Drew had dreams of being an artist the last time I had seen him, showing absolutely no interest in working with his father. Mr. Monroe hadn’t been thrilled with this idea. Drew’s mother had died of a brain tumor when he was six, and his father had never remarried that I knew of. My mother had been close with Drew’s mom, Katherine, before she became sick. It was hard on everyone, and I think that my parents always held a special place in their hearts for Andrew and William.
Mr. Monroe had sent Drew to a boarding school in Connecticut during the school year, once he was the ripe old age of ten. Luckily their father had honored Katherine’s wishes to return to the lake each summer, her favorite little slice of heaven dating back to her own childhood. The lake had become Drew’s oasis, the only home he knew from that point on. My family became Drew’s family from Memorial Day through Labor Day each year, and it had become harder and harder to say good-bye as the years passed.
I turned my palm up in my lap and traced the small tattoo on the inside of my right wrist with my thumb. The permanent reminder of the girl who I used to be and of the best friend that I used to have. It was the infinity symbol designed by Andrew himself to mark the promise that we had made to each other before either of us knew how easily promises could be broken. I remembered the day we first made that promise like it was yesterday. We had both just turned seven. Our birthdays were in early July, just two days apart. I had found Drew by the creek behind my cabin, quietly crying into his hands. I had sat down next to him and wrapped my arms around my bended knees, contemplating what I should say. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he finally spoke to me.
“You probably think that I’m a big baby, huh?” he had asked.
“I don’t think that at all,” I had said matter-of-factly.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course, Drew. That’s what best friends are for.”
“Best friends?”
“Yep, best friends to infinity.”
“What does infinity mean?” he had asked.
“It means forever and ever.”
“Best friends to infinity,” he had repeated, holding out his hand to me.
“Best friends to infinity,” I had reassured him, shaking his hand to seal the deal.
When he let go of my hand, he had looked out at the creek before telling me how much he missed his mommy. I didn’t know how to make him feel better. I couldn’t bring his mommy back. I was only seven after all. I did the next best thing; I handed him my prized pail full of my favorite rocks and let him throw them, one by one, as far as he could into the water rushing by at our feet. When I saw the smile return to his face, I had known, even then, that we could get through anything together.
I turned to take in the largest cabin along the shore, a two-story monstrosity displaying a wall of windows facing the lake, large decks protruding from both levels holding expensive outdoor furniture for lounging and dining. Yep, that was Monroe Manor, still standing in all its glamour and glory. I wasn’t sure who owned it now, but it looked like someone was occupying it already for the summer.
A low growl ripped through my stomach, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten for several hours. I glanced at my phone where it rested on my lap and noted the time. It was nearly dinnertime. I had to make a trip to the market before it was too late. The only establishment open after six at the lake was the kind that sold liquor into the wee hours of the morning.
Before I thought better of it, I scrolled through Ryan’s text messages once again, feeling that familiar sickness stirring in my gut. I had been silent long enough. I typed out a simple message. I’m not ready to talk about this. I need time. Please stop calling and texting me. You broke my heart, Ryan. Please just give me this one thing for now. I reread my words three times before I hit Send. The least he could do was respect my wishes.
Moments later my phone lit up, bearing Ryan’s name. I shouldn’t be surprised that he would refuse to grant me just one moment of peace after what he had done. The image of him and that woman, an image that I couldn’t seem to break free from, filled my mind. Relentless tears spilled down my cheeks, tears of anger. I groaned so desperately loud that I hardly recognized the sound as my own. Without thinking, I hurled my ringing phone overhead and watched it sink below the smooth surface of the water with a plop, making a pathetic little splash several feet from the dock. Let him try to call me now, I thought. I felt a smidge better at that moment. It wasn’t much, but I’d take whatever small victory I could manage.
Six
The next morning I woke early and scrambled to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. “Shit,” I cursed under my breath as my bare feet landed on the cold tile in the kitchen. I had forgotten how low the temperature dropped here at night. I pulled on a pair of warm socks and attempted to start a fire in the stone fireplace to take the chill out of the air.
At least the ancient coffeepot still worked. Our cabin was lacking in technology, but then again, it always had. My grandfather had wanted the cabin to be a family retreat, free from all the things that cluttered our daily lives at home. He had always said, “We have the necessities, running water and electricity, and these two things mixed with love is all we need.” He wouldn’t allow a television or a telephone in the cabin. We had used the Sherwoods’ phone next door for emergencies, and the small amount of time that we spent indoors was occupied by listening to music on the small black RCA stereo—the one coveted electronic device that Gramps allowed—or playing board games at the kitchen table.
Now that I was phoneless—reminiscent of the old days—I had resorted to calling my mom the night before from the pay phone outside the General Store, letting her know that I had arrived safely and confessing to having thrown my phone in the lake. I had felt an unexpected sense of shame from my adolescentlike behavior, but, if my mother was questioning my actions, she hadn’t mentioned it. She had simply said she loved me and to call her if I needed anything.
