by Shari Copell
Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Spence didn’t know how right he was. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”
The door closed behind them. Nicks stopped Stone with a firm hand halfway down the sloping concrete driveway.
“Did you hear what went down in there? Did all of that register?” she asked him.
He seemed baffled. “I heard what he said...but...was I supposed to hear something else? Something profound you heard that I didn’t?”
Bless him, he was clueless. “Did you see the regret in that man’s eyes? He wishes he’d done things differently. Asher drove my mother away by making the same mistakes. We can learn from that, and not repeat them. We have a choice.”
“Some of the best lessons I’ve ever learned came from my biggest mistakes. Things that hurt stick with you. I wouldn’t give my failures and mistakes back for ten white 1989 Les Paul guitars. Am I missing your message here?”
She walked to the passenger’s side of the car and regarded him across the roof. “I’ll be blunt, Einstein. If you ever cheat on me, you won’t even hear the door close behind me when I leave you. I’ll just be gone. No fighting, no tears. No zingers fired at you in front of others. Not even a trail of dust. Gone. Did you understand that message?”
“Got it. Perfectly clear. No cheating.” Grinning, Stone got in the Camaro.
Nicks closed the Rock’n Tapestries notebook and splayed her hand over the front cover, hoping she could absorb her mother’s memories into her and watch them as she’d watched Gio’s videos. No such luck.
It’d seemed like a good idea to give it another read, so she could ask the hard questions. But once again, she felt flattened by the pain within the covers of her mother’s journal.
Stone had begged her to come back to his apartment for a nap. Maybe she should have gone with him so she could’ve reread the notebook in the appropriately rested frame of mind. Instead, she’d told him no and asked him to take her home. She needed some quiet time to process everything that had happened over the past two days.
The weekend had certainly been a roller coaster ride of emotion. She’d had fun playing with Heavy Remedy then nearly been killed by a psycho. She’d been totally entertained by that knucklehead Stone then surrendered her virginity to said knucklehead in the most amazing way. She’d heard a ghost call out her name in the middle of the night because he had a story for her to read, and lost her identity only to discover another that literally rocked.
The thing that’d made the biggest impression on her was her conversation with Spence. While everyone else spoke of Asher with hushed reverence, Spence had known him well enough to take him down off the pedestal. And that was what she’d wanted. Not the rock guitarist without peer. Not the gorgeous ladies’ man who made women faint simply by smiling at them. She just wanted the man. The real one.
She felt as though she had a handle on Asher now. He’d been funny and flawed. Damaged and determined. An asshole and an ace. In love with her mother yet incapable of being faithful. The one question that hadn’t been answered is why he chose death over life. Maybe she’d never know.
Yawning, she reached beside her and turned the lamp up a notch. Six-thirty and already dark outside. Her parents would be home in an hour or so. What would she say to them? What questions should she ask? Would she get truthful answers?
The situation made her stomach coil into a knot. If I knew where this notebook came from, I’d put the damned thing back and forget it.
“Nicks!”
She nearly jumped a foot off the couch when she heard her name called again. It sounded strange and muffled, as though someone were shouting through ice, but there was no mistaking the voice. She’d spent several hours at Gio’s listening to it.
“Asher?” She felt like an idiot talking out loud, but no one else was home to hear her. “I know who you are now. I’ve had the best day discovering you. It doesn’t make up for you not being here, of course, but I’m so proud—”
“Careful!”
The hair rose on her arms and the back of her neck. She could sense him in the room with her, and that was something completely new.
“Careful of what?” she asked.
“Watch!” came the reply. “Be careful!” Asher’s tone was urgent, full of fear. The words seemed forced, like his teeth were tightly clamped together, as though talking were an effort for him. Well, it must be an effort for the dead to make themselves heard by the living, right? She couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t more freaked out by all of this.
“I don’t understand. Watch what? Be careful of what?”
