Rock'n Tapestries (17 page)

“And
I left you. I wasn’t there for you.”   Tears poured down his face now, in
perfect, miserable sync with my own.

“We
shouldn’t cry. It’s okay.” I patted his hand.  “It worked out for the best.”

“Your
husband?  Tage?  He knows?”

“He
knows.”

“And
he married you anyway?”

I
laughed and sniffled at the same time. “I can’t believe it myself. He loved me
enough to marry me anyway.”

Intense
pain moved across his face then, and my heart broke for him. His eyes were
sunken, haunted, full of regret.   I understood. We were trapped in this
moment.  We couldn’t go back, and neither one of us wanted to go forward.

“He’ll
be a good father to her then.” 

I
nodded. “He loves her so much already.  He can’t wait to be a father.”

He scrubbed
at his eyes with a napkin.  He was silent for several long moments, staring at
the uneaten crust of pizza on the plate in his lap.  I didn’t know what to
say.  The thought that maybe he wouldn’t have thrown his life away like this if
he’d known… Well, I just couldn’t go there and stay sane.

When
he looked up at me again, I saw the old Asher. There was strength there. 

“I
don’t want you to come and see me tomorrow.” I watched his throat pulse as he
swallowed.  “I want you to come the day after though.  And I want you to bring
your husband with you.  Will you do that for me?”

I
sighed heavily.  I didn’t know what Tage would say to this request.  “I don’t
know if…”

“Please,
Chelsea.  I don’t have much time, and there are some things I have to set right.
I know I’m asking a lot of you…and Tage…but I can’t tell you how important this
is to me. Please…”

I
wondered what he was up to. “Okay.  We’ll be here.”

“I
don’t know how I feel about this yet,” Tage said as he swung the car into the
parking lot of the hospital.  “I’ll be staring into the eyes of a man who has
seen my wife naked.  That’s gonna be awkward as hell.”

His
statement irritated me a little, but I laughed anyway.  When you’re married,
you have to choose your battles.  “All you men think alike, don’t you?”

He
laughed too.  “What do you think this is about?”

“I
don’t know.” Asher had left me a voice  message the day before, asking that we
be in his room at 1:00 p.m. sharp.  He’d sounded excited, which I thought odd.

There
was another man in Asher’s room with him when we got there—a man in a suit with
a briefcase. It didn’t take a genius to see he was a lawyer.

Asher’s
gaze fell on Tage and lingered. He was sizing him up.  My husband had been
right—this was awkward.  Then Asher stuck out his hand and smiled, scattering
the tension that had come in with us.  “You’re a big guy, aren’t you?”

Tage
rumbled with laughter as he shook Asher’s hand. “So they say.”

It
didn’t need to be done, but I introduced them to each other.  The lawyer, a
small, thin, balding man, watched us with a polite smile before interjecting
himself, “I’m Mr. Wymouth, Asher’s attorney.  He wants to discuss some things
with the two of you.”

Oh,
God. 

Asher
cleared his throat and fixed my husband with a pointed gaze. “Mr. Sorenson, will
you act as executor for me?  I am leaving the house and its contents, my bank
accounts, and other things to you and Chelsea.  It just makes sense that you
would be the executor.”

Tage
glanced at me, alarmed.  “I guess I don’t know…”

“I
think you know why I want Chelsea to have everything. She’s been a good friend
to me. There’s no reason to go into detail in front of Mr. Wymouth.  You have
only to say yes or no and sign the papers.”

 Asher
stared hard at me.  I knew what was going on now. He wanted to leave his estate
to me, so his daughter would have something from him.  I felt my breath catch
in my throat.  I hadn’t told him that Tage made me promise we would never tell
her who her biological father was.  I felt as though I were ever so slowly
being backed into a corner. 

I
glanced back up at my Swede. He looked as though he’d sucked a lemon.

I
glanced over at the lawyer. “Mr. Wymouth, can we talk to Asher privately for a
moment?”

He
nodded his head, gathered up his papers, and left the room without a word.

“Asher,
what the hell are you doing?” I asked. “You could’ve given us a warning…”

“Were
you planning to tell my daughter about me?” Asher tilted his head and gazed up
at me.

Tage
jumped in before I could speak.  “We don’t want to confuse her.  I’ve asked
Chelsea that she not be told. I don’t want to be the hard-ass in all of this,
but I’ve made very few demands…”

Asher
raised his hands into the air.  “I get you, Tage. I totally respect your
decision. I appreciate what you’ve done for Chelsea.  It’s none of my business
anyway. I just wondered.” He pulled his focus back to me.  “I want her to have
my stuff though, if that’s okay with you.  I have $250,000 in the bank, the
house, my car.  I want my daughter to have it, even if she never knows a thing
about me.  I was going to have Mr. Wymouth take care of my estate, but I’ve had
him rewrite my will, leaving everything to the two of you.  With Chelsea here
about to explode…” he gave me a lopsided grin, “…it just seems to make more
sense to have Tage act as my executor.”

