Rock'n Tapestries (18 page)

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.

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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