Gravity: A Novel

by L. D. Cedergreen

  Clutching the compass tightly in my hand, I flew out the front door and walked next door to Bill and Ann Sherwood’s cabin, pounding on their door, until Bill appeared before me. He had been a kind man growing up, and, as I stood staring into his startled face, I could see the same kindness in his eyes. He was nearly bald now, with only patches of gray above his ears, and his belly protruded over the top of his belted khaki slacks.

  “Can I help you?” he asked. Before I could answer, he glanced behind me to see my mother walking toward us. “Bethany? Gemma? Is that you? Well, I’ll be damned. I haven’t seen the likes of you for years.”

  Skipping the pleasantries, I launched into the reason I was banging down his door. “Bill, I need you to take me to Upper Priest.”

  “Upper Priest? Why in heaven’s name do you want to go up there?” he asked.

  “I saw your boat tied up on the dock. Please, I need to go there right now.” My rushed words sounded crazy even to my own ears, and I worried for a moment what he must think of me.

  “It’s nearly noon, Gemma. That’s a long trip,” he said, scratching his bald head as if he still had a full head of hair.

  “Please, Bill, it’s important.” I felt my mother beside me then.

  “Bill, good to see you,” she said, as she shook his hand. “I’m so sorry for this intrusion.” She turned to me. “Gemma, what is this all about?”

  “Mother, please, I need to go to Upper Priest.”

  “I was going to go out for a little fishing today anyway. I guess we could venture up north for a bit,” Bill said.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you,” I said, holding my hands together in front of me with the compass pressed between my palms.

  “I’ll just get my things and meet you at the dock,” he said, sensing my urgency.

  I turned to walk toward the beach as my mother was suddenly in step beside me.

  “Gemma Rose Lang, I swear I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

  I suppressed the need to correct her, to remind her that my last name was Walsh.

  ***

  The long boat ride north was uneventful. The water was calm for a late summer day, but it was midweek, and not many boats were on the lake. I sat quietly as my mind wandered to moments that felt like last week as my mother and Bill made idle chitchat, filling in the twenty-year time gap that spanned between them. When we finally navigated through the Thorofare, I directed Bill to the beach where Drew and I had always spent our time. Before the boat was completely beached in the sand, I jumped from the bow and waded through the knee-deep water. I followed my heart to the tree and held my breath as I stepped close enough to read the words carved into its bark. GL + AM, Best Friends to Infinity. Nothing more, nothing less.

  My heart broke. A part of me had wanted the new carvings to be here, the words that I had added that day. I wanted so badly for something—anything—to be real. I wiped tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand as I reached out and touched the words that marked a time in my life that I would never get back. He was gone. Drew was gone. And my recent memories were nothing but a dream, a rare coincidence. My heart threatened to break wide open in that moment, but I pushed it back, fought against the grief. Not here. Not now.

  On the boat ride back to Kalispell Bay, I closed my eyes and let the wind beat against my face, my silent tears whisked away before they could be felt on my cheeks. The boat’s motor filled in the silence that had fallen over the three of us. I heard my mother’s earlier whispers, explaining to Bill the recent trauma that I had endured, as if to excuse my absurd behavior. Neither of them knew quite what to make of the situation.

  After helping Bill loop the boat ties through the cleats on the dock, I wandered slowly up the dirt lane toward the cabin. My mother and Bill trailed behind me, giving me my space. I heard my mother ask quietly about the cabin’s new paint, and I whirled around, waiting for his response.

  “Little Andrew Monroe, bless his heart, done that all himself. He asked me to keep it to myself of course. It took him weeks. I guess he was already pretty sick by that point. But nonetheless he showed up every mornin’ and worked himself to the bone . . .” His words faded at that point as all I could hear was the beating of my heart in my ears, pounding steadily, as I pictured Andrew on the ladder, painting the siding of the cabin. His smile lighting up his eyes as we worked side by side, getting to know each other once again. He had been here.

  “Poor thing . . . So sad what happened . . . just like his mother . . .” Bill’s voice barely registered as I continued walking toward the cabin, tears stinging my eyes. I walked to the back and dropped down on the concrete step of the back porch. I hung my head in my hands, and the grief spilled out of me in steady waves, thrashing against the walls of my heart. I wasn’t sure how long I sat here, mourning Drew and the loss of the time that I thought I had shared with him.

  The blue of the sky had turned to an orange and pink haze, almost glowing through the treetops. I stared at the height of the evergreens that bordered the back of the cabin, obscuring the copper creek that I could hear clearly as it streamed in a steady rush over rocks and fallen logs, fighting its way to the open waters of the lake that waited just around the bend. I noted the mossy earth that lay at the foot of the trees, flourishing in the shade the evergreens provided. And that’s when I noticed fresh soil, turned over in a heap beneath the trees, as if someone had been digging around in the dirt.

