His eyes flashed. “S’mores. People. Everything. Do you still use carriages? Horses? Lanterns? I imagine that the world has made great strides in three hundred years. It must be filled with such wondrous inventions. I’m embarrassed to think about how terribly dull my world must appear to you.”
Andrea looked around the meadow, breathing in the scent of flowers and grass. She had never smelled sweeter air. The sounds floating in it were just as lush. Birds chirped, leaves fluttered, and the brook sang. She didn’t need to play her cello to hear music. “Not at all.”
“But surely your side must be at least a thousand times more beautiful and grand.”
“Beautiful?” Traffic, global warming, and L.A.’s smog tumbled around in her head. “Let’s just say it’s different.”
A crease marred Isaac’s brow. “Do you not like your world, Andrea?”
She twirled a weed around her forefinger and tugged it from the ground. “It’s just that I never really felt that I truly belonged there. Not since I was seven and saw you through the crack. I saw something no one else wanted to believe or understand.”
Isaac stared into the brook. The gold flecks in his eyes dimmed with the setting sun. “If I ask you a question, will you promise to tell me the truth?”
“Of course.”
“Do you regret seeing me, Andrea? Do you wish that none of this ever happened?”
She cupped his cheeks, turning his face toward her. “How could I possibly regret any of this? You. This day. This place. All of this is beyond magical.”
“Perhaps.” Isaac threw a pebble into the river. “But none of it will last. I dare not blink because I fear that when I open my eyes you will be gone.”
“Don’t blink.” She kissed him deeply and clung to him. Even in the open, miles away from the nearest town, she could feel the crack pulling them apart. “Don’t let me go.”
“Death itself could not pry you from my arms.” He held her face. “You have no inkling of the depth of beauty you possess. If you did, you would not be as blithe with it.”
“Blithe?” Andrea frowned.
“You are a dangerous creature, Andrea.” He pulled the ribbons of her bodice free.
Andrea breathed hard. Her dress fell open, exposing her breasts. “Isaac…”
He drew her close and kissed her neck. “I can take my fill of the little pleasures of this place, its brook, its sky, its grass, without consequence or worry. But I must take the utmost care when I look upon you. I could drown in your eyes and lose myself in your mouth.” He caressed her breast. “I could wander over your skin for days and not want for food or drink. You could kill me with a kiss, Andrea, and I would not lift a finger to stop you.”
Andrea pushed him down on the grass. She fumbled with the buttons of his breeches and straddled his hips. She slipped him inside her, out in the open for any passing stranger to see. She didn’t care. Decency was for those with the luxury of time. Their bodies moved as one, falling into perfect rhythm with a silent song they had heard all their lives.
The acceleration of an object is directly proportional to the net external force acting on the object and inversely proportional to the mass of the object.
—ISAAC NEWTON’S SECOND LAW OF MOTION
Andrea and Isaac’s Home
1665
Andrea is twenty-three.
Dear Mister Johann Sebastian Bach,
I’m glad I took you with me. Without you, I’m bound to forget.
My name is Andrea S. Louviere. My parents are Julia and Andrew Louviere. My stepmother’s name is Sylvia. I have a brother named Bas. Nate was my best friend, but we don’t speak anymore. At least, I don’t think we do. The last time I saw him was the night I stepped through a crack in my wall. I now live in a little village in England, three hundred years in the past. I’ve been here two months, one week, and four days.
I haven’t got the accent quite right, but the butcher seems to understand me well enough when I order mutton or veal for the evening stew. He seems to think that I’m from France. Some days, I believe him. My old life is so far away. One day soon, if I don’t write down who I used to be, I’m going to wake up and forget that I was anyone else but the strange, possibly French, woman living in a little limestone cottage at the edge of a village in Lincolnshire with the man she has loved all her life.
