Rock'n Tapestries (15 page)

What
was there to talk about?  My life was over.

I
didn’t know where to go first after I left the appointment with Dr. Sherwin. 
Should I go home and tell Mom and Dad? Should I even attempt to tell Tage about
the hole I’d dug for myself? Should I drive to the Liberty Bridge and throw
myself off? 

I
went back to my apartment to think.   Unfortunately, I did very little
thinking.  All I could do was huddle on my bed in that dark room and cry.

I
clearly wasn’t going to be able to work that night. I called Tapestries and,
thankfully, Willow answered the phone.  I told her I had a migraine and
wouldn’t be in that night. I thought I did a good job sounding sufficiently
headachy, but Willow had been my friend since the day we moved to Pittsburgh. 
She told me later she knew something was seriously wrong.

I
sobbed until I gagged.  I curled up in a ball and cried until my pillow was
soaked. No human being had ever been more miserable than I was that long night.

I
couldn’t tell Asher. I didn’t want to tell Tage.  My mom and dad would have to
be the first to hear the news.  Though I knew they’d be disappointed, they
loved me unconditionally.  I was pretty sure Mom would even secretly be pleased
by the thought of a grandchild.

Would
I have to quit my job at Tapestries?  I didn’t think so, but it was a good bet
that I’d have to give up my precious apartment. My brief excursion into
adulthood had ended. Yup, I’d dug a pretty good-sized hole for myself. 

Tage.
I nearly threw up every time I
thought of him.  He was going to be so angry, so hurt. I’d told him about
Asher, but I hadn’t told him we’d had sex.  He was going to dump me for sure. I
had myself talked into being okay with that.  Tage was a wonderful human
being.  He deserved so much better than me.

Your
brain can only handle so much pain and stress, you know?  After a while, I just
stopped agonizing over everything and fell into a deep sleep.

I
still don’t know how the hell he managed to get into my locked apartment. I
woke up several hours later in Tage’s brawny arms as he sat on the edge of my
bed.

“Chelsea,
are you all right?” His hand rubbing my back pulled me from sleep. 

For
a few blissful moments as I lay in his arms, I didn’t remember that my life was
circling the bottom of the toilet.  I told him I was really glad to see him. 
Then I woke up.

I
curled like a shrimp in his lap and turned on the faucet of tears again. 
“Tage.  Tage,” was all I could say.

He
held me tightly against him.   He smelled like fresh night air with a hint of
beer; his hands smelled like limes. He’d come from the bar.  I loved him so
goddamned much.

“If
you’ll stop crying long enough to tell me what’s wrong, I may be able to help
you,” he said firmly.  It only made me cry harder.  There was no helping me, no
fixing this.

“Chelsea,
please…” He tried to shift me so he could look at me, but I stiffened and
resisted. He soon dropped me back into his lap.

“You’re
breaking my heart, pretty girl.  Please don’t cry.  Whatever it is, it can’t be
that bad.”

I
shook my head and wiped my nose with the sheet.  “It’s bad. It’s really bad.”

“I
love you,” he said.  “Those three words trump anything bad.”

“Not
this.”  I managed to calm myself to the point where I was just hiccupping once
in a while.  I sat up and looked into his face. I wrote everything about him into
my memory banks.  I would never find another man like Tage Sorenson.

“You
won’t love me anymore after I tell you…” I inhaled and hiccupped.  “Tage, I’m
pregnant.”

He
jerked back; his eyes widened as they searched my swollen and tear-stained
face.  “But we didn’t…we haven’t yet…”

I
sniffed and wiped the side of my face with the back of my hand.  “It isn’t
yours.” I lifted my gaze up to his.  He deserved honesty. I wanted to be
looking right at him when I told him.  “It’s Asher Pratt’s.” 

Tage
shook as if he’d been shot.  “How?”

I
told him the whole miserable story from beginning to end. I started from the
moment I’d found Scott in my apartment with a loaded pistol, to later when I’d
had the breakdown at Asher’s house, to the next day when he took me home to my
parents’.  Then I folded up and dropped back into his lap, wholly unable to
face him.

He
went rigid for a few moments, his hand light on my shoulder.  His breathing
seemed calm. I thought that was a good sign.  Finally, he moved his hand gently
across my hair.

“Do
you love him?”

“No.”
I shook my head.  “I love you.”

