Gravity: A Novel

by L. D. Cedergreen

  It was late one night when we were lucky enough to catch sight of the northern lights. I hadn’t seen the hazy iridescent colors since I was a child. The night’s phenomena was mostly in shades of green, as if there were ghostly vapors swirling across the dark sky, but I could remember the vibrant purples, blues, and reds that we had witnessed years ago when I was just a kid.

  Drew was sitting in the sand, leaning back against a large log that offered seating near the fire pit. I was resting against him, sitting in between his legs, wrapped in a blanket. I shivered against the chill in the air, and Drew wrapped his arms tighter around me.

  “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Drew asked, referring to the northern lights. The night was quiet; the crackling of the fire and a distant frog’s croak were the only sounds that could be heard.

  “What causes this again? I can’t remember,” I admitted, my gaze locked on the transparent colors lighting up the sky.

  “If I remember correctly, it has something to do with gas particles in the Earth’s atmosphere and charged particles released from the sun’s atmosphere.” Drew raised his hands to the sky. “They collide and, ta-da, we have the northern lights.” Drew wrapped his arms around me again.

  “Very scientific, Mr. Monroe,” I joked. “I think I like my dad’s explanation better.”

  “Magic,” we both whispered at the same time, remembering my dad and the tales that he used to share around the fire at night. I took a deep breath, fighting against the familiar ache.

  Drew and I sat in silence for a few minutes, lost in memories.

  “I tried to call him, Gem. But I think he’s avoiding me.” He leaned down and kissed me behind the ear.

  I turned to look at him and asked, confused, “Who, my dad?”

  Drew looked me square in the eye and said, “William.”

  I tensed at his name, and Drew’s eyes grew solemn. I turned back to the fire, ignoring the pain in my chest, ignoring Andrew.

  “I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know. I can’t not confront him about this, Gemma. I can’t just let it go.”

  Fear and uncertainty resonated in each beat of my heart. I was unsure of what this would mean. If Drew confronted William, what next? I couldn’t imagine seeing him or even hearing his voice. I had closed the door on that part of my life so long ago, I wasn’t sure that I could survive if it was opened again. I swiped at a tear that clung to my cheek as I considered what Drew would say or worse, what he would do once he reached William.

  “Don’t worry Gemma. Everything will be okay,” Drew assured me. As my body trembled in his arms, he held me closer.

  “I understand your need to confront him. But, Drew, I . . . I can’t . . .” I struggled for the words.

  “I know,” he said, as he buried his face in my neck, kissing my skin lightly. “I know.”

  I crumbled in his arms, needing his strength and comfort more than I had ever needed anyone before. What is happening to me? He unraveled me. I was leaning on Drew, sharing my emotions with him, putting myself in a situation that I couldn’t control, losing the tight grip that I kept on my heart. I wasn’t sure what I feared more in the moment, my past or my future.

  Twenty-Five

  “What are you thinking?” Drew asked one afternoon after making love. My head was resting on his chest as he tucked my hair behind my ear, his finger grazing my cheek.

  “Nothing.” I was exhausted from the past hour that I had just spent with Drew, our lovemaking bordering somewhere between passion and porn.

  “You can tell me, you know.”

  “I was just wondering how this would be—you and me—outside of this bubble that we’ve been living in.” I searched his eyes waiting for his response. The truth was I was risking everything for these moments, and I was starting to question if it was worth it.

  Being with Drew was the most amazing thing that I had done in what seemed like forever, chiseling away the years, leaving me to feel young again in the sense that I wasn’t burdened with responsibilities or agonizing over consequences. I was just living in the moment, selfishly doing what I wanted, ignoring the lines between black and white, right and wrong—just enjoying the gray. But there were consequences, and I did have responsibilities, and I couldn’t help but wonder where this was going—the erotic yet deeply emotional affair that Drew and I were engaged in.

