The Do-Over

by Julie A. Richman

  The door to Stacy’s room opened and the tech wheeled his machine out. “You can go back in now.”

  “Wow. That was quick,” I said to Stacy, sitting down by her bed again.

  “So, you were pretty funny with my doctor.” Stacy smiled at me.

  “He looks like a movie star.”

  “The nurses were telling me his mother is some big socialite here in the city.” As soon as Stacy finished her sentence, he walked into the room, followed by a nurse carrying an IV bag. “Speak of the devil.”

  “Hopefully good things,” he smiled.

  “We think you should be a movie star.”

  Dr. Hamilton laughed, “I’m a New York boy. I’d be a fish out of water on the west coast.”

  The nurse hung the bag from the IV pole and began to attach it to Stacy’s IV.

  “So, you do have fluid in both lungs and I’m adding a second antibiotic that we use for pneumonia, called Avelox.”

  “So, do I have pneumonia?” Stacy asked for clarification.

  “Yes. In both lungs.”

  “Shit,” she hissed.

  “We’re getting you started immediately on Avelox, which is a strong and targeted antibiotic. Do you need me to give you anything for pain?”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Hamilton said something to the nurse and she left the room.

  “We’re going to inject a painkiller into your IV that will help you rest comfortably. It’s going to make you drowsy. I’m doing rounds, but I’ll come back and check on you in a little while, okay.”

  The nurse re-entered with the syringe. “This is going to make you sleepy and help you rest comfortably.” She emptied the syringe into the injection port in Stacy’s IV line.

  “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

  Stacy reached out a hand and I stood up and took it. “Tara, take care of my brother.”

  “I’m not sure that he’ll let me.” She was already asleep before I finished the sentence.

  Placing her arm under the covers, I leaned over, kissing Stacy on the forehead, my heart heavy as I silently prayed that this rough and tough lady would kick pneumonia to the curb so that she could get on with her treatment.

  Once out in the hallway, I pulled out my phone. 6:15 p.m. I assumed Wes would be leaving work soon and heading directly here. Whether he wanted to hear from me or not, he was going to. With Stacy passed out from the pain killer, I could fill him in on the details of what had transpired.

  Leaving hospital now. Stacy has pneumonia in both lungs. They’ve started her on Avelox and gave her a shot of pain meds that has knocked her out. She just fell asleep.

  I didn’t expect a response to my text. Not after our conversation a few days earlier. As I reached the parking garage, I could hear my cell buzzing in my purse. Once inside my car, I dug it out.

  Thx. On my way.

  I was glad I’d be long gone by the time he arrived. The fragments of my heart were stabbing me, wounds so deep that I felt like the obliterated poppet. As much as I wanted to throw my arms around him and give him strength, I knew that anything but staying away would result in shattering what was left of my already fragile heart and ego. And I couldn’t let that happen.

  I needed to preserve. If not for me, then for my daughter.

  Stacy was sleeping during my next visit. The first change I noticed was the oxygen cannula in her nose and I hoped that was just there to help her rest easier. Taking a seat next to the bed, I quietly pulled out my phone and opened my reading app. I knew she needed her rest and I didn’t have the heart to wake her.

  After about forty-five minutes, I rifled through my purse for a piece of paper and wrote her a note telling her I’d been there, but didn’t want to disturb her sleep.

  Leaning over to gently kiss her forehead I could feel the searing heat from her body on my lips.

  Two nurses were sitting at the Nurse’s Station.

  “I just came from Ms. Bergman’s room. Her fever is spiking.”

  A small, dark-haired nurse rose from her chair. “I’ll go check on her.”

  As with my last visit, I knew the right thing to do was pass information to Wes.

  Just leaving Stacy. She’s resting comfortably but her fever is spiking. I alerted the nurses. Shouldn’t the Avelox have kicked in by now?

  His response was identical to the prior time.

  Thx. On my way.

  Chapter 21

  Chris rapped lightly on my office door before entering. Looking up from my computer screen I smiled, then saved my work file.