“Have
you told anyone else?”

“No.”

He
blew out a breath. “Then no one needs to know the baby is not mine.  Will you
marry me, Chelsea Whitaker?  I refuse to lose you.  I don’t have a ring to give
you right now, but we can certainly remedy that tomorrow.  I love you, and I
love this baby. Will you be my wife?”

“I
didn’t even
know
you three months ago. No one is going to believe...”

He
pulled me up to face him and skewered me with those fierce warrior eyes. “I
dare anyone to question me.”

“That’s
very kind of you, but I don’t want you to do this because you feel sorry for
me. That’s no way to start a marriage.”

“I’m
not doing this because I feel sorry for you.  I love you. I want to marry you.”

 I
stared into his eyes, searching for deception, but there was none. He wasn’t
joking.  He really did love me.  The baby didn’t make one bit of difference to
him.  How could anyone be so selfless?

“I
thought for sure you were going to hate me. I’ll marry you, if you want me
now.” I think I might have started to cry again, but he pulled me into his arms
and kissed me so thoroughly that nothing else mattered.

“I
want you. I could never hate you. Ever.” He dried my tears, fussing over me
like a mother hen.  Then he removed every stitch of clothing I had on and made
such sweet, passionate love to me that I swear it took twenty-four hours for my
toes to uncurl.

Tage
stayed with me that night. We laughed, we cried, we planned, and we schemed.
And in between those times, we made love again and again.  By the time the
morning sun started to peek past my blinds, the world was a much happier place
than it had been earlier.

We
half-assed planned a wedding that night then abandoned all of it and opted for
a quick ceremony at the local Justice of the Peace.  I’ve never been one for a
whole lot of fanfare anyway.  If I never got the chance to walk down the aisle
in a white dress, I wouldn’t die.  I was just so relieved that he still loved
me I would’ve married him in a port-a-john wearing a sweatshirt. 

We
still had to inform my parents. We cleaned up, went to breakfast, then Tage
took me to the jewelry store and bought me a three-carat diamond wedding set.

“I
don’t want your mother to think I’m an asshole,” he said as he placed the
engagement ring on my finger.  “We’re going to do this the right way.”

My
mother absolutely could not contain her glee at being a grandmother.  At first,
my father scowled at Tage, but he was soon vigorously pumping his hand in
congratulations.

Neither
of them was thrilled with our JP wedding plans.

“Chelsea,
you’re my only daughter. Please...let me buy you a dress,” my mother pleaded. 
“I’ve dreamt of this all my life.”

“Planning
a full-blown wedding would take too long and cost too much.  We want it to be
simple. Please, Mom...”

Tage
turned to me.  “How about if I rent one of the Gateway Clipper fleet and we get
married on a river cruise?  Food, wine, a band, and a few close friends. 
Simple and memorable.”

My
mother sat back and grinned.  My father nodded his approval.  Tage pulled me
into his arms. “Settled.  You don’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll take care
of the details.”

And
so, on May tenth, fifty of our dearest family and friends embarked with us on a
voyage down the Monongahela River. Dressed in a white satin sheath gown and
holding a bouquet of pink roses and white cattleya orchids, I became Mrs.
Chelsea Sorenson.

We
moved into Tage’s townhouse in Oakland after the wedding. I was excited to
start our new life together, yet sad to leave my apartment behind. It had been
my first real taste of freedom and adulthood.

Tage
wasn’t done with surprises yet though.  Two months after our marriage, he came
home with a packet full of papers and a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What’s
that?” I asked.

He
laughed aloud. “You and I are now the proud owners of Tapestries.”

I
looked up at him, wide-eyed. “What?”

“Bob
Dreyfus just didn’t have the heart to continue with it.  He wanted to retire. 
He was going to put it up for sale, and I told him I wanted it.  I just need
your signature on these papers, my love, and Tapestries is ours.”

 Tage
and I worked to cultivate a very different atmosphere at Tapestries after we
bought it.  He said you could manage people through fear or through kindness,
but you had to watch your back if you opted for fear.  I loved working at
Tapestries.  I wanted everyone who worked there to love it too.  They were my
second family.

I
was roughly five months along in my pregnancy at the end of June when we bought
the bar.  My belly was getting as round as a beach ball. I thought for sure
Tage would insist I stop working, but he never said a word. I decided I’d work
until it became uncomfortable for me to be on my feet.

