Gravity: A Novel

by L. D. Cedergreen

  “See right here,” she said, pointing to a round figure on the screen. “That’s the head.” She slid the probe a hint to the right and said, “And there’s a hand.”

  I was in awe. I was pregnant and looking right at my baby. Getting a real glimpse of its head and hand and feet. It was incredible. Tears spilled down my cheeks, and, for a moment, I thought of Ryan. We had dreamed of this moment for so long, wanting this so desperately; the need to be parents had consumed us until it had ultimately divided us—breaking us apart. I was going to be a mother; I was finally getting exactly what I had wanted more than anything, but a small part of me ached for Ryan, knowing how bad he had wanted to be a father.

  I wasn’t sure what Drew wanted. He seemed completely uninterested in the idea of having children. Fate had a cruel sense of humor, but I wouldn’t change the outcome. I wouldn’t take it back. Maybe everything happens for a reason. Maybe Ryan’s affair had a purpose. Maybe, just maybe, I was meant to be with Drew, even if only for the conception of this baby. We had had sex more times than I could count, and we had never bothered with protection. I hadn’t really tried to prevent a pregnancy that my body had denied me time and time again, and Drew had never really asked.

  “Okay, let’s get some measurements, shall we?” Dr. Pennings asked, more as a statement than a question as she tapped a few keys on the ultrasound machine. “Well, it looks like your about twelve to fourteen weeks along, give or take. It’s hard to say since you can’t pinpoint the date of conception or your last menstrual cycle.” She ripped a sheet of paper from the machine’s printer and handed it to me.

  I looked at her in shock. “Excuse me?” I asked. Clearly I must have heard her wrong. “What would my date of conception be if your calculations are correct?”

  “Let’s see,” she said, picking up a chart and scanning it for a moment. “Sometime in May, but again it’s hard to say. I’m going to give you the earliest due date possible just to be on the safe side.”

  My heart had stopped on May. The month that I came to the lake. The same month that I had tried to conceive a baby with Ryan, the same month that I had left my husband, the same month that I had drunken, mind-blowing sex with Drew. I had never considered that this baby could be Ryan’s. I had just assumed . . . I wanted to scream. I had no idea who the father was. How could I have been pregnant all this time and not have known? I cringed at the amount of alcohol I had consumed and the medications that I had taken on occasion. I said as much to Dr. Pennings. She assured me that it was fine, that plenty of woman before me had similar concerns, and their babies were perfectly healthy.

  As I left Dr. Pennings’ office—after several blood tests—I pushed aside the huge issue and tried to focus more on the fact that I was going to have a baby. I was freaking pregnant! How did this happen? I was elated, in awe, nearly euphoric.

  I drove robotically, following each curve that would lead me back to Monroe Manor, completely lost in thought. I had so many decisions to make and a sudden deadline as the baby’s due date of early February was now marked on the calendar. My mind was whirling as I drove back to Andrew. I knew that I had to tell him that I was pregnant, but I was scared of what this would mean for us.

  Not only had Andrew never expressed any interest in having children, but he seemed to detest the idea. Uncertainty clouded my mind as I considered what I should do. Do I tell Ryan? Can I forgive him for what he did, and, more important, do I want to? Would Ryan still want me if this baby was Drew’s? And will Drew want me at all, knowing that I was pregnant? I was finally getting the one thing that I had wanted more than anything in my life, and my joy was tarnished with these questions, tarnished with fear of how this would change things for Drew and me.

  ***

  As I walked into Monroe Manor, I set down my purse and car keys on the kitchen island, calling out Drew’s name. I found each room empty as I slowly walked through the first floor, peering around every corner, searching for Drew. My excitement was masked by the dread that hung in the balance from the anticipation of telling Drew that he was possibly going to be a father. I stood at the wall of glass and looked out, scanning the deck, the beach, and finally the dock.

