Gravity: A Novel

by L. D. Cedergreen

  We honeymooned in Kauai, spending ten romantic but lazy days lounging by our own private pool and snorkeling in the lagoon just steps away from the beach house that we had rented. I remembered looking into Ryan’s warm brown eyes—not much different than my own—and feeling as if all my dreams and hopes and life adventures were staring back at me. He had owned my heart, had known me inside and out, loved every part of me—despite my faults and insecurities. He had ignited my whole being; my attraction to him physically was beyond anything that I could have imagined, but it was no match for the magnetic pull that drew me to his soul. We were so happy. So crazy in love.

  We were both overachievers who logged countless hours at our respectful firms. In the beginning, I had been working hard toward corporate litigation, and Ryan had been a petty first-year associate trying to forge his way as a divorce attorney. And now, after years of hard work, Ryan had made partner, and I was well-known in the corporate world as the lawyer that businessmen would want by their side.

  We had carved out a routine in our lives that we were both comfortable with, given our mutual obsession with our careers. Saturdays were usually spent working from home, together, but Sundays were reserved for just the two of us. We went out for brunch, spent the day in bed making up for lost time, or simply strolled around downtown, shopping for items to decorate our new condo. Looking back, I realized that we probably spent too many years consumed with our careers.

  By the time we decided to start a family—after nearly eight years of marriage—only 50 percent of my eggs were viable, and we started down the road that inevitably ruined our marriage. I took my temperature daily, suffered through hormone shots, IVF treatments—I spent more time at the doctor’s office than anywhere else, and my caseload began to dwindle. In the end, nothing worked, and our relationship became strained. I couldn’t even remember the last time we had had sex just because we felt like it.

  There was always a reason, a time, a procedure, but never an urge. I couldn’t remember at what point we started to fall apart, when the mountainous tension began to build, and I started to pull away, fearing what would come next, or when he realized that I wasn’t good enough anymore or that I couldn’t give him what he wanted—a family. Of course I wanted to be a mother more than I have ever wanted anything in my life, and this maternal need had cost me my marriage. It wasn’t that long ago that Ryan had asked me when having a baby had become more important to me than him. I hadn’t even offered a response to his question; I didn’t have an answer.

  Four

  With every curve of the road, my heart beat louder in my chest, reminding me of the countless times I had made this same trip as a child. The days when I sat in the back of my parents’ red Pinto, smashed in between our luggage and my younger brother, Jacob, as my excitement grew with each turn, bringing us closer to the cabin where we would spend our summer. I felt that same excitement now; images from those warm and golden—almost magical—months flashing through my mind. I could faintly hear my mother’s voice as she sang “The Bear Song” as a means to distract us from asking that inevitable yet annoyingly comical question that children seem to repeat every two minutes anytime they are in a moving vehicle: Are we there yet?

  She would follow it up with a long and repetitive version of “Found a Peanut” or “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall”—which she would change to “bottles of Coke,” proclaiming to my father that a song about beer was not appropriate for children our age. My father usually rolled his eyes playfully at her and sang along with us, overemphasizing the word “Coke” just to annoy my mother. It was an annual journey that I remembered fondly; everything about it so typical, it was predictable that I felt a sudden pang of wistfulness. For that life, that girl.

  I spent every summer of my childhood at Priest Lake—where my grandparents owned a small cabin tucked away behind a cluster of evergreens. The lake was just a few steps away, down the dirt lane that several other cabins were built along. Adults bonded over huckleberry daiquiris and barbecues while the children—the best of friends—played in the lake by day and told stories around campfires at night. We became strangers once again when autumn fell upon us.

  My best memories could be found along this large crystal-blue lake in the northern Panhandle of Idaho. Maybe some of the only happy memories spent with my father. I hadn’t been to the cabin since my teenage years, when I had landed a job as a lifeguard at the local swimming pool, officially ending our family’s tradition of spending our summer months at the lake. Mom and Jacob had spent the occasional weekend at the cabin over the years, but I had stayed with friends in order to fulfill my weekend shifts at the pool until I left for college, when I hadn’t bothered to come home for summer break at all, let alone travel to the lake. The cabin had been nearly abandoned for several years now. Mom had returned strictly for upkeep purposes, but, still, she could not seem to let it go. Until now.