Andrea signed her name at the bottom of the journal’s page. She paused, trying to decide whether to add the new last name she went by. Though there were no witnesses to their wedding and their hearts kept the sole record of their vows, here she and Isaac lived as man and wife. But as much as she relished her new life, Andrea was acutely aware that every step she took in it brought her closer to its end. She shut her journal and squeezed it into her backpack. The bag was stuffed to overflowing, filled with all the bound pages that had chronicled her life on the other side of the wall, her only tethers to her old world. She shoved her backpack deep beneath the bed she shared with her husband and checked the time on her Omega. Isaac was teaching at the local grammar school and wasn’t going to be home for another two hours. She threw on her coat, grabbed her cello, and fled their bedroom.
She carried her instrument across her little garden, taking slow, deep breaths of the crisp air. Outside, Andrea found it easier to breathe. It didn’t tremble the way it did inside the cottage’s walls, crackling with all the seconds she and Isaac burned through. Growing up stealing time, Andrea found it difficult to stop feeling like a thief. She could not sit through supper without sneaking a peek over Isaac’s shoulder, checking for glowing cracks.
An old oak tree’s thinning canopy rustled in the wind beyond the border of her garden. The little bench Isaac had built waited for her and her cello beneath its shade. Andrea hurried toward it.
It had taken Isaac nearly a month to persuade Andrea to pick up her cello again. Playing still made her sit on the edge of her seat, wary of cracks, but it made the seventeenth century feel less strange. While the pages of her journal kept her memories of her past life safe, only music could bring them to life.
Andrea settled on the bench and positioned her bow over her cello. Playing in a meadow allowed her to play to her heart’s content, without worrying about walls.
—
She had never missed her microwave and frozen chicken and broccoli dinners more. The thin reddish-brown liquid that bubbled over the fire looked nothing like mutton stew and smelled like it even less. Her fourth attempt at making Isaac’s favorite childhood dish had gone the way of its predecessors. Andrea rubbed her forehead, wondering where she had gone wrong.
Isaac walked through the cottage door and made his way to her. “That smells lovely.”
“Liar. Let’s call for pizza. If I call now…” She checked her watch. “Dinner should be ready in about three hundred years. We get a free pizza if it’s late.”
Isaac laughed. Andrea had brought him up to speed on a lot of the modern conveniences she missed. She mentioned her craving for Papa John’s original crust pepperoni pizza and ice-cold Coke only every other day.
She took a sip of the stew and grimaced. “It’s worse than I thought.”
Isaac grabbed her by the waist and kissed the side of her neck. “But you, my dearest, are delectable.” He slid his hand over her thigh. “Who needs supper?”
“Not me.” Andrea pulled off his coat and kissed him.
Isaac carried her onto the dining table, knocking their water jug on the floor.
Andrea laughed. “That’s the second one you’ve broken this week.”
He lifted up her skirt and drew her legs apart. “Shall we break some more?”
—
The cooking fire cast shadows over Isaac’s face as he lay half-dressed next to Andrea on the cottage’s floor. Broken dishes were scattered next to him. Andrea rested her head on his chest and listened to him breathe. These were the moments when time almost seemed to slow down and allowed her to believe that they could grow old together. “How was school?”
“Half of the boys were asleep during arithmetic and the rest spent the hour staring at their feet. During the Latin lesson, I heard them groaning in their heads. So you might say that it was better than yesterday. I am a better student than teacher, I’m afraid.”
“Nonsense. They’re sleepy because school begins at the crack of dawn.”
“Is it not the same in your time?” Isaac asked.
Her lips quivered. “Her time” lurked behind their cottage’s bricks, waiting for her to trip and stumble against it.
“Did I say something wrong?” Isaac asked.
“No.”
“Then why are you frowning?”
“I just don’t like it when you say things like that. You aren’t a bad teacher. You’re one of the most brilliant men that has ever lived. You discovered gravity, calculus, and—”
“Andrea, stop. We have discussed this. You gave me your word. Time is a fragile thing. I do not wish to risk what we have now by prying into the future.”