  Curiously I rose from the step and walked over, kicking the dirt around with my foot. And without another thought, I fell to my knees and buried my hands in the cool, damp soil. Assaulted with memories of a day long ago when Drew and I had dug a hole in this very place. Choosing a spot at the birth of the tallest tree so that we would never forget. How could have I forgotten? A renewal of energy shot through me at the prospect of finding our time capsule that we had buried long ago. I felt it, the thermos, at my fingertips and tunneled deeper into the earth until it was free. I wiped the dirt from the steel container and slowly twisted off the lid, already picturing what I would find.

  The thin colorful threaded friendship bracelets that I had weaved for us, the laminated picture of Drew and me that I had used as a bookmark in all my Beverly Cleary Ramona books. Drew’s Susan B. Anthony silver dollar—that he had been hesitant to part with—and a newspaper clipping that we had cut from his father’s Priest Lake Herald on that day, secured in a sheet of plastic wrap, for a time reference. As I shook the thermos, the contents dumping into my lap one at a time, I recognized all these items—except one.

  A foreign piece of treasure, secured in a plastic bag. I could see my name written in neat print on a folded white envelope. I carefully peeled open the plastic seal and pulled the envelope from the bag. I ran my fingers over my name, Gemma, before sliding my index finger under the sealed flap and retrieving the folded paper from inside. With unsteady hands I slowly unfolded the paper, my mind bouncing back and forth between sheer curiosity and fear.

  It was a letter dated two months ago.

  Dear Gemma,

  If you are reading this, then I was right about you, and I am most certainly gone. I figured that, upon hearing the news, you would come to this place that once meant so much to us both. This is my cowardly way of saying good-bye. I didn’t have the heart to disrupt your life. To become a physical presence in your life again, knowing the plans that God had in store for me. And the last thing you need is to endure another good-bye. I did check up on you, just to make sure that you were happy and that your life was what you deserve. It seems that you are very successful and married to a good man. And from a distance, you seem happy. And I hope that you are—happy, that is. The one thing I am sure of, you are beautiful. Like take-my-breath-away beautiful. But then again, you always were.

  When I was diagnosed just like my mom had been, I knew that this was the end for me. I came here, back to the lake, to live my final days. I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. I miss you. I miss us. My one regret in this l
ife—letting you walk out of it. I should have fought for you, fought for my best friend—the closest thing that I had to a family since I lost my mom. I was a stupid kid, blinded by my emotions and then my pride.

  And so I wanted to say that I am sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t live up to the promises that we had made to each other. For what it’s worth, you have been with me, in my heart, every day since I last saw you. And I will carry you with me into the next life.

  I do not fear what is to come. I have made peace with my fate. I long for the quiet, an escape from the pain. And I know, somehow, that I will be with my mom again. And maybe I’ll be able to watch over you, to know you in a way that I haven’t in a long time.

  I painted the cabin, my final gift to you, in hope that you will come here again, to this place, with your own family.

  And my parting words, for what it’s worth: Let go of your regrets and truly live—you deserve every happiness.

  I love you, Gemma Rose Lang. I’ll always love you.

  Remember me . . .

  Your Friend to Infinity . . . and Beyond,

  Andrew

  Tears fell in rapid sequence, leaving wet swirls on the paper, soaking through the black ink that spoke the words of Drew’s heart. The idea that he was here recently, thinking of me and didn’t reach out to me, couldn’t pick up the phone and call, and the idea that I was too late, filled my heart with painful regret. And in the same moment, Drew’s words stared at me from the paper in my hands. Let go of your regrets. I clutched the letter against my chest, drawing comfort from the fact that Drew had held this same paper in his own hands only two months before. I reached for the picture of us. A close-up of our faces, taken by my mother on a bright sunny morning. My large front bucklike teeth and freckles, wet blond hair falling in chunks around my eyes. Drew’s perfect round face, full cheeks dawning the biggest dimples I had ever seen and clear blue eyes shining light like the heavens. Our bright smiles were so authentic, full of promise and possibilities, unaware of what lay ahead. We didn’t have a care in the world. Why would we? We had each other.

  Thirty-Three

  My mother convinced me to get in the car though I was reluctant to leave. I sat in the front seat, with Drew’s letter still clutched to my chest, finding some semblance of comfort by keeping his words close to my heart. The thermos and its contents were tucked away in my purse. The trees swept by outside my window, nearly lost to the approaching darkness as we drove down the highway in complete silence. My mother slowed as we passed by the gas station, the General Store, and Sal’s Garage.

  “Stop the car, Mother!” I yelled as I caught the movement of someone closing the large garage door at Sal’s.

  Without question, my mother slowed the car and pulled off into the gravel lot where my gaze was fixed. I opened the car door and walked toward the dark figure, praying that it was who I thought it was. My heart stopped when I saw the familiar blond hair and hazel eyes. I knew I was supposed to believe that I hadn’t seen him in years, but I felt like I had seen him yesterday. He looked exactly how I had imagined.

  He began to walk into the shop through the smaller door before he looked up at the last minute and spotted me.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, oblivious that it was me. I couldn’t blame him, I hardly recognized myself in the mirror since the accident, and he hadn’t seen me since high school.

  Frantic, afraid that he would walk away and I would never see him again, I called out to him. “Logan.” My voice broke, and I cleared my throat and called out once again. “Logan.”