  “Hi,” I greeted him.

  Taking a seat, he said, “You probably already know this.”

  I searched his face, shaking my head.

  “Donna got a call from Wes Bergman’s assistant. He lost his sister this morning.”

  “Noooooo.” My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh my God. I went to see her two days ago.” The rest of what I was going to say stuck in my throat, as a hazy Chris swam before my watery eyes. Biting my lower lip not to cry, I composed myself enough to ask about arrangements.

  “Service is at a funeral home in Queens on Thursday morning. Donna has all the info. I’m going to go let the rest of the team know.” Chris got up from the chair. “If you need to get out of here.” He didn’t have to finish the sentence.

  I stared at the wall in my office for about twenty minutes, paralyzed. Unable to move from my chair. Stacy was gone. Her poor chemo-weakened immune system couldn’t stand up to pneumonia’s powerful onslaught. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Putting my head in my hands, I let the tears flow. My heart ached for the memories we would never make together. The conversations we would never have. This brash woman turned out to have a bigger heart than anyone I knew. Underneath the prickles was a loyal and caring woman, who made me laugh with her pointed barbs. After the Julien story (seems we all had our Julien stories), no wonder why she didn’t let people in. She’d been a sixteen-year old with a secret. Embarrassed. Made to feel cheap and worthless for wanting to be loved.

  I understand, Stacy. I understand. And I don’t judge you.

  Oh Stace. I am so, so sorry. I really am going to miss you so very much. Never in a million years did I ever expect our paths to cross again and I certainly never would have ever guessed that you and I would become friends. But I’m glad we did. You know you really got under my skin – and I mean that in a good way.

  I don’t know that I’m going to be able to honor your last request to me, to take care of your brother. Lord knows I would love to, so that you can rest in peace. But that is truly up to Wes. I can’t want him to want me in his life. It was a cruel twist of fate to find the two of you again after all these years, just to lose you both. I really saw us as all becoming family and I’m heartbroken that the three of us will not be growing old together. I feel like I’d been given this great gift, only to have it robbed from me.

  Bitch, I’m going to miss you!

  I’m fighting with myself now about calling or texting your brother. I want to reach out to him. Comfort him. But he made it clear that he can’t deal with me and wanted space. And I know I should respect that and just give him my condolences on Thursday. But it’s so hard not to reach out, because I want to be there for him. That is what you do for people you love. And I do, I love him. And I loved you too, you ornery bitch.

  Damn, I’m going to miss you.

  There was only one right thing to do. And I knew that. Whether he wanted it or not.

  Wes – Chris just told me. I am so, so sorry. I just can’t believe it. I’m really going to miss her a lot and I’m glad we had the opportunity to become friends. If there is anything you need, please don’t hesitate. I’m here. ~ T

  Curled up like a cat on my couch with her legs tucked under her, Laynie took another sip of her wine. “Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?”

  “Thank you, but no. I’ll be okay. There’s a whole work contingent going. So, I will just blend in with them.”

  “Have you
slept? You look like shit.”

  Rubbing my burning eyes, I shook my head. “Not very much. I’m just devastated over everything. My heart actually hurts. I wasn’t ready for the two of them to be ripped away from me.”

  “Have you heard from him at all?”

  “No. I’m sure he has his hands full with arrangements and dealing with the situation with me would be overload.” I reached for my wine glass on the coffee table.

  Laynie gave me the look that says, I call bullshit. “I’m sure he is overwhelmed and hurting. He lost the last member of his immediate family, but he owed you a phone call to let you know what happened. You were taking the woman to chemo and visiting her in the hospital.”

  “I know. You’re right. This just reaffirms that he wants me out of his life. So, I will stay out of his life. I need to get through tomorrow and the Breast Cancer event in October and that will be it. I’m sure after this round of videos, he won’t be using O’Donnell & Associates in the future. So, he will be out of my life again and I will move on. It’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me there tomorrow for moral support?” Laynie looked concerned.