  My heart skipped a beat or two when I spotted Drew perched on the end of the dock in only a pair of shorts. His beautiful tanned skin stretched tightly across the cut of his muscles as he leaned back, his hands splayed out on the dock, supporting him as he looked out across the lake. His hair was wet, and beads of water rolled down his back as if he had just finished a swim moments before. He was beautiful. The magnitude of my love for him hit me full force. I walked slowly toward him and sat down only inches away, dangling my bare feet in the water.

  “How was the drive?” he asked without turning to look at me.

  “It was fine,” I said, looking down at my feet as I kicked them back and forth in the water.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked in a clipped tone, a double-edged sword exposing how hurt he was.

  “Drew, I didn’t need to buy anything, and I didn’t need time to myself. I’m sorry that I lied to you.” He turned to look at me, and I looked dead into the limpid blue of his eyes, feeling guilty for keeping something from him—again.

  “We said that we wouldn’t do this, Gem. That we would always be honest with each other.”

  “I’m being honest now,” I admitted, wanting desperately to ask him if he was being honest with me but afraid of his answer.

  “Well, what was today all about then, Gemma?” he asked, the hurt still in his eyes.

  “I’m pregnant,” I blurted out before taking a deep breath to prepare myself for his reaction.

  I could see his mind processing my words, his gaze unflinching as he stared deep into my eyes, the rise and fall of his chest heavier, strained. My heart was on the verge of crumbling the longer he stared at me in silence, my worst fears hovering, waiting for confirmation. My own chest was heavy, my breath long and labored, as I searched his eyes for some kind of warning of what was to come. The world around us was at a standstill—a dead calm—while I hung on his every breath.

  “Say something,” I whispered when I felt like I couldn’t hold on another moment, the anticipation nearly shredding my heart in two.

  He reached out and caressed my cheek with his hand, as his mouth turned up into a lopsided smile. “That’s incredible, Gem. I know how much you want to be a mother, and, just for the record, you’re going to be an amazing mom.” He brought his other hand to my face and kissed me so deeply that I could feel it in my bones.

  I felt wet tears on my cheeks as relief flooded my heart. I had been so afraid of his reaction that I had not fully accepted my new reality, this miracle that was growing inside me. My heart filled with love for my unborn child.

  Drew pulled back gently and wiped away my tears with his thumbs. I saw the genuine smile on his lips and heard the reassuring words that he spoke, but something in the vacant, solemn depth of his gaze extinguished my earlier sense of relief. I didn’t elaborate on the rest, on the fact that Andrew may not be the father. I didn’t say another word about pregnancy or babies or how rare and unexpected this news—this gift—was.

  The look in his eyes bore the truth of what he felt in his heart, the one place that he could not hide from me, and, though I wasn’t sure exactly what that truth was, I knew him well enough to feel completely shattered in that moment.

  I pulled away from him abruptly and stood, running back toward the cabin. I could hear him calling my name, his voice getting closer as I reached the side door. “Gemma, what’s wrong?” he asked when he reached the door. I continued to the master bedroom, tears blurring my vision as I grabbed my suitcase out of the walk-in closet and laid it open on the king-size bed.

  “Gemma, what in the world is going on?” he asked, breathless, with his hands on his hips.

  I began to pull clothes from their hangers, stuffing them in my suitcase as quickly as I could. I didn’t bother with folding them. I j
ust wanted to get out of here, to figure out what I was going to do, but I couldn’t stay here anymore. I couldn’t stay here with him and pretend anymore. I was a grown woman with real responsibilities and now even bigger responsibilities, and I couldn’t afford to act like a teenager anymore, to play this game with him.

  I felt his hand on my arm before he whirled me around to face him. He wrapped his hands around my arms to hold me in place. My gaze was focused on his chest; I was too hurt to look into his eyes again, afraid of what I would see.

  His voice was calm and direct. “Gemma, talk to me. What are you doing?”

  “Stop, Drew. Just let me go. I want to leave. I can’t stay here anymore,” I said as I tried to pull away from his grasp.

  He only gripped me harder, as his voice became more demanding. “You’re acting crazy. Slow down and talk to me.” He was gritting his teeth in frustration.