  Was this a relationship that would stand the test of time, a relationship that would define the end of my marriage? Or was this something else, a fleeting connection, a moment of weakness, a brief affair stemmed from a sense of retribution, past regrets, or what ifs?

  My need to answer these questions, to gather all the data, to pluck off petals one by one—as if my fate could be that simple—was suddenly consuming me. I was tempted to back him into a corner, to force him to define what was happening between us, but I was afraid.

  “Why would you want to leave the bubble?” he asked, as he threaded his fingers through my hair.

  His blasé response stopped my heart. “Eventually I have to go back to my life. Where do you see us when that time comes?” I asked, cringing at the desperation in my voice.

  “Let’s talk about that when the time comes. You’re not done with the cabin yet. The way I see it, you can’t leave until it sells, and we still have a lot of work to do.” He drew circles on my arm with his finger and kissed me on the top of the head.

  I sighed and buried my cheek farther into the warmth of his skin, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that I had in my chest. The feeling that Drew and I didn’t exist beyond this place, beyond the summer, beyond the lake. I closed my eyes and focused on the rise and fall of his chest, the way his skin felt against mine, and the fullness that I felt in my heart. The truth was, no matter how much I worried about the future, I felt happier in this moment than I had in a long time, and I silently scolded myself for analyzing it all rather than enjoying it for what it was, whatever it may be.

  ***

  Drew and I continued to work on the cabin together. I couldn’t help but notice that we were both dragging our feet, taking our time, dwelling on his comment. The end neared the closer that we got to finishing the small renovations of the cabin. I had hired someone to update the kitchen and bathroom, just small changes that wouldn’t break the bank. Drew and I repainted the bedrooms ourselves and installed a new screen door in the back. We also restained the deck overlooking the creek, replacing a few weathered boards where needed. And the list went on and on, Drew always finding something else that needed to be done.

  It wasn’t long before I contacted an agent to list the cabin. I knew that I had a short window to sell before the summer vacation ended and visitors returned to wherever it was that they called home. Drew and I didn’t discuss what this meant; we didn’t talk about tomorrow or next week. I moved all my stuff into Monroe Manor, so that we could stage the cabin and leave it in pristine condition. It just seemed easier that way, given the fact that Drew and I spent every night together anyway. I was so caught up in the approaching fall, dreading the end of summer, and possibly the end of our relationship, that I hadn’t really thought about the finality of selling the cabin.

  When I had packed up all my family’s treasured mementos and items that I couldn’t part with, I sat back and looked at all the memories and wondered how so many years of my life could fit into just a few boxes. How could I just let it go so easily, this place that felt like home and held all the secrets of my childhood? If these walls could talk, they would tell the stories of my youth, my family, my happiness. . . . There was so much of me in the confines of this space. It was as if the stories of my life were written on these walls.

  I stared at the large round table, in the center of it all with its mismatched chairs, and could almost hear the roaring laughter as we played a game of spoons or Risk or ate my grandfather’s dollar-size hotcakes until our bellies were too full to move. I took in the stone fireplace and remembered all the nights we had roasted marshmallows, or the cold morni
ngs that Jacob and I had spent sprawled out on the floor in front of it while we colored. I noticed the antique dark steel matchbox hanging from the mantel and could distinctly remember the sound made when my father struck a match against a rock of the fireplace each time he started a fire.

  I snatched the matchbox from the nail where it hung and placed it in one of the boxes, thankful that I hadn’t forgotten such an important item. Then I felt the deep regret of letting it go, wanting to box up the cabin itself and take it with me. But I knew that it wasn’t just the cabin, it was everything. It was the people who had lived within it; it was the view of the lake, the sound of the gushing creek, the shade of the tall evergreens that towered above it, the quiet embrace of nature, the fresh scent of the forest, the memories of my father. . . . I took it all in and boxed it up in the depths of my heart where I would never forget. I wiped the tears from my eyes, overwhelmed with memories and the sense that I was saying good-bye to a part of my life, a part of me.