  I heard my cell phone ringing through the car stereo speakers, and I glanced down to see Ryan’s name flash across the screen. He had left me an endless string of voice mails and text messages, all left unreturned. He had even called my mother several times. I had overheard her tell him firmly, “Of course she’s here, and she’s safe, but that’s all you’re getting out of me, Ryan Walsh.”

  True to form with any mother, my mother’s use of someone’s full name meant serious business, and I was sure her choice of words had not been lost on Ryan. I pictured him cowering with his tail between his legs on the other end of the phone. Good, let him cower, I thought. The truth was that I was afraid to speak to him. I feared where our conversation might lead. I was also angry, so, by taking control to be sure he would fail in his desperate attempts to reach me, that gave me a fractional sense of satisfaction. But that didn’t stop me from obsessing over every phone call or text message, analyzing every word.

  Sighing out loud, I pressed Ignore. I still couldn’t speak to him. I was plagued with too many emotions. I needed time to sort out everything. That was what this trip was about, time to myself to reevaluate my life, to determine where everything had gone wrong, and to see how I got to this place where happiness was just a distant memory. I was miserable, and I feared that I had felt this way long before recent events had turned my life upside down. In fact it was difficult to recall my last moment of true utter bliss, where my face was turned into an effortless smile and my heart felt light but full.

  My mind was drawing a big fat blank—it had been that long. Part of me knew that this wasn’t all Ryan’s fault. There were two people in this marriage, and I wondered at what point I had stopped caring about what he felt and had become caught up in my own misery, keeping him at arm’s length. I knew that I was just as much to blame as he was for my unhappiness, but I was so angry with him for this choice that he had made, for the secrecy. I couldn’t think beyond what I had witnessed firsthand. The betrayal cut so deep that I wasn’t sure if we could ever go back to what we had been. Or if that was even an option.

  I heard a loud chime, my phone’s indication of a new text message. I held up the phone in front of my face attempting to see who the text was from, although I had a pretty good idea. My heart clenched as I viewed Ryan’s name on my screen. A ripple of pain shot through my chest as I tried to wash away the image of him with another woman. I feared it was stained on my heart forever, left as a reminder as to why I subconsciously pushed everything inward, relying only on myself. The disappointment was so much more manageable when I didn’t expect anything from others, when I didn’t depend on anyone. It was a lonely existence that I knew all too well, but lonely was better than scraping pieces of my broken heart off the pavement.

  I glanced back and forth from the road to the phone, trying to read his words, though I knew there was nothing he could possibly say to change what he had done.

  You can’t ignore me forever, Gemma. I am so sorry. We need to talk. Please come home or call me. I love you, and I’m worried about you. I need . . . The phone slipped from my han
d, landing on the floorboard near my feet. I tried to bend down to grab it without taking my gaze off the road, but the phone was out of my reach. I unlatched my seat belt, bending down farther, blindly feeling the floor mat with my hand, as my eyes followed the dotted yellow line of the road before me. I finally had my phone in my grasp and brought it to eye level, glancing down momentarily to read the remainder of Ryan’s text.

  I looked back at the road, but it was too late. I pumped my foot against the brake pedal in a panic, felt my foot slip from the grip, and heard myself scream in the small confines of the car’s interior. The car slammed against something, forcing its forward velocity to falter. My head connected with the windshield, hard, as pain ricocheted through my skull. And, for just a moment, my world swirled around me—a slow blur of color—until there was nothing but darkness.

  Five

  I awoke later, my forehead resting on the steering wheel. Completely disoriented for several seconds, I soon recalled the deer darting out in front of the car. My head was throbbing. I reached up to touch my brow, the source of wetness trickling into my eye. As I pulled my hand away, I discovered thick red blood. Grabbing the folded napkins—which had come with my vanilla latte that morning—from the passenger’s seat, I pressed them against my forehead to stop the bleeding. I stumbled out of the driver’s door and stood on the shoulder of the highway, staring at the large buck now lying motionless in a pool of blood in the middle of the road.

