Love and Gravity

by Samantha Sotto

  “I am certain that they are wonderful.” He set his chair down and handed the wooden box to Andrea. “But I thought that this might help the state of your dress.”

  Andrea admired the box’s carved panels. “What is it?”

  “A writing box.” Isaac lifted the box’s slanted lid. Paper and inkpots were neatly arranged inside its compartments. “You can keep your music sheets inside it and write over its lid like a desk. I imagine that it will be easier to compose your songs on this than on the grass.”

  Andrea laughed. “The world’s first laptop. And I have the perfect logo for it. How do you feel about apples?”

  “Er, ‘laptop’?”

  “Never mind. I love it.” Andrea kissed him on the lips.

  Isaac pulled her closer. His hand slipped under her dress and cupped a breast.

  Andrea wriggled away and smiled. “You have a cello lesson, Mr. Newton.”

  “Shall I get a reward if I do well?” Isaac grinned.

  “We’ll see. That depends on how well you do.” She handed him a music sheet. “You will be playing this piece for today’s lesson.”

  He glanced over the notes. “Is it one of yours?”

  Andrea chuckled. “I’d love to take credit for it, but it isn’t. Let’s begin, shall we?”

  “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” trickled from the cello’s strings and flitted through the oak tree’s branches. Its last note screeched. Isaac threw up his hands. “This, by far, is the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve only had a few lessons. You’re actually a rather fast learner.”

  “I sincerely doubt that.”

  She kissed his cheek. “You’re my best student. Honest.”

  “I am your only student.”

  “You’re my second.”

  “Oh?” The corners of his eyes twitched. “Who was the first? Was it your…um…friend, Nate?”

  “Mr. Newton, don’t tell me you’re jealous. You’ve already knocked me up.”

  He frowned. “ ‘Knocked up’?”

  She laughed. “No, it wasn’t him. And I’ve told you a million times that Nate’s a friend.” On this side of the wall, Andrea thought, her answer almost seemed true.

  “Thirteen, actually.”

  “What?”

  “That is how many times you have told me about the nature of your relationship with Nate.”

  “You’ve kept track?”

  “Not on purpose. I remember numbers whether I wish to or not. I am an odd one, I know.”

  “Odd.” She sat on his lap and put her arms around his neck. “And funny.”

  He brushed a kiss on her collarbone. “And?”

  “Intelligent.”

  “And?” He kissed her neck.

  “Witty.”

  He nuzzled the back of her ear. “And?”

  “Handsome.”

  “And?” He leaned close, his lips a whisper from her mouth.

  “Mine.”

  “Yours.” He drank her in. “Always.”

  —

  Andrea unstrapped her Omega from her swollen wrist. None of her clothes fit her anymore, and her watch only made her fingers look more like sausages. She set the Omega next to the writing box on her desk. She had stopped writing music in the meadow when her belly edged the box out of her lap. She took every step with great care, ate as well as she could, and avoided the village to reduce the risk of catching the slightest sniffle. She was determined to make it as hard as possible for a crumbling tombstone to find her. In her pregnancy’s ninth month, she allowed herself to believe, for a few moments before she opened her eyes in the morning, that her death was not carved in stone.

  She smoothed a fresh sheet of paper over the desk and waited for the music to come. A lullaby trickled from the quill’s nib, but dried out after a handful of notes. New songs were more difficult to catch inside the cottage, much less keep. She borrowed someone else’s music to keep her thoughts in place. Songs kept her mind from wandering down a path of old graves.

  The classics worked best. They were solid, safe, and easy to hold. Andrea would have played any one of them, but her bulging stomach kept her from her cello. The orchestra in her head filled in for her. Their afternoon’s selection was the “Butterfly Lovers” Concerto. Andrea leaned in her chair, shut her eyes, and listened.

  A harp opened the concerto’s sole movement. A flute, followed by a violin and oboe, unraveled more of the tale. None of them hinted of the tragedy ahead. The legend’s lovers would die as they always did, and Andrea could do nothing to warn them. She sat on her hands. A cello weaved through the violin’s strains and steered the story down its inevitable course. Chords pounded through the string duet and marched one of the lovers to his death. His lover cast herself into his grave after him. The violin wept for her. The lovers’ spirits, in the form of two butterflies, emerged from their grave and flitted through the concerto’s bittersweet notes. Andrea drew the butterfly lovers on the corner of the writing box’s slanted lid, giving them a place to rest their wings.

  Isaac walked into their bedroom carrying a bowl of stew. “Why are you out of bed? The midwife said you need your rest.” He set the bowl down and fluffed up the pillows on the bed.

  “I’m going. I’m going.” Andrea waddled to the bed and climbed in.

  Isaac sat beside her and tucked her in. He spooned the stew and fed her.

