“I guess so. But only because you brought me a scone. I can’t believe that LuLu is still in business.”
“Yeah, she passed away a few years ago, but her niece has been running things for several years now. All the recipes have been handed down,” he said as he bit into a scone.
I bit into my own scone and closed my eyes to savor the taste. “I think these are better than I remember.” I devoured the entire thing in as little as three bites while Andrew and I sat in silence, taking in the lake as we sipped our coffee.
“So what’s your plan today?” he asked.
“I wanted to pick up some paint and supplies from the hardware store, and start refinishing the outside of the cabin. But since I don’t have a car, I may just sit here all day and do nothing.”
“You’re going to paint the cabin all by yourself? Why not hire somebody to do it?”
“I don’t know. I kind of like the idea of doing it myself.”
“Well, I’d be happy to take you to town, if you want,” he said, hesitantly.
“Really? You don’t mind?” I asked.
“Not at all.”
We finished our coffee and drove to the hardware store where I picked up paintbrushes, paint pans, redwood stain for the cedar planks, and white paint for the trim. Andrew left me at the cabin with my purchases while he claimed to be in desperate need of a nap.
I spent the afternoon taping the trim around the doors and windows that I could reach, prepping for the long process of reviving the cedar siding that I planned to start the following day.
That night, while playing an old-fashioned game of solitaire at the dining table, I polished off a bottle of Merlot and let my thoughts drift to Andrew. It was hard not to feel attracted to him. His smile could light up the room. He was still the kind, gentle soul that I remembered, his father’s cold, hard demeanor having no place in Andrew’s heart. He was his mother’s son through and through.
Eleven
The next morning I braved the dark confines of the garage, mentally talking my way through the spiderwebs to find the ladder that my grandfather had stored away. It was hard not to wish that Ryan was there to help with this task, knowing my fear of spiders and any other creepy-crawling thing that hid in dark confined spaces. I was married; I shouldn’t have to wrestle with ten-foot-tall ladders and monstrous black spiders. I pushed aside my resentment of my situation and chanted in my head,You can do this, over and over, mentally psyching myself up for the task.
I emerged from the garage hastily, threw the ladder to the ground with a crash, and jumped around frantically. I ran my hands through my hair and over every inch of my body in a desperate attempt to brush off the multitude of spiders and their webs that I was almost certain were there. I heard a laugh from behind me and turned to find Andrew watching the embarrassing spectacle that I was making of myself.
“What the hell?” he asked, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.
“Get them off me,” I screamed. I didn’t have time to let the mortification of the moment sink in when I felt as if little eight-legged things were crawling all over my skin.
He only laughed harder. “Still afraid of spiders?” he teased.
He must have seen the fear in my eyes, so he walked closer and brushed his hands up and down my arms. He pulled something out of my hair. I wasn’t sure what it was; I was too afraid to ask.
“There. Nothing on you. You’re fine,” he said with his hands resting on my shoulders, looking directly into my eyes, his voice calm and direct.
His touch raised the goose bumps on my skin to a new level, and I shivered at the sound of his deep, calming voice, so close to my face.
I stepped backward away from him, my cheeks ablaze in embarrassment now that I felt safe. “Thanks.” I wrapped my arms across my chest, rubbing out the chill. “Where were you five minutes ago? I could’ve avoided this whole scene and sent you in there instead,” I said, motioning toward the garage with my thumb.
He laughed again. “Sorry, but this was way more fun.”
I punched him in the arm. He was wearing a pair of long running shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. The muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed as my fist met his skin.
“Hey, I saved your ass from that big hairy spider crawling through your hair, and this is the thanks I get?” he said as he rubbed his arm.
I instinctively ran my hands through my hair again and shuddered at the thought. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, securing it with the band that I had wrapped around my wrist. “What are you doing here, Drew?” I asked with my hands on my hips.
“I thought you might want some help painting. I don’t really have anything going on. It could be nice to have a project. What do you say? Want some help?”
“You really want to help?” I asked, unsure of his motives.
“Yep.” He gave me that closed-lip smile that showcased his dimples the most.
“Fine. Can you help me with this ladder?” I asked as he picked it up off the ground, chuckling to himself.
Twelve
We worked together the entire day, each with our own earbuds in place, listening to our iPods. Andrew was on the ladder, painting the upper portion, while I stood on the ground painting the lower portion. I had made us sandwiches for lunch that we ate on the front porch in the shade. We didn’t speak much the entire day, but our silence was comforting and familiar, and I was thankful for his presence and for his help.
Each morning Drew dutifully showed up and took his place on the ladder as we worked our way around the house. With its color slowly being restored, the cabin was looking fresh and familiar, more like the way that I remembered it. And the work was therapeutic like I had hoped it would be. Keeping my hands busy helped keep my mind off the things that had driven me here in the first place.
We had just finished the second coat of stain, and we stood back side by side with our paintbrushes in hand to admire our work. Sweat was dripping down my back underneath my tank top, and my cutoff jean shorts were speckled with red stain.
