone call the rodeo! We’ve got ourselves a champion!” Marge clapped her on the back.

“You’re a wonder.” I threw my arms around her, and she laughed and hugged me back. As I held her, I glanced up over her shoulder, eyes lifting to the ceiling of The Rusty Spur, and I told God quickly and quietly, See? Look at her. She’s magnificent, isn’t she? I know You’re going to want her eventually, but You can’t have her just yet, okay? We’re not done with this leg of our journey.

Half an hour later, the four of us stumbled out of The Rusty Spur, smiling and laughing, the music fading behind us as the door swung shut. The late-night air was cool, but the booze inside us kept us warm.

“That,” Sylvie managed, pressing a hand to her side as she laughed, “was the best night.”

“Top three easy,” Marge agreed, her arm around my shoulder. “So glad you commanded us to dance and ride that bull, Captain! Now I’m sad your stretch is over because you crushed it!”

And then, I saw it.

Like a beacon of light shining through the darkness, calling to me.

Glowing. Bright. Right there between The Rusty Spur and a hardware store.

Like God himself was saying, Look, Doris. This is the next wish. You’re welcome.

I stopped walking.

The others went a few more steps before they realized I wasn’t with them.

“Doris?” Sylvie turned.

I stared at the glowing sign.

I had been a good girl my whole life. A rule follower. A churchgoing, casserole-bringing, rosary-clutching, do-it-the-right-way woman for over seventy years. I had never once done anything that my mother would have pressed her lips together about.

But my mother wasn’t here. And Alice had cancer. And I had just ridden a mechanical bull and gone line dancing with strangers in Mississippi, and I was the captain and I had a few hours left.

I turned to face my widows.

“What are you looking at?” Sylvie asked.

I smiled and heaved a deep breath as I pointed to it. “I’m looking at that tattoo shop. And… I want us to get tattoos.”

Only dead silence, along with three sets of big, blinking eyes, met me.

I grinned. “Come on, ladies. Night’s not over and I’m still wearing the helmet. Captain’s orders!”

I took off toward the tattoo shop, the sounds of their shocked pleas in my wake as I ran toward my next wish like a kid running through a field of daisies. But at the end of that field was a needle and ink.

Chapter Ten

My pants swished together as I hustled toward the tattoo shop, the three widows screaming behind me.