Family
"No, Layne," Mom said in a tight voice. Her eyes met mine again. "Not the bull riding. You know how I feel about that."
I knew all right. We'd been through this scene so many times it was like living in an instant replay. But this time I fought back. "Yeah, and you know how I feel about it too."
"I don't care how you feel," Mom shot back. "All I know is that I watched a bull kill my husband and there's no way I'll risk watching one kill my son."
In the photograph, Aunt Donna is very, very pregnant. My mother is not. I look up at my mom and she is crying—silently, with her hand over her mouth. I just make it to the bathroom before I lose my breakfast, my lunch and my mind.