She pursed her lips. Isaac had made her swear not to talk about what she knew of the future, but there were times when her promise pushed against her teeth. He was destined to be one of the world’s greatest minds and yet only one of them knew who he really was.
“There is only one thing I wish to know about what your history books say about my future.” Isaac clasped her hand and met her eyes. “Are you in it?”
Andrea’s fingers froze in his palm. “Isaac…I…”
Isaac sat up. “Then the future you know of is not the future I want. Everything that I have done, every book I scoured, every equation I solved, every elixir I concocted, all these, Andrea, were for one purpose. To find you. And now you are here. All that I have dreamed of and ached for is under this roof. I no longer have any use or interest in math, science, potions, or spells. I live with real magic every day. Forget the man you have read of. He does not exist. I do. I would suffer a wretched death if I were to walk down any path that took me one step away from a life with you.”
“But this isn’t the life you are supposed to lead. You are meant to do the most amazing things.”
“Tell me this, Andrea. What could possibly be greater than being happy? Than being content? I have loved you all my life. I desire nothing more than to continue loving you for the rest of it. My one ambition is to grow old by your side.”
“That’s just it. You should want more. You shouldn’t be content. You can’t give up your destiny.”
“I am not giving up anything.”
“You have no idea what you’re turning your back on.”
“But I do know what I am getting to keep in return. You are not a choice, Andrea. You are in my bones. I have seen our life together. I am living it. That is all that matters to me. I thought you wanted the same thing.”
“No.” Andrea turned from him. “I don’t.”
“You do not mean that.”
“I do. Every second I’m here in the past erases a little more of your future. This cottage…this little pretend life we have…all of this is a mistake. My mistake. I should never have come here. You aren’t meant to be mine. You are meant to be great.”
—
The border between the last of her dreams and morning was thinner than a butterfly’s wing. Andrea rolled over in bed, hiding from the rising sun. In the shadow of Isaac’s shoulder, she could make the foggy sliver of half sleep last a few moments longer. She lingered in the haze, convinced that she could live forever curled in that exact spot on her bed, her cheek against Isaac’s back. The part of her that remembered the argument they’d had the night before was still asleep. It stirred when Isaac shifted his legs beneath the blanket.
She had told him that their life together was a mistake, and her cold words had crawled into bed with them, wedging a wall of ice down the length of their mattress. Isaac had turned his back to Andrea and shut his eyes, believing them. Andrea had wanted to tug on his arm and tell him that she would readily rob the world of him so that she could have him to herself. She would hide him in their tiny cottage, away from his destiny and future achievements, to live out days that were as obscure as they were ridiculously happy. But she was fully awake now and remembered why they could not be together. Stealing time was a petty crime compared to murdering the man Isaac was born to be.
—
Andrea twisted the pegs on her cello. She had been trying to tune the instrument for more than half an hour, but every string screeched in her ear. Her cello did not want to be played almost as much as her hands did not want to play Isaac’s song. But as she had yet to discover a way to open their cottage’s wall by bashing her cello against it, she was going to have to force both heart and bow to do what was right. Floorboards squeaked from their bedroom. Andrea’s chest sank. Attempting to leave Isaac was going to be a million times harder when he was awake.
Isaac entered the sitting room and picked up a chair. He planted it a few feet from Andrea and sat down. His mouth sculpted silent words. Good morning.
Andrea frowned. “What are you doing?”
Apologizing.
“For what?” A lifetime of silent conversations through their walls made it a simple to task to read Isaac’s lips.
For believing you.
Andrea tightened her fist around the cello’s neck, bracing herself for Isaac’s next words. If he was going to tell her that he hated her, she was thankful that he chose to speak without sound. His voice would have shredded her.
Isaac leaned forward.
For believing you when you said that you thought that this…that we were a mistake.
For listening to my anger and not to what you were trying to say.