 The
baby moved around a lot inside me. It was a wonderful feeling. Tage never tired
of laying his head on my stomach before we went to sleep at night.   As far as
he was concerned, this baby was his.  I felt that way too. Most of the time.

There
were days that Asher crossed my mind, in a sad, shadowy sort of way.  I didn’t
really love him anymore, but he was all alone in Pittsburgh.  I carried a small
piece of him inside me.  Wouldn’t he want to know that we’d created life
together? Did he deserve to know?

Unbearable
pain would crush me whenever I thought like that. I’d clench my fists and
silently rage.  He’d made it clear he didn’t want to see me again. He hadn’t
even had the guts to say it to my face. The fucker had
phoned it in
to
our place of employment, effectively making my humiliation public.  I owed him
nothing
.

In
point of fact, I wasn’t sure I could find Asher even if I
did
want to
tell him about the baby.  He seemed to have disappeared into thin air.  The
Dirty Turtles never played another gig at Tapestries.  I would find out later
from his band mates that they’d broken up.  None of them could locate their
lead guitarist. No one ever answered the door at Asher’s house.

It
was a process, but I worked through it.  I can’t say it didn’t involve hormones
and a lot of time and tears, but I wrestled all my demons to the ground where
Asher was concerned.

Finally.

When
I was seven months along, I had my first sonogram.  Flat on my back in a little
flimsy paper gown with Tage holding my hand, we learned we were having a girl.

He’s
a big man, but Tage is just about as soft-hearted as they come.  He held my
right hand in both of his, and the tears poured down his face as he stared at
our baby on the monitor.  I had to bite my lip to keep from crying myself. 

“A
girl.  We’re having a little girl. She’ll be beautiful, like her mama.” He bent
over and smothered my face with so many kisses that the sonogram tech in the
room with us started to cry too.

We
stopped on the way home from the hospital and bought a pair of pink booties to
wrap and give to my parents at supper that night. 

My
mother plucked them out of the small box and shouted exultantly at my father,
“Ha! A girl!  I knew it!”

“Crap. 
I wanted a boy.” Crossing his arms, my father struck out his lower lip and sank
into his recliner.

 “Next
time!” I laughed, dropped into his lap, and gave him a big hug. 

My
father held me against him and whispered in my ear,  “I really wanted a girl. I
just let your mother win the bet. I love you, Chelsea Ellen.”

“I
know you did. I love you too, Daddy.”

“I’m
going to send you for another sonogram,” Dr. Sherwin said.  “I think the baby
has shifted to a head-down position, but I want to make sure. She’s a good
size, so if she’s head down now, let’s hope she stays that way.”

She
gripped my hand and pulled me up to a sitting position on the examination
table.  I was eight months pregnant and as big as a freaking whale.  I had
never been so uncomfortable in my life.

“I
can’t wait till this is over.  I can’t sleep, I can’t lie on my back;
everything I eat gives me heartburn…” I sighed and rubbed my stomach.

“It’ll
be over soon.  Big finish!” Dr. Sherwin laughed as she scribbled notes in my
chart.  “While you’re at the hospital for the sonogram, be sure to sign up for
Lamaze classes.  They do help.”

She
scheduled my sonogram for the following Tuesday.  I was now home most days,
trying to stay off my swollen feet.  Tage was working half-days too. I can’t
say I minded.  Misery loves company, and I did my share of whining.  It usually
got me a bouquet of roses, a foot massage, and a pint of Häagen-Dazs chocolate
ice cream. (Very big smile!)

It
was another one of those weird accidents of fate, really.  Though I’d be having
the baby at Magee-Women’s Hospital in Pittsburgh, Dr. Sherwin was unable to get
a timely ultrasound appointment for me there, so she scheduled me at the main
UPMC Presbyterian Hospital in Oakland.  I was okay with that—it was just a tad
closer to our townhouse.

A
cold front had moved through the night before my appointment, turning the sky
to lead and ushering in our first cold weather of the year.  I was huge by now,
and had borrowed a loose  wool cape from my mom to wear if the weather suddenly
changed.  I draped it around me and snapped it at the shoulders, smiling at
myself in the mirror.  My head looked like it was poking out of a large, black
tent.