  After a quick inspection of the car, I knew that it was drivable but looked pretty beat-up in the morning sun. The deer had left its mark on the front bumper and also the hood, plus the windshield was cracked. I reached inside the car for my phone that was on the floor under my seat. I felt the need to call someone about the deer but wasn’t sure who that someone might be. I was, roughly, fifteen miles from the cabin. As I stared at the screen of my phone, debating what I should do next, I noticed Ryan’s text—the reason for this whole mess. You can’t ignore me forever, Gemma. I am so sorry. We need to talk. Please come home or call me. I love you and I’m worried about you. I need to see you. Please just hear me out, let me explain. Tears stung my eyes, but I wiped them away quickly.

  Settling back into the driver’s seat, I fastened my seat belt securely and slowly pulled the car back onto the desolate highway, as I silently scolded myself for my stupidity. I was suddenly aware of my pounding heart and my trembling hands as I gripped the steering wheel tightly. Clearly I was more shaken from the accident than I had thought.

  I took in my surroundings as I neared the Kalispell Bay turnoff, slowing my speed as I veered to the right, exiting the main highway. Dense forest bordered the road on both sides. I could just barely make out the trailhead that led to the marina by a slight break in the trees. A trail that I had explored countless times as a child. I slowed my fancy sedan and made a right turn onto the narrow dirt road, cursing each pothole which the car sunk into with a loud thunk. I was here.

  I parked the car on the front lawn, now overgrown with weeds, and killed the engine. As I stepped out of the car, I inhaled deeply, taking in the overwhelming scent of pine that Seattle could not match. There was a chill in the air even with the sun shining brightly above me, a telltale sign that it was only May and not quite summer yet. The single-level cabin that I remembered so well seemed smaller somehow and desperately in need of a fresh coat of paint. The winters were harsh here, and the wood siding, once the color of red cedar, now looked faded, more like the silvery driftwood that littered the beach. The familiar navy blue curtains were drawn, obscuring the view of the inside through the large single-pane windows.

  I found the cabin key on my key ring where I had placed it just days before and made my way up the three short steps to the porch, which extended the entire length of the cabin’s face. I ran my hand along the wooden railing that framed the porch, my fingers scraping the chipped white paint. The wooden porch swing that my grandfather had built with his own two hands still hung from thick chains on the far side of the porch, where I could sit and view the lake.

  The key turned in the lock, and the door swung open slowly. The cabin smelled musty from years of sitting empty. I could smell mothballs and pine, the signature scent of this old cabin, bringing fresh memories of my grandmother to mind. I took in the small open kitchen, the creamy white cabinets, the red Formica countertops. Continuing on, my gaze trailed across the large round dining table that sat in the middle of the main room, acting as a barrier between the kitchen and the living area.

  I scanned the beautiful knotty pine walls surrounding the entire room until my survey landed on the large river-rock fireplace. As the main focus of the room, it gave the cabin a rustic feel. I took a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the rush of emotions that assaulted me while I remembered the countless moments of my life spent within these walls. So many memories of a simpler time, a simpler life. I longed for those days now, a time before my life became so complicated.

  I made my way into the one and only bathroom, just off the main room, to inspect the cut on my forehead. Rummaging through the cabinets, I found a large Band-Aid and secured it over the slightly oozing flesh.

  I studied my reflection in the dust-covered mirror. I could almost see the girl who I used to be in the same warm caramel-colored eyes that stared back at me. Long blond hair fell around my heart-shaped face in loose waves; full lips framed my perfect white teeth—thanks to the braces that I wore for two years starting in junior high. I once saw myself how others described me. Pretty, beautiful, stunning even. Although now all I could see was the hollowness of my cheeks, the lines that revealed my thirty-six years, the emptiness in my eyes—vacant yet filled with longing. I turned away, unable to face myself any longer.