For not saying that I would unravel all of the universe’s mysteries, create every single invention mankind would ever need, and publish every scientific principle that governed the world just to make you stay.
The ribbon of mute words slipped from Isaac’s tongue and wrapped itself around Andrea’s heart. And squeezed. Isaac’s silence allowed her to hear the truth the way she used to when he spoke them through the crack.
Isaac rose and drew her to her feet. “We’ve lived behind walls our entire life, Andrea. I do not wish to take part in erecting any more between us. I swear to you that I will do whatever it takes to keep you by my side.”
Andrea pulled him to her, savoring the promise on his lips.
—
There were days when Andrea would have sold her soul for a refrigerator and a washing machine, but she never missed her television. The seventeenth century’s night sky put on the best show she had ever seen. There were more stars that evening than all the other nights she had lain beneath the oak tree behind their cottage. Andrea squeezed Isaac’s hand and pointed to the sky. “See that group in a circle?”
“Where?”
“There. To the left. The circle with two pointy ears. It looks like a cat.”
Isaac squinted. “Does it?”
“Yup. And according to our rules, the one who discovers the constellation gets to name it.”
“Very well. Let us hear it.”
“Tuna,” Andrea said with a smile. “After my cat.”
Isaac laughed. “You come up with the oddest names. My turn.” He pointed to the right of the newly dubbed constellation. “That cluster over there. The group shaped like a heart.”
“Sorry, mister. You can’t name that. It’s part of the Tuna constellation. That’s her, well, you know, behind.”
Isaac chuckled. “Surely you must admit that it looks more like a heart.”
“No way. Are you blind?” Andrea smirked. “But because I’m such a kind and generous person, you can have it. On one condition. You better give it a kick-ass name.”
“Er, kick-ass?”
Andrea laughed. “A really good one.”
“That should not be a problem. As it is my heart, only one name is suitable.” Isaac bent down to kiss her. “Yours.”
—
A metal clang woke A
ndrea up. Isaac was not by her side. She found him at his makeshift worktable in the back of their cottage hammering a strip of metal into a circular band. “What are you doing?”
Isaac looked up and broke into a wide smile. “Good. You are awake. Could you help me with this?”
“With what?”
“Could you affix this mirror inside that tube? You have smaller hands. It needs to be set at an angle. Like this.” Isaac demonstrated a forty-five-degree angle with his fingers.
Andrea admired the highly polished coin-sized metal mirror and fastened it inside the short cardboard tube. “Did you make this?”
Isaac pushed a sweaty lock of hair out of his eyes and nodded. “It took a bit of grinding on a pitch lap to get the metal to the proper sheen.” Isaac slipped a larger cardboard tube over the smaller one and attached a second, slightly curved metal mirror to the bottom of the tube. He blocked one end of the connected tubes with a piece of cork and clamped the metal bands he had fashioned on both ends of the tube. “Almost done,” he said, fastening a thumbscrew to the bottom of the device. “Do you mind fetching that little sculpture I made last week while I finish up?”
“Sure.” Andrea stepped inside the cottage and took a mounted wooden sphere from their mantle. It currently served as a bookend and reminded Andrea of a globe. It was part of a growing collection of strange objects Isaac crafted in his free time. Andrea was running out of places to store them, but she enjoyed how they cocooned her. Some even had an actual purpose.
Andrea got the most use out of the little machine that peeled potatoes and cored apples, though only after she convinced Isaac that it didn’t need to be powered by a mouse. As it was, she wasn’t too fond of the field mice that regularly helped themselves to the contents of their cupboards. Isaac had sought the help of the cats that roamed the meadow to get rid of their unwanted guests, and installed two cat flaps in their back door to encourage them to come in for tea. He built a larger door for a gray striped cat and a smaller one for her kittens. While Andrea was impressed that he had probably invented the world’s first pet door, she tried not to laugh too loud when the kittens promptly followed their mother through the larger hole.
Love and Gravity Page 21