The lamp on the end table buzzed, flickered, and nearly went out. There was a pressure in the room that made her ears pop. The temperature dropped so quickly and grew so cold she could see her breath. Frightened, she rose from the sofa. “Asher? What’s going on?”
The room suddenly warmed. The lamp stopped buzzing and brightened. There was no reply from Asher. He was gone.
She stood for a moment, listening, but all she could hear was her own breathing. Prickles of fear slid down her back. This visitation had not been pleasant. This one had an edge of panic to it. Danger. She had the sense he’d struggled with something.
Nicks ran through the house, turning on every light she could find.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed tonight,” said Chelsea, as Tage navigated the Avalanche the last few miles home to Oakland. “My back is killing me. I feel like I’ve been slammed to the mat by a sumo wrestler.”
The hotel accommodations had been less-than-stellar, but the wine-tasting trip had been a huge success. Tage was like a kid in a candy store. The back of the truck was full of cases of new wines to offer at Tapestries.
“I know,” Tage growled. “Damned hotel mattresses.”
“Do you want to drop everything off first then go get the kids?”
“I think we have to. They all took suitcases, and we couldn’t fit anything else in the back of the truck if we wanted to. It makes no sense to unload the wine here. We’ll have to use your car to get them.”
“Can I take a few bottles of the Napa Cabernet to my mother? She does love a good Cabernet.”
“You can give her the whole damned case for watching the kids if you want to.”
A cold, light rain had started to fall, blurring the strip malls and traffic lights as they sped by. Fall had been warm and beautiful up until now, but things were starting to change. It was the middle of October; it got dark earlier every night. She always felt like a vampire this time of year. Owning a bar made you a creature of the night anyway. It would only get worse once they turned the clocks back the Saturday after Nicks’s Halloween birthday.
“What the hell...?” Tage exclaimed as he made the final turn onto their street.
Chelsea dipped her head and peered out the windshield. Their whole house was ablaze with lights. Upstairs, downstairs. Even the outside porch lights and floodlight were on.
“Is Nicks having a party?”
“She better not be having one on a Sunday night,” Tage said. “I don’t think so though. I don’t see any other cars.”
Nicks’s Chevy Cobalt sat in the turnaround of the driveway. Chelsea looked for Stone’s Camaro. It was nowhere to be seen.
“I should make her pay the electric bill out of her Friday band money,” Tage grumbled. “I bet the meter is about to explode off the house.”
He hit the button for the garage door and eased the truck into the stall. Chelsea sighed. She knew Tage was tired, and tired sometimes meant grumpy with him. They’d had such a wonderful time on this trip. She didn’t want things to go sour now that they were home.
“Don’t get your undies in a bunch, Mr. Sorenson. I’m sure there’s a reason for it.”
“Would you mind explaining why every light in this house is on?” asked Tage.
Chelsea thought the least he could’ve done was wait until they’d brought all their things in from the truck before he
jumped all over the poor girl.
Nicks stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her gaze drifting between her parents. Chelsea knew immediately something was wrong. “Nicks? What happened?”
“I heard...I heard a noise. It scared me.”
Chelsea suppressed a shudder. There was a message in her daughter’s words, meant only for her.
“What kind of noise would’ve scared you that much that you’d turn on all these lights?” Tage slid his briefcase across the island.
Nicks shifted her eyes to her mother again. “I heard voices.”
“Probably one of T.J.’s electronic dragons or something. The batteries start going bad and they make all kinds of noise,” Tage muttered. “Or someone was walking down the street. This is a quiet neighborhood. Nothing bad ever happens here.”
Nicks visibly relaxed. “You’re right. I was just spooked about being alone, that’s all. Let me help you two get your things in. Then I want to talk to both of you, if you don’t mind.”
“What? Stone ask you to marry him already?” Tage asked.
Nicks gave a short laugh. “Daddy! No. I need to talk to both of you together, before anyone else comes home. I have...questions.”
Chelsea felt as though someone had snapped her spine in half. She instinctively knew this was not going to be good.