  I walked throughout the cabin and pulled the dusty white sheets from each piece of furniture—two rounded upholstered chairs; the cream-colored sofa donning navy-and-red-striped throw pillows, completing the nautical theme that my mother had redecorated with years ago; the worn leather bench that rested in front of the fireplace—everything remained just as I had remembered. Rolling the sheets into a contained pile, I set them in the corner and ran my hand along the smooth surface of the river rocks that comprised the fireplace. It was as if time stood still here, while our lives flew by at record speed all around it. This place needed more work than I realized; everything was so outdated. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t change a thing, but that would defeat my purpose for being here.

  Now that both of my grandparents were gone, my mother was finally ready to let go of the cabin. But I sensed it was really because my estranged father had passed recently. She knew that no one came up here anymore. At my mother’s suggestion, I had agreed to spend the summer here to update the cabin and prepare it for the competitive lake real estate market. I couldn’t deny the real reason I had decided to come. The need to get away, to take a moment to catch my breath. My conscience was reminding me that I was running away from my life, but I buried my inner voice deep inside and continued from room to room, opening windows and removing sheets from the bedroom furniture, my mother’s words echoing in my mind. It’ll be good for you. A little peace and quiet never hurt anyone, and I need someone to do this for me. It would be too hard to do myself, too hard to change anything. In reality it hadn’t taken much to convince me.

  I unloaded the trunk of the car, carrying in two large suitcases and a box of cleaning supplies that I had brought from home. I opted to stay in my parents’ room; yet it felt strange to consider using their bedroom. It had been the one room in the cabin that was off-limits when I was a child. But it was the largest of the three bedrooms, offering more comfort with a queen-size bed. I stripped the bedding from the old bed, adorned with a beautiful hand-carved beechwood headboard, and remade it with the clean sheets and a heavy down comforter that I had brought with me.

  Working up a slight sweat, I wrapped my long hair into a tight bun—a style that I had perfected with years of having to appear professional in court—a
nd began to clean the kitchen, wiping away the dust and cleaning the inside of the cabinets. I welcomed the distraction, something to keep my hands busy and my mind clear as the minutes ticked by unnoticed.

  ***

  Finally satisfied, knowing the kitchen was squeaky clean, I rewarded myself with a stroll down to the lake. I walked out onto the long dock that jetted out farther than any other in the bay and sat on the end, letting my bare feet dangle into the glacier-filled lake. The cold took my breath away for a moment until my feet slowly adjusted to the frigid temperature. I had forgotten just how cold the water could be, although, as a child, it had never prevented me from jumping right in. I closed my eyes and focused on the quiet that surrounded me, a low hum from a distant ski boat the only sound in the air. The bright sun warmed my cheeks and the familiar smell of evergreens filled my nostrils as I breathed in the clean, fresh air.

  As I pictured myself at a young age, standing on a piling of this very dock preparing to jump into the cold dark water several feet below from where I was perched, I could almost hear children’s laughter. Along with my father’s playful voice encouraging me. Come on, Gemma. Just jump. You can do it!

  My younger brother, Jacob, and my best friend, Drew, waiting for their turn. Come on, Gem. Jump already, Drew would call out, his patience wearing thin. I was so scared to jump off that piling but wanted desperately to be brave like the boys. I could remember the way I had closed my eyes tight, the way my heart had pounded in my chest, as I stepped away feeling nothing but air beneath my feet. The cold water would instantly assault me, causing my heart to beat harder and faster, while I held my breath and fought for the surface. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.

  Memories of Drew drifted through my mind. We were best friends before we could even talk and had grown up spending our summers at the lake as if we were joined at the hip. His family’s cabin was on the shore, just two docks to the north from where I sat. He came from money, the Monroe Enterprises’ kind of money. His grandfather had started the company decades ago, bringing on Drew’s father after he had graduated college. Mr. Monroe had plans for Andrew and his older brother, William, to follow in his footsteps.