The Do-Over(39)

“That’s fine,” his tone denoted anything but fine. “Just make sure everything is out by the time I get home today. And I mean everything, Keiko. Garbage comes tomorrow.”

Holy shit.

“Well, clearly that is too much of an imposition on you and Lord knows, I would hate to impose.” I hoped never to hear him use that tone on me.

He sat listening for a moment and then finally said, “Are you done? Because I am.” And clicked off his phone.

This was like watching a train wreck and I just wished I was a few car lengths back instead of getting a front row view of the carnage.

Leaning back in his seat, Wes shook his head and smiled. “She was supposed to drive Stacy to chemo today and hang out and wait for her while I was at this meeting with our fabric supplier. She felt that it was too much of an imposition and more than she’d signed on for in our relationship.”

Giving his hand another squeeze, I weighed in. “Well, she just showed you all you needed to know about her.” Probably not smart to trash his girlfriend, but I didn’t care.

“She sure did.” Looking over at me, he smiled. “It’s strange, but I feel nothing. I just want her to go.”

“She doesn’t deserve more than that.”

Wes squeezed my hand. “You speak truth, woman.”

And we both laughed.

“Crap, I need to call Julien and let him know I won’t be meeting him.”

“Hey, hold on a second,” I interrupted him. “How about if you keep your meeting and I take Stacy to chemo.” I didn’t know I was going to offer until the words were out of my mouth. “I definitely owe you one.”

“Tara, you owe me nothing. Taking Scarlett to the dance was my pleasure.”

I had to laugh. “Well, I don’t know that taking Stacy to chemo will be a pleasure, but I’m more than happy to help you out here.”

His eyes crinkled as that smile took over his face. “She’s going to shit when she sees it’s you.”

Swinging his hand, I laughed. “I can’t imagine it will make her wish she’d been nicer to me. Don’t tell her, I can’t wait to see her face when I show up.”

“Tara, I owe you.”

“There’s no debt between friends. Just don’t hesitate to ask when you need me, okay.”

This was a small price to pay for the friendship and stability he had selflessly been providing to my daughter.



I let Chris know I was leaving the office and made a few stops for supplies before heading home to pick up my car and go get Stacy. Pulling up in front of a 1940’s red brick house, I wondered if this was where Stacy and Wes grew up.

Climbing the three steps to the front door, I could not suppress my smile. I rang the bell and waited. Oh, this was going to be good.

The shock in Stacy’s eyes when she flung open the door made my day. Expect the unexpected.

“Not Keiko,” I exclaimed with false cheer.

“Fuck. You keep turning up like a bad penny. Didn’t I get rid of you like fifteen years ago? So, where the hell is that bitch, Keiko?” I had officially been greeted by Stacy Bergman.

“Bitch be gone.”

“Gone? Like she’s meeting one of her twelve-year old looking friends for lunch or gone, like you should be?”

I laughed. “Shit, Stacy. It’s good to see some things never change. Hey, you are damn lucky your brother is in the garment industry, so he can get you free scraps of fabric for your head.” I motioned to her scarf covered head. I guess I had been expecting her long thick dark brown hair and the paisley head covering was the harsh reality simmering beneath our banter, one that caused a jagged ache. Both for Stacy and Wes.

“Fuck you, Tara. So, where the hell is Keiko?”

“Gone. And Wes had a meeting out by the airport, so you’re stuck with me today.”

“Ugh,” said Stacy, grabbing her purse. “And I thought cancer was bad.” She blew by me on the front steps, heading for my car. “Come on already, we’re going to be late,” she barked at me.

How the hell did she get such a terrific brother, I wondered?



Much to Stacy’s chagrin, there were empty lounge chairs in the infusion room and a very sweet nurse who invited me to come in. I sat silently as they readied her port and the nurse asked questions.

“So, how did you feel after the last infusion?”

“Tired. More tired than I’ve felt with previous infusions,” Stacy shared her side effects.

“I’m not surprised. As you know from your last round, it tends to be cumulative. How severe has the nausea been?”

“Days two and three are my worst.”

“Do you need anything for it?”

“No, I think I’m still pretty good with my Compazine.”

“Are you eating?”

“I try.”

“Drinking plenty of water?”

“Yes.” Stacy rolled her eyes at the nurse.

“Just looking out for your well-being. Any mouth sores?”

“No.”

Listening to the litany of questions, I was sad for Stacy, that this was her reality.

“How often do you come?” I asked.

“Every three weeks. But I only have a few more to go.”