Viv took her pencil and scrawled a big “x” over the sketch that, just a moment ago, she’d considered okay.
“I agree. What a load of crap.”
She didn’t have to turn around to see who it was.
“Mr. Taggert, you’re a fashion expert now?”
“Oh, for sure, and that looks like an outfit for my grandma.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Though he wasn’t wrong, Viv didn’t particularly feel like giving this brash near stranger the satisfaction of being right about her designs.
“I’m kidding. I have no idea about fashion. I wear what they pay me to wear.”
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?”
“The porch is for all the guests; you can sit where you please.” Viv was irritated by this man, even though he seemed to be trying to make friends.
“I appreciate it.”
“So, you wear what they pay you to wear? Are you some sort of model?”
“Ha,” Tag laughed.
It was contagious, and Viv smiled, despite the fact she was half worried he was making fun of her.
“I’m sorry, it’s just in my world. We pay models to wear stuff.”
“I’m no model. I’m a racecar driver. All this is courtesy of my line of work.” He pointed to the bum leg and the cuts that were looking less angry.
“Oh, wow, sorry about that.”
“Nah, unless you were driving the number nine car at the Flamekeepers Casino 400 and got on my bumper over at Michigan International Speedway.”
“I was not.”
“In terms of fashion, if it says Red Bull on the hat or Penzoil on the jacket and they paid for the spot, I wear it.”
“Oh, okay, I see. Well, right now, I’m not really a fashion expert, either. I used to be, but pfft.” Viv made another scribble on the design.
“You’re on the mend too, I hear.”
Viv stiffened up a bit. What did this guy know about her cancer battle?
“Relax, I just accidentally overheard your friend Goldie clucking over you and your need to rest and heal and blah blah blah. You know, all the get-well crap I’ve been hearing lately, too.”
Viv did relax a little. It would be hard not to hear Goldie or Siena, or J.J., fussing over her every time they visited in the last few days. They wanted to take care of her, and she was grateful.
“I think my diagnosis has turned into my entire personality.”
“What now?” He leaned his right side to her.
“Oh, uh, my cancer has turned into my entire personality.” She changed the diagnosis to cancer on purpose. She may as well answer the question since Taggert seemed willing to ask her whatever came to mind.
“Oh, I get ya. If I have to hear one more thing about taking it easy, I’m going to blow a gasket.”