  “Talk to you, Drew? Talk to you? What do you want me to say?” I asked, finally looking into his eyes. What I saw was unexpected—complete agony . . . regret . . . sadness. I paused, my chest heaving as I lost myself in his eyes. “You want me to be honest with you?” I whispered. “Why don’t you try being honest with me for once, Drew. I know that you’re keeping something from me. I know that you don’t want this baby,” I choked out.

  Once again he was silent, hesitant, torn.

  “Whatever,” I said, feeling so angry with him, with his silence. I slipped from his grasp and walked to the bathroom, throwing everything that was mine into a bag. A bottle of my Chanel perfume fell to the floor in my haste and fractured into pieces, the ear-shattering sound of glass against tile jarring my determination as its fragrant content pooled at my feet. I bent down to pick up what was left of the bottle and gasped as I cut the tip of my index finger on its sharp edge.

  I stepped back and collapsed to the floor, holding my finger to my lips as blood slowly seeped from the cut. I looked at the broken glass strewn about and felt as if it was my heart, spilled out all over the floor—shattered. I brought my hands to my face and sobbed, my devastation getting the best of me. It was all too much. This news, Drew’s silent rejection, and all the uncertainty that swirled around me. It was just too much.

  I heard Drew approach me. He cradled me to his bare chest and stood, carrying me to the bed and setting me down. I continued to sob, only partially aware of him and his movements. He reached for my hands and pulled them from my face, blotting my blood-soaked finger with a tissue. I watched him through downcast eyes as he unsheathed a Band-Aid and wrapped it around my cut with gentle hands, before handing me a clean tissue to wipe my eyes and nose. I cringed at how pathetic I must look to him, falling apart over a cut on my finger. Although we both knew this was about more than just a cut.

  Lifting my chin with his finger until our gazes met, he said in the gentlest tone, “I love you, Gemma. That is the honest-to-God truth.” And then he kissed me, holding my face in his warm hands. I surrendered to him completely, as I ran my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to me. Moments before I was ready to walk out of his life and never look back, but feeling him against me, tasting him on my lips as he kissed away my despair—I would take what I could get, even if it was just for one more night. But deep down inside I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case.

  He slowly pulled my shirt over my head. I heard my suitcase crash to the floor as he pushed it aside and lay me back on the bed. His movements were gentle, but there was a palpable intensity behind every touch, every caress. We lay beside each other, just kissing, as I felt Drew’s hands trace every inch of my exposed skin, as if he were memorizing every part of me. Our breaths were quick and heavy, in sync, as our need for one another grew. Our desire building, our tender kisses becoming urgent, nearly desperate for more. Clothes were removed with swift movements and thrown to the floor until there was only skin against skin.

  His mouth wandered from my lips, grazing my collarbone and settling lower. I felt my breast fill his palm as he held it gently while his tongue circled my nipple until it puckered under his wet lips. I arched my back, pushing into his touch as my body yearned for more of him. He brought his lips to rest just below my belly button, his hands caressing my slightly protruding belly, and, for just a moment, I was hopeful that this was his way of showing his acceptance for me and this baby. His momentary tenderness melted away as he gripped my thighs in his hands, lifting them as he buried his face near my core, his tongue lapping at my flesh.

  “Oh, God, Drew,” I called out as all my senses gathered at my center, leaving the rest of my body weightless and numb in his hands. My fingers gripped his hair tightly, holding him against me as I completely let go. Shudders racked my body as I rode the wave of the climax, fueled by the intense emotions of the day. I rested my hands above my head as my heart beat wildly in my chest. I felt Drew kiss his way back to my lips. I could taste myself on his tongue, and, without giving me a chance to recover, I felt him fill me with one strong thrust as another orgasm rocked through me. He was relentless as he made love to me for hours, intensely yet poignantly.