It was one of those moments where shock drains away every thought you have. One of those moments where you see, but don’t comprehend.
Chelsea and Tage sat side-by-side on the sofa in the family room. Nicks stood in the middle of the room in front of them...
...with the green Rock’n Tapestries notebook Chelsea had written in her hands.
The silence was deafening. She could only stare at her daughter, into those brown eyes so like Asher’s. She saw questions, a little bit of pain, but no condemnation. That was good.
No, the condemnation came from the man sitting beside her. “You and that goddamned, fucking notebook. I thought I asked you to throw it away?”
How could Chelsea tell him those memories meant everything to her? That every single word she’d written in that notebook had stolen a piece of her soul? Typical man, he’d see it as an either/or situation. He’d view her defiance in keeping it all these years as a sign her memories of Asher were more important than the memories she’d made with him. And that wasn’t the case at all. She loved Tage, loved him so much it hurt sometimes. But...
No words would fix the pain she saw on his face. He just wouldn’t understand. She reached out to take his hand, but he snatched it from her and rose from the couch.
“Well, thank God I didn’t unpack, right?” He stormed to the bottom of the steps and glared at the two of them. “I’ll be at Tapestries if you need me. On the couch.”
“Daddy, don’t. Please don’t leave!” Nicks clutched the notebook to her chest. “I just want to know what happened!”
“Your mother swore she’d never tell you. And then she goes and gives you the notebook when we were away. What a goddamned sucker punch to the back of the head.” Tage looked at Chelsea, his lips thinned into a grim smile. “Why did you wait so long? If you hated me that much, why didn’t you do it years ago when I could’ve moved on with my life? Now...” He choked up and glowered at them. “Well, I hope you’ll be happy with your dead lover. And I hope Asher is the father you’ve always wanted.” And then he was gone up the stairs.
“But Mom didn’t give me the notebook. It was...I found it in my room...” Nicks stopped and turned to her mother with a blank expression.
Of course. Chelsea pressed back into the sofa. Asher. That was why Nicks had looked so frightened when they came home. Asher...that asshole...was doing things. Things he shouldn’t have been capable of doing because he was dead. Like leaving the notebook where their daughter could find it. And talking out loud in the house that she and Tage shared.
Chelsea fisted her hands in her lap. Stay out of my life, Pratt! Tage knew nothing about the strange occurrences of late. Telling him would make her sound like a lunatic.
How long had Nicks had the notebook? She’d obviously read it. Tage was as angry and hurt as she’d ever see him, but the best choice seemed to be to let him go. With her husband gone, she could be honest with her daughter. After a lifetime of lies, she owed her that much.
Tage stormed down the stairs, hit the landing, then headed for the door to the garage like a runaway freight train, his arms full of the luggage they’d brought in from the truck.
“Daddy,” Nicks tried one more time, “Please. I love you!”
“Let him go, Nicks. I’ll talk to him later, after he calms down,” Chelsea whispered. Tage slammed the door so hard the windows rattled. “It will be best if it’s just you and me anyway.”
Chelsea was relieved when her father picked up the phone. Her mother would’ve had a million questions about why she couldn’t pick T.J. and Aimee up just yet.
“Hey, Dad. What’re you and Mom doing right now?”
“T.J. and I are putting a puzzle together, and I think Aimee and your mom are making cookies. At least I hope that’s what they’re doing. This house smells like a bakery.”
Good. They were all doing something fun. “Can you keep them for another hour or two? Tage and I found a couple of broken bottles of wine in the truck, and I want to help him clean up the mess. Tell Mom there’s a case of Napa Cabernet in it for her when we get the truck unloaded at Tapestries.” She hated lying to them, but she felt as though she had to.
“Sure. We’re having a good time. I hate to see them leave, actually. It’s been a fun weekend.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll see you later.” Chelsea ended the call.
