I knew it took place because I watched my mother’s face as it cracked wide open and burst into tears. A handful of miles in, I watched a spell come over my mother. We drove down the stretch of road that runs from Pray, Montana, to the northern entrance of Yellowstone, the road that runs all the way to Boiling River. She had been gone for close to six months, but I felt like I had to buy one anyway. I bought a postcard for my grandmother, something I’d always done when I traveled. That felt like truth-but was it truth if I had to remind her of it?Īt about ten in the morning we drove out of Bozeman and made a quick stop at a small bookstore in a town called Livingston. We got some coffee and a few cans of Campbell’s tomato rice soup. In the morning, we went to the grocery store to stock up on oatmeal and eggs, apples and Babybel cheese.
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