  His hands were on my skin, grazing the peripheral of my body but his touch was penetrating, reaching me somewhere deep inside. I could feel him everywhere—my heart, my soul, my mind. And, as lost as I was to him in this moment, I couldn’t ignore the pending darkness that lurked in the depths of my being. In a place where only intuition and suspicion could survive, a place where we push our unwanted gut instincts—hoping that they’re fallacious and only stem from our own insecurities. That darkness threatened to invade me as the intensity in Drew’s touch and the pain hidden behind his closed lids screamed good-bye.

  Twenty-Seven

  It was early; the sun had only just begun to awaken the day, as I slowly opened my eyes to find the bed empty. I felt the absence of Drew’s embrace and sat up slowly, expecting to hear him in the en suite bathroom. But the room was completely quiet. I pulled on my panties and one of Drew’s sweatshirts that was draped over the back of a nearby chair and walked through the cabin in search of Drew. I instinctively went to the windows and looked out at the lake, discovering him on the beach.

  He was standing on the shore, barefoot, in a pair of running shorts and a sweatshirt, skipping rocks in the calm water. A thin layer of fog hovered over the surface of the lake, the rising sun just barely penetrating it, melting it away at the edges, exposing only the shoreline. A sure sign that fall was just around the corner. Drew crouched down to search for more rocks in the sand, before standing and throwing each one into the smooth surface of the water with expert skill. He looked so lost; his face held an expression of a thousand unspoken words.

  He was struggling with something; that much was obvious. I took a deep breath as I continued to watch him, knowing that whatever he was mulling over in his mind had everything to do with me, with us. Was he being forced to choose? What was he keeping from me, or rather who was he keeping from me? I thought of my marriage—of Ryan—and asked myself if I was ready to let it go, to let Ryan go. If I had to choose, right now—this minute—to move forward with Drew or to try to salvage my marriage with Ryan, no matter who the father of this baby was, who would I choose?

  I knew in my heart that I loved Drew. The love that I felt for him could not be defined, or neatly labeled and placed in a box. It was boundless and unconditional, a force that pulled two souls together under extraordinary circumstances. He was my past, but also my right now. He reminded me of who I really was behind all the titles, the fears, and the secrets. He made me feel alive again, made me want to be a better person. He made me feel like that little girl who had the world at her feet, full of possibilities—ready to take on the world.

  His heart was massive, and he wore it on his sleeve, as if he feared nothing. He saw the world for all its simplicity, unwilling to see anything more than the true heart of the matter. My heart was torn as I still loved my husband; I knew this to be true for the sheer fact that I still felt so hurt by what he had done. And w
hen, for the first time, I heard those words, “You’re pregnant,” all I could think of was Ryan. That I was finally getting my chance at the life that I had always dreamed of, but Ryan had always been part of that dream, that life.

  But could I forgive him? Could we ever go back to where we left off? And this led me back to Drew. What did it mean that, after all these years, we were back here again? In this moment, watching Drew on the beach, feeling so conflicted, the thought of letting him go tore me apart inside.

  I ran my hand over my belly, imagining this baby inside me, picturing its tiny face, delicate fingers, and toes. I was plagued with so many uncertainties, but one thing was constant and unequivocal—I loved this baby and wanted nothing more than to be a mother. And deep down inside, a part of me wanted this with Drew. I envisioned a quiet, simple life with him. One that would allow this baby to grow and bask in unending love from both a mother and a father, giving him or her a stable environment that I had known growing up, that Drew and I both had once known until unfortunate circumstances had changed all that.

  It was as if gravity had pulled us both here, to this place at this exact time, and I couldn’t seem to defy the force of it. I couldn’t ignore the significance. I knew I wanted this, and, yet, I feared what it was that Drew wanted and what he was struggling with.

  I continued to watch him, committing every one of his features to memory. The strong curvature of his jaw, his light brown hair jetting toward the sky in complete disarray, giving him a sexy edge. His perfect smile and deep-creviced dimples that awarded him a youthful appearance. The cut lines of his body, his breathtaking and beautiful physique that I had grown to know so well. He was incredible as a man, but what I loved the most about him was the boy who I still saw in his eyes. The boy who I remembered and loved like family for so many years. He meant everything to me. Everything.