by Shari Copell
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.
We laid Asher to rest beside his mother in the Calvary Cemetery near Oakland. They set the stone I’d picked out for Asher three weeks later.
It was a fitting monument for such a big personality. Beautiful black granite, so polished it looked wet, it stood three feet tall and four feet wide.
I had a Les Paul guitar engraved on the front. I also
had an eight-inch by twelve-inch ceramic oval picture embedded into the back of the stone. It made it easier to find among all the other graves.
I chose a picture Marybeth had taken the night Asher gave me the Rock’n Tapestries T-shirt. He stood tall and lean, feet planted firmly on Tapestries’ stage, bent backward slightly as he shredded his tobacco-sunburst Les Paul with expert fingers. He was gazing out into the crowd with fire in his eyes, his mouth slightly open, as if in awe that he possessed such talent.
No one who looked upon this picture would ever doubt that this man had been a force of nature.
ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS
It’s been three years since I closed this notebook on Asher Pratt’s story. It’s amazing the things you find when you clean out a closet. I had forgotten that I’d written it all down.
As I read the words I penned so long ago, I am sitting in the dining room of Tapestries watching another force of nature. She is just a little wisp of a thing, but she also has a big personality. I can’t help smiling as I watch her. The unmistakable attitude of a rock star charges the very air around her.
Nicks is nearly four years old now with long, dark-honey hair and eyes the color of a Werther’s butterscotch candy. She is standing on Tapestries’ plywood stage wearing a black–and-white ruffled skirt and a pink T-shirt with a white kitty on it. She has one hand on her hip, the other gripping a microphone that is much too big for her tiny hand. Her way-cool pink shades are perched on her nose. She is singing along to the jukebox; her choice of song today is Love Shack.
She is going to be incredibly beautiful someday, with those sweet eyes and her already chiseled cheekbones. She is a perfect blend of Asher and me, though there are times when she looks at me and my heart stops. She is all Asher then, and I am secretly pleased.
I know I will have very little to say about it, but I am going to do my level best to make sure she never breaks anyone’s heart the way mine was—and sometimes still is. I am going to teach her to trust the truth, no matter where that truth takes her.
Tage is my soul mate, the man I was meant to be with. I love him more than life itself, but I am not ashamed to say I still love Asher. Talk about a guilt trip! I just accept it now. It’s part of who I am. I won’t apologize for loving two amazing men with all my heart.
I am five months pregnant with our second child. It’s a boy. Tage is over the moon. I told him we have to have at least five to flesh out a decent rock band. He is in complete agreement.
It’s odd, but I feel Asher sometimes. Mostly when it’s late and Tage and I are at Tapestries, cleaning up after another busy night. It usually happens when I’m alone behind the bar putting things in order.
The faint chords of a screaming guitar will filter to my ears from the stage in the other room. I’ll hear his boisterous laughter egging on an adoring crowd. I go still then and listen, treasuring the times that he comes to me that way.
It soothes my soul in a way nothing else can, because I know Asher is doing what he does best.
He’s still rock’n Tapestries.
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