Coffee in hand, I bundled up and settled into the porch swing, watching the rising sun cast colors across the still lake. Growing up, this had been my favorite part of the day. Sitting on this porch watching the day bloom before my very eyes, my father swinging me back and forth as he sipped his coffee, while I mimicked him with a cup of hot chocolate. The stillness of the morning only disturbed by our quiet conversation, always the same.
“What are the possibilities for today, Gemma?” he would ask. And I would list off my plans. Sometimes it was a nature walk picking handfuls of colorful wildflowers for Grams or catching frogs in the creek that ran along the back of the cabin. Sometimes it was an endless day of swimming, floating in our inflatable raft, or huckleberry picking, but one thing was for sure. Whatever I was planning for the day, it always included Andrew. We were free to roam and explore at the lake, to take control of our day. It was some of the best days of my life. I wasn’t afraid to get dirty or to try new things, important traits for a little girl whose best friend was a boy. I missed that freedom and sense of adventure. My life had become overscheduled and tediously predictable, every day a repeat of the one before, always the same. Why is that?
I spent the majority of the day cleaning the cabin. Dusting all the surfaces, oiling the knotty-pine walls in the great room, and scrubbing the bathroom—my least favorite chore of all time. I snacked on the fresh fruit and breads that I had picked up at the market the day before, and sipped bottled water. Recent events had pretty much depleted my appetite. My already thin figure was dwindling down to skin and bone, but I couldn’t stomach a full meal no matter how hard I tried. I was surviving on caffeine, a good Merlot, and light snacks. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
I had found some old cassettes in the drawer of the coffee table and popped them in for a little background noise. It was too quiet here, forcing me to hear my own thoughts. I found myself singing along to the Steve Miller Band and The Cars while I worked, bringing up memo
ries from the final summers that I had spent at the cabin. Some of them good memories, some of them moments of my life that I would rather forget.
Seven
I had been cooped up in the cabin for what seemed liked several days—it was easy to lose all sense of time when there was hardly cause to get out of bed. I sat on the porch swing with an old romance novel in my lap—one that I had found in a dresser drawer among many other forgotten items—staring at my battered car. I couldn’t put it off any longer; I had to take it in for repairs. There was only one place at the lake for any kind of mechanical repair for automobiles or boats, and that was Sal’s Garage. Sal was the father of one of my good friends from my youth, Logan, and both were geniuses when it came to their trade. I wasn’t sure if their family was still around, but I had to assume the shop was.
Unlike the rest of us, Logan was a local, born and raised at the lake. For us young teenage girls, he had been a legend. He had fit the typical bad-boy mold. The one who knew where the best beach parties were, always had a liquor connection, and never dated anyone in particular—just made it a habit of working his way through the young female population that vacationed at the lake for the summer. He was absurdly good-looking, and his emotionally unavailable status gave him a certain appeal that girls couldn’t seem to resist, no matter how bad his reputation was. Drew and Logan could not have been more different, but they had bonded over jet skis and dirt bikes, becoming good friends during that awkward stage between boyhood and the teenage years. I had tagged along, completing our little trio.
I slowed the car off the highway, pulling up in front of Sal’s Garage. I couldn’t help but notice how out of place my silver Mercedes felt among the Jeeps, pickup trucks, and SUVs. No one drove a sedan at the lake. As I stepped out of the car, I spotted a few men inside, huddled around the open hood of a classic ’55 Chevy—a just-polished, sleek black model with shiny chrome wheels. An image that screamed “boys club” as I knew that I would never grasp the obsession that men seemed to have with cars.
All three of the shop’s doors were open, letting in the cool breeze. Suddenly aware of my presence, one of the men walked out to greet me in a pair of dirty, faded jeans and work boots, his sleeveless white T-shirt stained with grease. When I looked into his eyes, I immediately recognized the kind large hazel eyes staring back at me. It was Logan. He still had his boyish charm, deep dimples, and longer blond hair that poked out from underneath a faded green John Deere hat. I couldn’t help the grin that was plastered across my face.
“Can I help you, miss?” he asked, obviously not recognizing me.
“Logan?”
Hearing his name clearly caught him off guard as he stopped to take me in from head to toe. I could see that he had not changed a bit when it came to the female anatomy.
Sudden recognition reached his eyes as he smiled, flashing me those dimples that I remembered so well. “Gemma? Is that you?”
“Hi, stranger. Long time no see!”
Grinning from ear to ear, he closed the gap between us, pulling me into a bear hug. “What in the hell are you doing here? God, it’s so good to see you!” he mumbled as he planted friendly kisses on my cheek, his day-old stubble rough against my skin. He stepped back, gripping my arms with his hands. “Let me get a good look at you. Damn, Gemma, you look hot!”
I gave him a swat on the arm. “I see that you haven’t changed a bit.” It was as if we had never missed a beat, instantly falling back into our usual banter.
“Don’t tell me that you’re here hoping I can fix this fancy car of yours?” he asked, nodding his head toward my car.
“Yeah, actually I was. I had no idea that you’d still be here though.”