I
held my breath.  I knew Tage was doing the same.  We glanced at each other.

We
didn’t need the money, but Asher wanted to do this one thing for a child he’d
never see.  I understood. I hoped Tage would.  I put several statements into my
eyes as I stared at my husband. 

After
a long, silent moment, Tage nodded his head slightly in agreement. “Okay.  I’ll
do it.”

“One
other thing,” Asher said.  “Will you at least encourage her to pursue an
interest in music?  For me?  My black Strat and three Les Paul guitars are
under my bed at the house.  Will you make sure she gets them?”

I
stared at Asher’s hands and fingers.  He’d given so much joy to so many with
his musical talent. It tore me apart to think of those hands and fingers
falling silent.  But if musical talent is a gene that can be passed on, this
child would surely be a prodigy.

Tears
filled my eyes.  “I’ll make sure she gets your guitars.”

He
nodded.  “Thank you. Have you picked out a name for her?”

“Nicole. 
We haven’t decided on a middle name yet,” I told him.

Asher
turned to address Tage.  “You’ll be her father now.  Thank you for stepping up
for both of my girls. Would you at least consider Ashley as a middle name?”

My
husband had tears running down his own cheeks now. We were all a fucking mess.

“Nicole
Ashley it is.”  Tage shook Asher’s hand and ran a hand under his nose as he
sniffled. 

“Take
good care of them, won’t you? Chelsea deserves the best.”

“She
is
the best. Neither of them will want for a thing,” Tage choked.  “I
can promise you that.”

Mr.
Wymouth was called back into the room, the appropriate papers were signed, and
that was that.

With
all of the grim decisions and paperwork out of the way, Asher seemed to decline
a little more every day.  Talking was becoming an effort for him.  On those
days, I just sat quietly beside him and held his hand.  When he was awake, we
spoke to each other with our eyes.

I
tried to stay strong, but most of the time I had a wad of emotion stuck in my
throat that would’ve morphed into a flood of tears at the slightest thing. I
did a lot of swallowing. Asher was so stoic and accepting of everything, the
least I could do was hold it together in his presence.

I
secretly hoped that he’d live long enough to see his daughter.  Even though I
was having her a few blocks away in another hospital, I fantasized about laying
her in his arms. I hoped to witness his expression when he looked down at the
tiny life we’d created so I could hold it forever in my heart.  I wanted to see
it happen so badly, but I knew he wasn’t going to make it. 

In
the meantime, Tage did what he could to finalize Asher’s affairs.   He’d pop
into the room occasionally to ask Asher a question about funeral arrangements
or have him sign a few papers. Asher was so weak now that Tage had to steady
his hand as he wrote. Heartbreaking doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Once,
after Tage left, Asher flopped his head to one side and gave me a weak smile.
“You have a good picker, Chels.  He’s a great guy. I appreciate everything. 
Not many would do this.”

I
kept my tears in check and smiled back.  “He’s the best.  I don’t deserve him.”

“Yes,
you do.”  And then Asher’s eyes fluttered closed as he dropped off to sleep.

Watching
Asher sleep stirred up a shitload of feelings. His choices made absolutely no
sense to me.  I just didn’t understand why he hadn’t fought to live.

In
order to spare me the agony of watching him die young, he’d kept me at arm’s
length by cheating on me. He ran when he started to love me too much. Why did
he think those things would hurt less than having him in my life, even if it
was only for a short time?

 
I
would’ve loved you unconditionally, you nitwit.
They were useless thoughts.
I couldn’t do anything about any of this. It made me want to scream.

 “You
idiot.
You fucking idiot
.”   I clenched my fists and dropped my gaze to
the floor.  Trying to reconcile the incongruous emotions of loss and gain was
really messing me up. I hated watching him die.  I loved that I was carrying
his baby.

I
glanced up at him. He was the color of pissed-on snow. His mouth was slightly
open, his breath came in short gasps, rattling like dice on marble with each
exhale.  That shiny, silken hair, always so much fun to run my hands through,
was now a dull, tangled mess against the pillow.  It was impossible for me to
wrap my mind around the fact that he was dying.  I reached out and gripped his
hand tightly, trying to anchor him to Earth, but I could see I was losing him.

At
some point, I must’ve dozed off too.  I roused when he squeezed my hand and
whispered, “Chelsea.  Wake up!”

 I’ve
always been a slow waker-upper. I blew out a breath, lifted my head, and looked
into his eyes.  I was a little embarrassed to see that I’d flopped onto the bed
beside him, still holding his hand.