UPMC
Presby is a huge hospital. Freezer incident notwithstanding, I hadn’t been in
it all that often.  I told Dr. Sherwin I was worried about getting lost trying
to find the ultrasound department.  She laughed and told me to follow the signs
inside the hospital.

Yeah,
right.

Before
I knew it, I’d somehow waddled out of the elevator and onto an upper floor. 
Yep, hopelessly lost.  I walked around for a few minutes before locating a
nurses’ station.

The
woman sitting behind the desk pulled her headphones off and smiled at me.  “May
I help you?”

I smiled
back and leaned against the counter.  “I think I’m lost.  I’m here for an
ultrasound.”

“Wow,
you are lost!” She laughed.  “Go out to the elevators here and go down to...”

The
halls in a hospital are cavernous and carry sound very well for some distance.
I can’t tell you why, but my ears stopped focusing on the woman I was talking
to and noticed someone—presumably a doctor—speaking rather loudly in a room two
doors down to my right.

“I’m
sorry, Asher. I wish I had better news for you. We’ll do what we can.”

“Well,
you can’t do any more than that, can you? I appreciate your honesty.”

At
the sound of that voice, I jerked my head up and stared at the nurse, my mouth
open, my eyes as big as saucers.

“Is
there someone named Asher in a room down there?” I pointed a shaking finger
down the hall, though I knew the answer.  The voice was unmistakable.

“Yes.
Asher Pratt, in room number...”

I
didn’t wait to hear.  My Asher-senses were tingling. I pushed off the counter
and ran to the room.

I
stood in the doorway of that room and blinked several times as I looked him
over. I was certain I was not seeing what my eyes thought they were seeing.

Asher
Pratt lay flat on his back, hooked up to so much machinery I could barely see
him. He had several IVs hanging from a stainless-steel pole.  Lines of sharp
green peaks blipped across a computer monitor on the other side of the bed.
Wires of various colors seemed to tether him to everything in the room except
the TV.

It
wasn’t so much the wires and tubes that flattened me. It was the way he looked.
He was the gray-green-yellow color of lunchmeat gone bad.  He’d always been
very slim, but he was skeletal now. The tendons in his neck stuck out like
corded rope as he turned to look at me. Those gorgeous brown eyes stared back,
but they were dull and lifeless.

“Asher? 
What the hell are you doing here?”

It’s
funny the things that run through your mind at a time like that.  I was acutely
aware that this was a fight-or-flight moment for me. For about four seconds, I
had a choice.  Should I turn and run without knowing why Asher was lying in a
hospital bed looking like death warmed over?  Or should I stay and find out,
risking the pain that information was sure to cause?

“Chelsea! 
Jesus...”

The
doctor—his badge said Dr. Michaels—patted Asher on the arm.  “I can’t remember
you ever having a visitor, Asher.  I’ll come back later.”

Asher
looked up at the doctor, and I swear his expression said, “Please don’t leave
me!”

That
look, more than anything else, made the decision for me. This little bastard
was going to answer some questions, like it or not.  At least he couldn’t run
from me now.

After
the doctor left, we just stared at each other.  I couldn’t think of anything
coherent to say.

I
finally swallowed and asked,  “Would you mind explaining what you’re doing in
the hospital?”

He
looked away for a moment and fidgeted with the edge of his sheet blanket.  I
saw him wince before he looked up at me again.

“I’m
dying, Chelsea.”

I
don’t remember how I got to the chair by the side of the bed.  I think he might
have been talking to me as I moved, but I couldn’t hear him over the roar in my
ears.

I
took his hand in mine, searching his face, praying  to see the lies I’d seen
there so many times before.  I could barely breathe.  He wasn’t lying.

 “No.
Fucking. Way. Asher Pratt
cannot
die.”

He
squeezed my hand tightly and gave me a weak smile.  “I’m sorry.  I wouldn’t lie
to you about something like that.”

I
was light-headed now.  I fought to get a grip on my racing heart. I’d soon be
the one hooked up to the monitors if I didn’t.

“How?
Why?”

“I’m
a type-one diabetic. I have been since I was a kid.  I never really took very
good care of myself, but Mom made sure I got my insulin.  When she died, I just
quit worrying about it.  I ate and drank whatever I wanted and only injected
myself if I remembered.”  He smiled again. Lips that had once driven me to
madness were now pale and thin.  “It finally caught up with me.  My kidneys are
failing, and my heart isn’t in such good shape either.”