Some bikers were painting my mother’s house pink after she died at 4 a.m., and I didn’t know any of them.Some bikers were painting my mother’s house pink after she died at 4 a.m., and I didn’t know any of them.

used to joke about it,” another biker chimed in, walking over with a paint roller in hand. “Said if she ever got the chance, she’d paint the whole place pink just to see what the neighbors would do.”

I couldn’t help it—I almost laughed.

That sounded like her.

Not in a loud, rebellious way, but in a quietly mischievous one. The kind of humor that sneaks continue reading …