Staring out the window over the kitchen sink into the darkness, she dug up every bit of courage she could find. Now that Nicks knew about Asher, she wasn’t going to fob the girl off with half-truths. She deserved better than that.
Chelsea returned to the sofa in the family room and sat down beside her daughter. Nicks sat sideways, still clutching the notebook to her chest with both arms as though it held the answers to everything. And maybe it did, given the way the girl had always groused about how different she was from the rest of her siblings.
Chelsea sighed. “Fire away. You may not like what I have to tell you, but I promise you the truth, no matter how painful.”
“I appreciate that, Mom.” Nicks took a deep breath. “First of all, I want to tell you how relieved I am to finally know. I’ve always felt different. Not a surprise to you though, is it?”
“No. And the older you got, the more pronounced it was. You have his...Asher’s... eyes.”
“I know. I saw the picture on the gravestone. I spent the day with Stone. We watched videos of the Dirty Turtles.”
Chelsea’s head snapped up. She suddenly felt sick. “Videos? Someone has videos of the Turtles?”
Nicks nodded. “Gio Maroni. He plays keyboards in Stone’s band. Do you want to see them sometime?”
And tear open the gaping wound that had taken years and years and years to finally scab over? No thank you. Chelsea stared at her hands in her lap. “I’ll pass. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Okay. I understand. Then we went and talked to Spencer Meiers.”
Chelsea laughed. Spencer. Her knight in shining armor whenever Asher would disappear with whatever bimbo was bouncing around in front of him.
“Is he still in Pittsburgh? I always liked Spence. And Catherine. Are they still together?”
“Yeah. But I get the feeling it’s been a bumpy ride for her.”
“It was a bumpy ride for all of us.” Chelsea snorted. “I’ll never understand why a man is more attractive to a woman when he plays an instrument. Take an average, not terribly good-looking guy and sling a guitar over his shoulders, and he’s suddenly the hottest thing on the planet. There’s also a sense of entitlement with a musician, as though they’re above reproach. Like they should be able to do anything they please, and you have no right to question them. A
nd the groupies know the guys are at jobs with their wives and girlfriends, but they don’t care either. They just want a quick jump with the drummer or the guitar player. Maybe both at the same time.” Chelsea shook her head. “You love someone for what they are, not what they do. I sometimes wonder if things would’ve been different if Asher hadn’t played guitar. ‘Boys will be boys,’ the other band wives told me. They were content to look the other way. So was I for a while.” She lifted a fierce gaze to her daughter. “And that’s bullshit of the highest order.”
“Before I start asking questions, I have to tell you—you missed your calling, Mom. You should’ve been a writer. I laughed. I cried. You should type the notebook up on the computer and have it published.”
“How much of it did you read?”
“All of it. Twice.”
Chelsea nodded, picked at a fingernail, and tried not to go up in flames of embarrassment. “Publish it? No. I don’t think so. Those memories are private and painful. Anyway, most people read books for the happy ending. They want Cinderella to end up with Prince Charming. I got a prince, but I did it the hard way.”
“You write about Asher as though he were a prince.” Nicks gave her a speculative look. Her tone was neutral, but it was a loaded statement. Chelsea knew the girl was wondering if she’d married Tage because she loved him, or simply because she was pregnant and he’d given her an easy out.
“Oh hell, no!” Chelsea shook her head. “No, he wasn’t a prince. Far from it. Hindsight and time have given me a better perspective on our relationship. I should’ve run for the hills the moment I laid eyes on him. But you couldn’t have convinced me of that back then.”
Nicks snuggled back into the sofa, released her grip on the journal, and laid it down between them, a focal point for the conversation they were about to have.
“Tell me about him,” Nicks said softly.
Chelsea went still. Telling Nicks about Asher meant thinking about him. Thinking about him meant dredging up memories, and those memories were like a thousand tiny knives poised to slice her heart into atoms. But she’d promised Nicks honesty, and honesty is what she’d give her. “Where do you want me to start?”