  Shaking my head. “No. I’ll be okay. I’ll have Jonathan and Chris there with me.”

  “Yeah, but I know how you are.” Laynie was referring to my almost phobic fear of funerals. “This way you could take a little something to relax before you leave and I could drive.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I assured her. What I didn’t admit was that if I took something, I was fearful of having my guard down and being around Julien. If he dared to verbally accost me, I wanted to be sharp and able to defend myself.

  I made sure I didn’t leave too early. The last thing I wanted was to be there with a lot of time before the service began. My plan was to stay for the service, give my condolences to Wes and exit as quickly as was socially acceptable. I didn’t think it was appropriate for me to attend the graveside service after the funeral home or the repast that was taking place after that. Paying my respects here allowed me to properly say goodbye to Stacy without becoming a burden for Wes. I needed to grieve. But I needed to do that privately.

  The O’Donnell & Associates team was in a pew about halfway back. Sliding in, I sat next to Jonathan.

  “Hey Sweetie.” He kissed my cheek. “Have you seen Wes?”

  “No. Not yet.” I noticed the front pew was empty.

  “I think he went off with the funeral director.”

  My eyes focused on the simple wooden coffin at the front, covered in a blanket of purple irises. They were beautiful and I wondered if they were Stacy’s favorite flower. It was hard to imagine Stacy lying in that box, she had been such a force to be reckoned with. Pulling out a tissue, I started dabbing my eyes. Change your thoughts, Tara, I told myself. Think of something totally nasty that Stacy said.

  “The first time I met her, she made me cry.” I whispered to Jonathan.

  “Oh no, what did she do to you?” He looked shocked and amused.

  “She told me to stay away from her brother. She said he had a girlfriend who was an actress that looked like Sharon Stone and that he’d never leave her for me.”

  Dramatically, Jonathan’s hand flew to his mouth. “She did not.”

  Nodding my head, I laughed. “She did. She wanted me nowhere near Wes.” I looked at her coffin with a smile. “And the bitch got her way. Never in a million years would I ever have guessed that she and I would end up being friends.”

  From a side door, Wes, Julien and several other people emerged and made their way to the front pew. I could see the tightness and stress in Wes’ face, the sadness in his heart evident in lines that appeared more deeply etched than the last time I’d seen him. My heart broke yet again. I so wanted to give him comfort. And seven rows back represented a million heart miles, as I’d been relegated to the status of business associate.

  And then there was Julien, about to take a seat next to Wes. Before he sat down, he turned around, quickly surveying the pews.

  “Does he have the remnants of a black eye?” Jonathan whispered in my ear.

  “Sure does,” I snickered. What had he said about me that incited Wes to punch him in the eye. It must’ve been a doozy. Yet, there he sat at Wes’ side. And in that moment, I felt my anger spike. Fuck you both. Bros before hoes.

  We began with the 23rd Psalm. Not good. I could never make it through without mumbling and crying and today was no different. The man speaking was a Methodist minister. Stacy was not a member of his congregation, but he had grown up down the street from Stacy and Wes and known them his entire life.

  “Stacy Bergman was a difficult person to get to know. Earning her trust was not easy. She always told it like it was and if she didn’t like you, she let you know. In no uncertain terms.” He paused as the attendees laughed at the truism. “Once you earned her trust, Stacy was a loyal and giving friend. And you became a friend for life. She would have your back through thick and thin and if anyone talked trash about you, Stacy Bergman would put them in their place with one clean swipe. She was a woman you wanted on your side. Always. Deeply passionate about causes she believed in, she was tireless in her efforts. Although not a mother herself, Stacy was a generous supporter, both in the giving of her time and funding, to the Special Friends Organization, a non-profit providing respite programs for children with special needs. A talented artist herself, Stacy could be found every Saturday at Special Friends running art classes and planning art shows for the students.”

  As I sat and listened, I learned so much, realizing we had more in common that I’d ever thought.