“Nice work, partner,” Andrew said, raising his left hand while his right was still holding a paintbrush.
I raised my hand expectantly to give him a high-five, and he interlaced our fingers together instead.
“Thanks for all your help. I couldn’t have done it without you,” I said, slowly releasing my fingers from his. He was looking at me so intensely. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he had a few days’ worth of stubble on his upper lip and chin. He looked ruggedly handsome, and it was hard to turn away. Instead I ran my paintbrush down his nose, trying to break away from the awkward stare down that had us both frozen in place.
With a translucent red streak down his nose, he blinked, completely taken aback by my action.
I gave him a wicked smile, waiting for his reaction.
He quickly retaliated by running his brush across my cheek followed by a streak down my arm.
“Hey,” I yelled as I ran away from him. We both rushed for the paint pan, dipping our brushes and flicking paint at each other, brushing red stain across the other’s skin whenever the opportunity presented itself. I could feel the effortless grin on my face, stretching from ear to ear as the death grip that life had clenched around my heart loosened just enough to notice. I felt like the young girl that I once was, carefree and happy, spending the day with my best friend. Within minutes we were covered in red from head to toe and laughing breathlessly.
We both stilled at the same moment, and, with nothing else but a look between us—a voiceless communication that we had perfected long ago—we dropped our brushes and took off running for the beach, kicking off our shoes somewhere along the way. Our paced steps turned into a familiar race as we reached the dock. Drew was only steps ahead of me, and we reached the end at nearly the same time, both of us diving into the calm blue water. As I surfaced, trying to catch my breath, I was assaulted by a splash to the face. Drew was only a few feet from me, breathless as well, grinning like an idiot.
“Oh, you’re going down,” I said.
He only laughed at my pathetic threat and countered, “Bring it.”
I splashed him back, square in the face, and, of course, this led to a full-on war. We both stopped at the point where we could hardly stay afloat, unable to catch our breath from laughing so hard. I swam toward him, calling “truce,” and ran my hands over his face. Luckily the paint hadn’t dried yet and washed away with each stroke of my hand. We were laughing in between breaths, treading water, as we wiped the paint off each other.
Suddenly aware of where our legs touched below the surface and the lack of space between our faces, I swallowed the desire that unexpectedly erupted from somewhere inside me. For a brief moment I thought that he was going to kiss me, his hand resting on my cheek, his blue eyes staring into mine—almost translucent in the bright sun. But the moment slipped by, and he swam away from me, his long strokes taking him toward his own dock. I was still out of breath and left alone to calm my pounding heart from whatever had just passed between us.
Exhausted, I stopped treading water and let myself drift below the surface into the cold dark depths of the lake, trying to clear my head. When I couldn’t hold my breath another second, I slowly let air out of my lungs and pushed myself back toward the light, kicking ferociously, feeling the burn. I drew in a desperate breath once I felt the sun on my face. Wiping the water from my eyes, I opened them and nearly screamed. I was staring into Drew’s eyes.
“Seriously, Drew, stop sneaking up on me,” I panted, out of breath. I slammed my fist against the surface, splashing water into Drew’s face.
He didn’t even flinch, his features fixed with a solemn expression. “I should have kissed you that day,” he said, treading water effortlessly just inches in front of me.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“That day at Indian Rock. That should have been our first kiss.”
His words brought to mind the memory of the day in question. I knew exactly the moment that he was referring to. A hot day in August, the summer we had both turned sixteen. The last summer I had spent here at the lake with Drew, just days before our relationship had changed forever, our friendship ripped apart.
“I was just a kid, afraid of rejection. But, more important, I was afraid of losing you,” he said, breathing hard.
The memory was crystal clear now, like a movie playing in my mind. We had hiked to Indian Rock, a huge cliff that emerged from the lake a few miles up the shore from our cabins, earning its name from the ancient drawings—which were believed to have been painted by Native Americans—that covered the face of the massive rock. Drew and I had climbed to the top with a six-pack of beer, talked, and then jumped off the landing into the cold dark water below. It was the first and last time that I had jumped off the rock, a popular adrenaline-inducing activity that every teenager had tried at least once.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, getting lost in his icy-blue eyes, remembering the boy that he had been through the eyes of a teenage girl who had had a crush on her best friend. Although looking back, it had been more than just a teenage crush. I remembered the way I had watched him that summer each time he dove into the lake, taking in the new shape of his body. The boy that I had known had vanished leaving in his place over six feet of hard muscle and definition, rippled abs, and long toned legs. Even his jawline had become more defined.
And I hadn’t been able to ignore the way he would watch me while I peeled away my clothes, stripping down to my bikini that I had finally filled out with womanly curves. Everything had slowly changed between us that summer, but neither of us had wanted to acknowledge it, both desperate to hold on to the friendship that had defined us for so long, a friendship that we had come to rely on like the air that we needed to breath.
Looking into Drew’s eyes now, feeling my heart thumping hard in my chest with that familiar ache, that familiar need in my gut, I thought back to that day. The way Drew and I had both surfaced from that jump at the same time, the way my lungs had burned, as if on fire, after the long swim to the surface from the incredible depth that had swallowed us whole. It had been the most incredible, most exhilarating rush that I had ever experienced to date. I remembered screaming, “Holy Shit,” once I had caught my breath.