  Drew came up behind me and pulled me against him. “Look what I found,” he said, holding a pink-and-white Barbie case in front of me.

  “Where did you find it?” I asked with a smile, as I wiped my nose on my sleeve.

  “Under the bed. Open it,” Drew said as I took it from his hand.

  I knelt down and set it on the floor, unfastening the metal clasp and opening the case. I laughed so hard that tears were streaming down my face once again. Drew knelt down beside me and wiped my tears, laughing with me. Inside was a half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort, a label that I hadn’t seen in years.

  “You were right, Gem. We did leave behind our stash,” he said, picking up the bottle and spinning it around to look at the label.

  “I’m going to miss this place,” I said with a sigh.

  “You don’t have to do this, ya know—sell the cabin.” He placed the bottle back in the case, and I closed it, securing the clasp.

  “I know. But no one comes here anymore. It’s been the most amazing summer, but my life is in Seattle, and it’s a busy life unfortunately. As much as I would love to, I just don’t see myself having time to spend here.”

  “I guess you’re right,” he said sadly, trying to hide the pain in his voice. I wanted to scream at him, to ask him what he wanted from me. What all this meant for us and where this was leading. But I held it all inside, afraid that, if I painted him into a corner, he would only say what I feared, and this would be over sooner rather than later. So I said nothing, placing the Barbie case into a box, regretfully accepting the fact that this was most likely the last summer that I was going to spend at the lake.

  ***

  As one day bled into the next, I found it unnerving that Drew never talked about the next step or what he planned to do. He had quit his job but had no desire to do anything else. I chalked it up to the fact that the next step didn’t include me, and maybe he wanted to avoid the idea as well as the conversation of us being apart. I didn’t want to think about it either, much less talk about it, but, with each day that passed, the uneasy feeling in my gut grew, and I feared what it was that Drew wasn’t telling me. I felt it in the unanswered questions, the subtle way he dodged my questions or comments about his recent past or his future. The few times that he abruptly ended a phone conversation when I walked into the room, or sometimes he ignored a call altogether when he was with me, hiding the screen from view and assuring me that it wasn’t important.

  The insecure part of me was certain that there was someone else, but the rational side of me argued that it wasn’t any of my business. I was still married after all. That was another subject that we seemed to skip over. My husband. My ring was still on my finger, glaringly obvious, like a gigantic pink elephant in a small room. I hadn’t made any big decisions of course. Having avoided Ryan for over two months, I wasn’t sure what choices I had left to make. And the fact that Drew hadn’t asked me to decide my fate, the fact that he seemed to avoid the subject altogether, said more than enough.

  For the most part, I felt happy here with Drew in our little world at the lake. Sometimes our little world included Logan and the steady parade of woman he entertained, or sometimes it included our neighbors—families who we had known for as long as we had known each other—but, other than that, it was just the two of us. I loved the simplicity of our days, Drew’s playfulness, the bond that we shared from our past. I loved Drew deeply, and yet there were moments when the fear and uncertainty were almost too much to bear.

  And then some days I missed Ryan. I missed our life, our predictable routine—at least our life before everything had become so strained. When we had more to say to each other than we had time to say it, when he would make me laugh so hard that tears would stream down my face and I would snort out loud, unable to suppress it but not caring, because Ryan and I were so comfortable with one another. The way we could finish one another’s sentences, or the way we always drank out of the same coffee cup while we read the paper or our trial notes at the kitchen table before work.

  But most of all I missed knowing what Ryan felt for me, and I missed the security of knowing that, no matter what, it was Ryan and me, always and forever. I was so confused and lost, feelings that I was so unfamiliar with. I always had a plan. I always knew what I wanted, and I went for it with the same conviction that possessed me in the courtroom. But now I was caught between two worlds, two wants, two needs, and I feared where that would leave my heart. The jagged fissure threatening to break it apart completely.