  “But more than anything, Stacy loved her older brother, Wes.” As Wes bowed his head, I could see his shoulders heaving. “I remember from the time we were small children, Stacy followed Wes everywhere. At the local Little League games, Stacy was his biggest cheerleader, bragging, and rightly so, about her brother’s athleticism. She was devoted to her brother as he was devoted to her.”

  I was at the point where I almost couldn’t breathe, my tears were choking me so.

  “Fighting a valiant fight against Breast Cancer, Stacy was a warrior, never for a second giving up hope, and in doing so, inspiring everyone around her to be hopeful about the endless possibilities in their lives.”

  Stacy and I had just had the conversation about hope. She had told me not to give up hope on Wes, and I could feel my heart shredding and hopeless, as I stared at the back of her brother’s head. The sob that escaped from me was surprisingly loud. Everyone turned to look, including Wes, and I was glad when Jonathan pulled me to him, so that I could hide my face in his suit jacket and muffle my crying.

  Hope. That light had been snuffed out. I’d hoped Stacy would beat this. I’d hoped Wes and I could talk through everything and make amends. I’d hoped Julien wouldn’t do anything to destroy us. I’d hoped I’d finally found my happily ever after. Hope didn’t feel very much like an ally to me.

  And the only thing I now hoped was that the ceremony would soon be over and that I could leave.

  After the minister, a few friends got up to speak, but I didn’t hear a word they said. When I saw Wes rise, I reached for Jonathan’s hand and squeezed it tight. I needed strength from somewhere.

  “Thank you all for coming today to honor my sister and celebrate her life. I’m going to make this very brief. Little sisters are put on this Earth to drive their older brothers crazy and my sister was certainly exceptionally talented at that. Growing up she was like my shadow and by the time she was ten, it felt like she was my manager.” Everyone laughed. “My sister always had my back and I knew I always had her love. I can’t even begin to imagine how much I’m going to miss her and I’m just really fortunate that I had a sibling as great as Stacy.” Looking at her coffin, “I’m going to miss you, Brat. Thank you for loving me and believing in me so much.” Wes’ voice cracked. Wiping his eyes, he stepped down to where her coffin resided and bent down to kiss it before ret
urning to his seat.

  Crying so hard that I couldn’t breathe, I was afraid to look down at my chest for fear that my blouse would be shredded and stuffing would be hanging out. The searing pain made me feel as if I were the destroyed poppet. Stacy had not yet been diagnosed with pneumonia when I decimated the doll. If only I had known, I thought and then stopped myself at the lunacy of the thought pattern.

  Chris bent forward and whispered, “Are you going to the cemetery or repast?”

  Shaking my head, no, “I’m just going to relay my condolences to Wes and then go home and work from there today, if that’s okay.”

  He nodded his head.

  The ceremony ended with the playing of Stacy’s favorite song, Train’s Drops of Jupiter. Wiping my eyes again, I turned to Jonathan, “Pat Monahan wrote this song after his mother’s death. Part of it came to him in a dream. Best song he ever wrote,” I whispered.

  Announcements were made about the burial and repast as everyone stood, allowing Wes and people I assumed were his cousins and an elderly aunt to exit to the outer room. It was time for me to convey my condolences to Wes and my anxiety was peaking at just the thought of approaching him. When I reached where they were gathered, he was surrounded by people. So, I stood off to the side and waited.

  Almost pulled off my feet, Julien had grabbed hold of my upper arm and started dragging me off.

  “Get your hands off me.” I wrenched my arm free. Pointing my finger at him, “Do not touch me again,” I seethed.

  “I think you need to leave,” his voice was a low, harsh whisper.

  “I’ll leave when I’m ready.” People were milling past us, unaware of what was going on.

  “Don’t you think Wes has been through enough today without having to deal with you?”

  I laughed. “Seriously, Julien? When have you ever cared what Wes was going through or put Wes first?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” The man was looming over me imposingly.