And then I sensed something shift in his gaze. I had wanted him to kiss me then. I had closed my eyes feeling his breath on my face, anticipating the feel of his lips on mine. But as the seconds ticked by, I had opened my eyes to find him swimming toward the shore, feeling foolish for misinterpreting the signs, crushed that my feelings were one-sided, unreciprocated. And now, here he was, telling me what he should’ve told me all those years ago.
“I’m telling you this because I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to lose you again without doing what I should have done that day.” Reaching out his hand, he cupped my wet cheek, pulling my face closer as he tilted his head, closing the small gap between us. I felt his warm lips against the cold of my own, like a gentle caress. I shivered from the cold water that encompassed me as he softly urged my lips to part, deepening the kiss with his hand on the back of my head as our legs became entangled just below the surface.
Suddenly scared from the growing desire swirling in my gut, I pulled away before I was completely lost to him. Ryan’s face flashed in my mind, and I instantly felt guilty, as conflicting emotions warred within me. I wanted this moment to be validated by Ryan’s affair, but at the same time I could hear the old adage ringing in my head: two wrongs don’t make a right.
“Drew,” I whispered desperately, looking into his eyes to read his reaction. As if my breath had been stolen away, I couldn’t finish my thought.
His eyes searched my face for a moment before he sank below the surface and swam away again. I watched him until he reached his dock, where he pulled himself up and walked toward the shore to Monroe Manor, disappearing into the wall of glass moments later.
I finally took a long pull of air, my first real breath in several minutes. Swimming to the edge of the dock, I climbed out, fighting the chill, and slowly made my way back to my cabin.
I wasn’t sure what to feel or what to think. I can’t deny the feelings that resurfaced from that kiss. Feelings that had been dormant in my soul all these years came crashing back in an instant. If only he had kissed me that day so long ago. If only I had known how he felt for me then. Things could have turned out differently. If only.
Thirteen
I set down my book in my lap. I was in bed, snuggled under the comforter, trying to read until I fell asleep. I couldn’t concentrate on the words. All I could think of was Andrew and the look in his eyes when he had kissed me. I brought my fingers to my lips, remembering what it had felt like. It was our first kiss—too little, too late—twenty years too late to be exact. It had been decades since I had experienced a first kiss with someone. It was amazing that, even at thirty-six, the anticipation of it had felt the same as it did at sixteen.
I felt like a teenager all over again, and a smile crept over my face. I felt giddy and happy but I couldn’t deny the dark cloud that loomed nearby. Andrew represented a part of my life that I had tried to put behind me, but it still haunted me. And hiding here from my life didn’t erase the fact that I was still married. Nothing good could come from this. And, yet, it was nice to have a distraction from the devastation that I had felt since the day I found Ryan in bed with that woman.
I thought of Ryan and wondered what he was doing at that very minute. Was he with her? There were so many unanswered questions, questions that I hadn’t stuck around to ask. I hadn’t wanted to know the answers then, the pain threatening to cripple me. I had felt weak in that moment. I hated the vulnerability of feeling powerless, the feeling that my life was out of my control. My chest ached from the realization that my marriage was most likely over. The realization that the choice to end my marriage might not be mine to make.
Ryan had apologized in several vo
ice mails and texts, but I never really considered what his apology meant. Was he sorry for what he did, for hurting me? Was he wanting me back, or was he sorry that I found out, sorry for what he really wanted? Maybe Ryan had already made his final choice. Maybe I was just the last to know. Either way I didn’t think I was quite ready to find out.
I tossed aside my book and turned off the bedside lamp. Sighing out loud, I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes. Andrew’s beautiful face filled my mind again as the guilt festering in my gut reminded me that I should have been thinking only of my husband.
Fourteen
“Please don’t do this,” I begged.
I looked up into his eyes; they were dark and soulless, and I knew in that moment that my desperate words would not reach him. He was not the person that I knew; he was something else, and this realization brought my fear to new heights, paralyzing me.
Pain seared through my core as he took everything from me. My senses were overwhelming me. I could feel every inch of his skin where he touched me. I could smell his cologne, the whiskey on his breath. I could hear him grunt and whisper my name against my ear. It was all too much, and I prayed that it would end soon.
I’m not sure how long it lasted, seconds, minutes, but it felt like hours. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I cried in pain and fear. My arms ached from where they were pinned above my head. My legs were shaking from the unbearable weight of his body holding me down, and the pain from his thrusts was beyond anything that I had ever endured.
When I finally felt his weight lift from my broken body, I rolled to my side and vomited into the brush over and over again.
I heard him zip up his pants, towering over me as he said in a breathy voice, “You shouldn’t have drunk so much, Gemma. You might regret this in the morning. Just remember that you wanted this as much as I did.” I heard him chuckle to himself as he stumbled back toward the bonfire.
Gravity: A Novel Page 5