I
sat straight up in the chair and tried to blink the drowsy away. “I’m sorry. I
fell asleep.”

“I
know. You were so cute I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

I
laughed.  “I was practically in the bed with you.  I bet your arm’s asleep.”

“No.”

 I
went to pull away, but he held my hand firmly in his and pulled me toward him.

He
pressed his lips together and glanced down at our entwined fingers.  “It was
never as many as you thought.”

“What
was?”

“The
women...when I...wasn’t faithful to you.  It was never as many as you thought.”

 I
stared at him. 
Dear God, did I talk in my sleep?  Did he read my mind?

I
wanted to tell him that the numbers didn’t matter.  One or a hundred—it still
hurt like hell.  If he would have told me that when he was well, I would’ve
thrown something at him.  As it was, I didn’t want to talk about it.

“We
are not having this conversation, Asher.”

“Yes,
we are.  I need you to listen to me.” He glanced up at me. “I loved you so
much, but I didn’t want you to have to watch me die.”

“Oh,
you fucking jerk.” I opened and closed my mouth, totally at a loss for words.
Anger was a fist in my gut. “And here I am watching you die anyway. We could’ve
been together...what a fucking waste of time...” I tried to pull my hand out of
his, but he held me in a remarkably strong grip. I leaned into him and narrowed
my eyes. “You seem to be under the assumption what you did makes some kind of
sense.  Go ahead and apply your demented Asher-logic to it, but don’t expect me
to understand.  This is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen.”

“I
know.  I regret it now.  I regret so much...” He shook his head and dropped his
gaze, but not before I saw tears glistening in his eyes.  “Can you forgive me
for everything, baby?  Please...”

I
fisted my left hand until I felt a knuckle pop. “God, I hate you right now.  I
can’t even tell you...” My throat was so tight I could barely speak.

 If
I wasn’t careful, fury would burn me to ashes.  It had taken a lot for him to
ask my forgiveness.  What kind of human being would I be if I withheld it from
him?

 “I
forgive you, you son-of-a-bitch.” Smiling slightly, I put two fingers under his
chin and tipped his head up until his eyes met mine. “And I will love you
forever right down to the very bottom of my soul.”

He gave
me a crooked smile.  “I promise we’ll get it right next time, Chelsea.”

I
was a mess the day Asher made the decision to have them unhook him from
everything.  It seemed like giving up, giving in.  I wanted him to fight, but 
I could see he was running out of steam.  He had no fight left in him.

“Don’t
cry. Please don’t cry,” he whispered.

“I’m
trying not to. I really am...but...” I sat back down in the chair as the last
nurse left, wheeling his IV pole out of the room. “Do you remember the day you pulled
me out of the freezer?  You came to the hospital to see me.  Do you remember
what you said?”

He
smiled and shook his head.  “No.”

I
held his hand. It was an unearthly yellow color, ice cold.  I ran my hands over
his long, boney fingers, trying to absorb his essence into me, trying to hold
on to something I could give to his child.  “You told me the world almost had
to spin without Chelsea Whitaker on it. You said that was wrong on so many
levels.  This feels the same way, Asher. I don’t know how I’m going to...”

“Hush!”
He ran a finger gently over my cheek.  “No one truly dies if they can live in
someone’s memories.  And you and I made some great ones, didn’t we?”

That
was it.  I lost it completely.  I dropped across the bed, buried my face in the
crook of my arm, and thoroughly went to pieces.

As I
wept for what would never be, he stroked my shoulder lightly with his right
hand.

Asher
Pratt died two days after they withdrew life support. Cocky funnyman right to
the end, he opened his eyes, smiled, and gave me a thumbs up before closing his
eyes and taking his last breath.

His
daughter, Nicole Ashley Sorenson, was born four days later on a warm Halloween
afternoon.  Call me crazy, but I swear I could feel his hand on my shoulder as
I pushed her into the world, gently comforting me.

We
postponed Asher’s funeral until I got out of the hospital.  There was no way I
wasn’t going to be there for him.  Half of Pittsburgh tried to squeeze into the
funeral home, all wanting to pay tribute to the excellent musician who had
given them so much joy.  We had the funeral directors set up a lectern with a
microphone near his casket.  Anyone who had a memory to share about him was
allowed to do so.

I
couldn’t stop grinning as I listened to the tales told by Asher’s friends and
band mates. At one point, I cut a glance at the big blond Swede standing at the
back of the room, rocking back and forth gently with a tiny infant girl pressed
to his shoulder. My heart swelled with love and gratitude.  I turned back to
gaze at the man lying in the casket, a slightly mysterious smile on his face.

 Though
all the stories I heard that day were hilarious and heart-warming, I had the
best story of all.