  He stepped away from the doorway and out into the night at the sound of my voice. He stared at me for what seemed like forever until recognition finally flashed across his face. “Gemma? Is that you?” he asked, unsure.

  “Yes. Logan, it’s me.” My heart was clamoring in my chest, tears threatening to spill from my eyes, now that he was standing right in front of me. Under the floodlights, I could see how broken he appeared. He looked much older and tired and sad.

  “Oh, Gemma, I can’t believe you’re here,” he said as he pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me. “Did you come for Drew?” he asked.

  I nodded against his chest as my tears soaked his T-shirt. I wanted to tell him everything in that moment. About the accident, my dream, Drew. But I couldn’t find the words beneath my grief.

  “The service is the day after tomorrow. You’ll be there, right?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. I was so distracted with proving my dream to be real, I hadn’t thought about his funeral. My chance to say good-bye, to pay my respects. His father would be there . . . and William. I took a deep breath.

  “I’ll be there. Where is it?” I asked.

  “Here. Ten o’clock. At the little chapel on the hill that overlooks the bay. It was what Drew wanted.”

  “Did you see him? He was here?” I asked as I pulled away from him, looking into his eyes.

  Logan nodded. “Yeah, he was here for about six months.” Logan hung his head, resting his hands on his denim-clad hips. “Damn stubborn ass, wouldn’t let anyone help him.”

  I attempted a smile and said, “Sounds like Drew.”

  A car horn sounded in the distance, and I looked behind me to see my mother flashing her lights. “I better go. That’s my mother. We’re heading back to her house tonight, but I’ll return for the service. I have so many questions and so much to tell you. Can we catch up then?”

  “Of course.” Logan pulled me back into a hug. “It’s so good to see you, Gem.”

  “It’s good to see you too,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes as I stepped away. I reached out and cupped his cheek for a moment, memorizing his familiar face. “Bye,” I whispered and walked swiftly back to the car and my impatient mother, still holding Drew’s letter in my hand.

  ***

  Exhaustion settled into my bones, pinned my heart to the inside of my rib cage as I stepped out of the car at the chapel. Wind whipped through my short blond hair that stood on end while I looked out at the view. You could see the entire south end of the lake from this spot, including Kalispell Island. I could see why Drew would want us to honor him at this chapel, in this place. It seemed fitting that the sky would be a mess of dark clouds today, in the middle of summer, threatening rain. I wondered if Drew believed in God, in the end.

  We used to ponder the idea of His existence when we were younger, after Katherine had died. I think that Drew needed something to believe in, an idea that he could hold on to that brought a sense of purpose to his mother’s death. But neither of us could imagine that there was a God that cruel. Now I hoped that Drew had found that belief and purpose in his own death, that maybe in the end he had found a sense of peace.

  Emotions rocketed through me. I was unable to fight them. I hadn’t been able to sleep or eat the past few days, anxiety haunting me about this very day—saying good-bye to Drew and being in close proximity to William. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it through the day, but I had to come. How could I not?

  I heard my mother beside me seconds after the slam of her car door. “Are you ready, Gemma?” she asked.

  “Can I have a minute alone? I’ll meet you inside,” I said as I turned to look into her eyes. I could feel her sadness from where I stood; it was written in her eyes. Drew had been such a special person in our lives for so many years. She insisted on coming to pay her respects, and I wasn’t able to drive myself.

  “Sure,” she said as she squeezed my hand tightly in hers and turned to make her way into the small church. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the clean pine-scented air, my thoughts a swirling mix of memories—old and new. I whispered into the wind, hoping that my words would carry on its wings to the heavens or wherever Drew might be now.

  “Drew, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry for it all. I hope that somehow you knew the truth and that you find peace in knowing that I loved you then and that I love you now. It was always you. It will always be yo
u.”

  I held my hands over my belly, feeling a sudden surge of strength, knowing that life and death were so full of mystery and miracles. I couldn’t sort it all out in my head, to make sense of it all in this moment, but I felt that everything happened for a reason, that everything in life had a purpose. Who we meet, who we love, who we lose, . . . it all had a purpose. I had been thinking this for a while now, needing to believe in something myself. Grasping at anything that could fill the void of explanation for recent events.

  My accident, my dream, this baby, Drew’s death . . . I closed my eyes and raised my face to the clouds, feeling the wind against my cheeks, imagining that Drew was somehow reaching out to me, that he was here with me. Tears wet my cheeks in the same moment that tiny raindrops fell from the sky. A small smile reached my lips, a heartbreaking smile. It was silly but I wanted to believe that I was feeling Drew’s tears on my cheeks, mixed with my own.

  Get a grip, I thought to myself as I opened my eyes and wiped away the moisture, careful not to smudge my mascara any more than it already had. I brought my hand to my lips, kissed the ends of my fingers and blew it out into the air, sending Drew a symbol of my affection, just like I had done so many times when we were young. Saying good-bye was always so hard at the end of the summer, so Drew and I had started a simple ritual. He would stand at the end of his driveway, and I would stand in front of my cabin. We would blow each other a kiss across the lane just before I piled into my family’s car and drove away.