  My mind was so distracted that I ignored the gnawing feeling inside that I was missing something. I couldn’t place this uneasy feeling though, convinced that it must be tied in with my feelings about Drew and his evasiveness.

  And then one day as I was sitting in my real estate agent, Rebecca’s, office—pouring over her calendar to schedule an open house—it hit me. I frantically started counting the days, tapping the tiny squares with the pencil in my hand. Rebecca sat back with a puzzled expression as I counted over and over, realizing that I had not had a period since I had been at the lake. It wasn’t uncommon for my cycle to be off after all the hormones and procedures, but I couldn’t remember the last time that I had had my period. This was a strange realization for me, as I had obsessed over my cycle for years, knowing exactly what each day on the calendar meant in terms of my reproductive schedule. And I hadn’t thought about it since I had arrived, as if I had given up on it altogether since my marriage could potentially be over.

  “Are you okay, Gemma?” I heard Rebecca ask.

  Without looking up, I grabbed my purse and started toward the door, mumbling on my way out, “I’m sorry, I have to go.” I drove straight to the only pharmacy at the lake, which shared a building with the post office. A strange concept that I had always been puzzled by but, in the moment, I was grateful that a pharmacy existed at all.

  I grabbed a test off the shelf. There was only one choice, and I threw a stack of bills on the counter, not bothering to wait for my change as I walked quickly to my car.

  I pulled into Drew’s driveway, grabbed my purse and the pregnancy test off the passenger seat, and made my way into Monroe Manor heading straight for the small bathroom just inside the back door.

  I was a jumble of emotions while I waited for the results of this simple test. I couldn’t ignore the crushing feeling that I associated with this routine; the results always the same, no matter how hopeful I was, no matter how careful we had followed all the rules. I felt that same fear now. My stomach twisted in knots as I glanced at my watch every few seconds. Part of me wanted to believe that this time was different because I hadn’t been trying or praying or hoping. I hadn’t been checking my temperature or counting the days, hours, minutes. . . . This time it could be different. And then I scolded myself for letting my mind go there, for letting the hope trickle into my heart.

  I stared at the test stick in my hand, completely stunned by the pink plus sign. I had never had a positive pregnancy test before. Not ever. I instinctiv
ely placed my hand on my belly, imagining the life that could be blooming inside me at this very moment. I pushed aside the thought, unwilling to allow myself to think ahead, already preparing myself for the disappointment that would inevitably come. Surely there must be some other explanation.

  Twenty-Six

  The following day, I told Andrew that I had to pick up something in town, regrettably explaining to him that I needed some time to myself when he insisted on coming with me.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he asked again, while he sat on the edge of the bed, watching me get dressed.

  “No. I’ll be fine. It’s only a few hours,” I said, avoiding his eyes.

  “A few hours that you need, away from me. That’s just great,” he sulked.

  I finished buttoning my sleeveless blouse and glanced over at him. I could see the hurt in his eyes as my words pushed him away, putting space between us that neither of us had wanted or needed until now. The truth was, I didn’t want to be away from him for a single moment. But I had an appointment with an obstetrician in town—a modestly populated city about sixty miles southwest of the lake. Dr. Bradshaw, my fertility specialist, whom I had called immediately after seeing that plus sign, had referred me to a physician there when I refused to come home.

  Dr. Bradshaw had said that I was most likely pregnant, that it wasn’t completely impossible, that he had seen this happen plenty of times in his career. I couldn’t talk to Drew about this until I knew all the facts, until I knew for sure. Part of me feared his reaction, feared what this would mean for us if I was, in fact, pregnant. But I was afraid to think that far ahead, afraid that this wasn’t real.

  ***

  “Well, there’s definitely a baby in there,” I heard her say as she moved the ultrasound probe over my lower abdomen with an almost-painful amount of pressure. Dr. Anita Pennings was an older woman with short, spiky gray hair and an easy way about her.