“What can I say? I tried the college thing for a while but really had no interest in leaving the lake. I took over for the old man a few years ago. I hate to disappoint, but Mercedes aren’t really my thing. What the hell happened to it anyway?”
“I hit a deer the other day on my way up. So what are my options?”
“Does it drive okay?” he asked, running his hand along the dented hood.
“Yeah.”
“Then I suggest you wait until you get back to wherever it is you came from and take it into a Mercedes specialist.”
“I plan on spending the summer here. Is there anything closer?”
“The whole summer? Well, in that case, I can special order the parts and do it myself. But it’ll take several weeks for the shipment. Does that work for ya?”
“Absolutely. Thank you, Logan. I really appreciate it.”
“Anything for you, Gemma.” He winked at me with his familiar charm. “Just leave the car with me today so I can see what kind of parts we’ll need. Are you staying at your family’s cabin while you’re here?”
“Yep.”
“I can give you a lift back to the cabin, and I’ll bring the car to you when I’m done with the initial assessment. Come on inside so you can fill out the paperwork.” He pulled his hat from his head, ran his hands through his blond hair, squinting from the sun’s glare. “And . . .” He placed his hat back on his head and rubbed the stubble on his chin, with a conflicting gleam in his eyes.
“And what?”
“I have a surprise for you,” he said with a mischievous grin.
He had piqued my curiosity.
I followed him inside as he continued past the office, through the main garage until we were out back on the patio. Three guys were laughing at something that one of them had said, sipping beer from the bottle, relaxing in the afternoon sun on worn patio furniture. This wasn’t the surprise that I was expecting, although I wasn’t sure what to expect. Logan cleared his throat, and all three men turned to gaze in our direction. Immediately one of them stood, and I felt my knees buckle as I realized who it was. A surprise indeed.
“Gemma?” Andrew asked, as if he wasn’t sure I was real.
I felt tears sting my eyes as my heart filled with a familiar warmth, like coming home. “Drew?” I asked, wondering if my own eyes were deceiving me. I couldn’t deny my heart though.
He walked toward me slowly, his blue eyes never leaving mine. He reached out his hand and cupped my cheek. “I can’t believe it’s really you.” His voice was deeper, manly, sophisticated. His face was flawless, perfect white teeth, his bright blue eyes mesmerizing, much like I remember. His light brown hair was a little long around the ears, in need of a haircut, but styled purposefully to look like he had just stepped out of bed. He was taller than I remembered and thin, but muscular at the same time.
Once my head caught up with my heart, I jumped up and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Oh, my God, Drew. This is crazy. I can’t believe you’re really here.” I felt his arms engulf me as we stood swaying back and forth in each other’s arms, suspended in time.
Eight
I spent a few minutes catching up with Andrew and Logan, sipping the beer that they offered me as we covered only surface topics. We spoke of nothing important, nothing that meant anything to us. The other two men were good friends of Logan’s and seemed friendly enough. I left the car in Logan’s capable hands, and, the moment I hinted that I needed to get back to the cabin, there was a familiar sense of rivalry between Andrew and Logan over who was going to drive me home. Boys. Men. It didn’t matter how many years had passed by, some things never changed.
Andrew was the one who drove me back to the cabin, given the fact that we were neighbors. Logan couldn’t deny the convenience and practicality of Drew’s gesture. We drove in awkward silence, both of us attempting—unsuccessfully I might add—to continue the insignificant conversation that we had started back at Logan’s garage. This only emphasized the silence that grew between us. There were a million and one questions swirling around in my head that I longed to ask him, but I held back, knowing that it would only invite him to ask the same of me. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to divulge about my own life. I wanted to know so many things about his though. What he was doing here, if he worked
for his father, if he was married or had any children, if he had spent all his summers here since I had last seen him.
Drew pulled his black Jeep into his own driveway, merely yards from my cabin and asked me if I wanted to come inside. Part of me wanted to spend more time with him, but I wasn’t ready for the onslaught of memories that his cabin would surely bring. Running into him had caught me off guard, and I felt as if I needed a few minutes alone to process it all.
“I better not. I have a lot to do. I’m trying to get the cabin ready to sell, and, believe me, it needs a lot of work.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I mean, sorry to hear that you’re selling the cabin.” He frowned.
“I know. I’m going to miss it. But no one ever comes up to the lake anymore. I can’t believe that my mom didn’t list it years ago. Honestly it doesn’t make much sense, given what he put us through, but I feel like my dad’s the reason that she held on to it for so long. He just passed away, and now suddenly she wants to sell.”
“I’m sorry to hear that as well, Gemma. Was he part of your life at all over the years?” Drew asked, knowing my dad had left us following a long stint of infidelity that resulted in my parents’ divorce. Jacob and I never knew the full extent of his affair, and we never knew if my mother had asked him to leave or if he had simply left us.
“No, not really. He sent the obligatory birthday and holiday gifts, called us on special occasions, but I never saw him after he left. Of course there were always empty promises that he would visit, but he never made the effort. His lawyer contacted us when he died. Heart attack, I guess.”
Gravity: A Novel Page 3