  “It’s good,” Andrea said. “Well done, Mr. Newton.”

  “Thank you.” He caressed her belly. “I hope the little bean likes it, too.”

  “Our bean isn’t so little anymore. I think it’s time we settled on a name, don’t you think? The midwife said I could give birth any time now.”

  “Very well. If we have a boy—”

  “How about…” Andrea looked at her cello. “Andrew?”

  Isaac held her hand. “Your father would like that. And if it is a girl?”

  “You pick as long as it’s anything but Anabentine or Philochrista. I don’t care if they’re fashionable in this century.”

  Isaac grinned. “Margery.”

  The name knocked the air out of Andrea. “What did you say?”

  “Margery. After my grandmother.”

  A cherub’s face pierced the fog in Andrea’s head. It stared at her from its perch on the small tombstone beside her grave. Its young charge’s name, half-erased by time, caught the raindrops in its shallow grooves. MARGERY. Tears flooded Andrea’s eyes. She had lived in terror of one grave, when she should have feared two.

  Isaac wiped her tears. “Why do you weep? Do you not like the name? We can change it if you like. Elizabeth? Abigail? Rachel? Grace? Choose anything you like.”

  Andrea sobbed and threw her arms around Isaac. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  A sharp pain shot through the lower part of Andrea’s stomach. Andrea bit down the pain. The baby grew restless. She clutched her belly and groaned.

  Isaac grew pale. “Is it time?”

  A contraction twisted inside her. “Yes.”

  —

  Andrea moaned. The night had grown dark as she lay in labor. The midwife, Mrs. Hadfield, drew Andrea’s skirt down over her legs to cover her. She pulled Isaac aside and looked at him as though she were threading a needle somewhere inside her head. “I am sorry.”

  “Sorry?” The blood drained from Isaac’s face.

  “The baby is not coming as it should,” the midwife said in a hushed tone. “There is nothing I can do.”

  “What are you saying?” He gripped her wrist. “You cannot give up. We can make a potion of dittany and mugwort or a powder from ergot. They can help with her labor and—”

  Mrs. Hadfield shook her head. “The baby’s feet are bearing down first. It cannot be delivered no matter what herbs we give your wife. There is nothing to be done except to say your goodbyes.”

  Isaac cursed and tightened his hold on the mid
wife’s arm. “Do something, woman, or I swear to God that—”

  “Isaac…” Andrea said weakly. “Let her go.”

  Isaac dropped his hands at his sides and clenched his fists. He glared at the midwife. “Get out.”

  Mrs. Hadfield nodded and left the room.

  Isaac ran to Andrea’s side. “I shall go out and fetch some herbs for a potion. I won’t be long. Everything will be all right. I promise.”

  “No. Don’t go,” Andrea said. “Potions can’t save me or our baby.”

  “Be strong, dearest. Have faith. I must go.” He kissed her and stood up.

  “I saw my grave.”

  “What?” A shadow fell over Isaac’s face. “You are ill. You don’t know what you are saying.”

  “I do. On my side of the wall, I saw my grave with my own eyes. And our baby’s. You buried us at St. John the Baptist Church.”

  “Stop. Do not say another word.” Isaac backed away from her and knocked down her cello.

  Andrea’s eyes widened. She struggled to sit up.

  “What are you doing?”

  “My cello…give it to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Our baby might have a chance on my side of the wall. There are doctors. Hospitals. Medicine.” Andrea threw a glance at the wall. Her heart sank. “But the crack…it may not open tonight.”

  “It will. It must.” Isaac grabbed the cello and placed it in Andrea’s hands.

  Andrea struggled to position the cello over her belly. She pulled the bow across the strings. A note quivered in the air and faded before she could gather the strength to play another. Her fingers slipped from the cello’s neck.

  Isaac took the bow from Andrea.

  “What are you doing?” she said. “Give it back. We don’t have much time.”

  “Let me play it.” He arranged the cello against him.

  Andrea’s vision blurred. She squinted, trying to keep Isaac in focus. “But you don’t know how.”

  “Then I shall have to learn quickly.”

  “Do you even remember how it goes?”

  Isaac drew a breath. He sat on the edge of the bed facing the wall and drew the bow. A note squeaked from the strings. Isaac rearranged his fingers over the cello’s neck. The strings shrieked under his bow. He fixed his eyes on the wall and tried again. A note, as shrill as the two that came before it, ripped the air.

  Andrea cradled her stomach. The cello’s screeches made the name etched on the small tombstone in her mind grow more vivid. She wanted to tell Isaac to be with them while he could, but she could not bring herself to tell him to lay his hope and bow down.

  Light glowed in the corner of Andrea’s eye.

  “The crack!” Isaac gasped. “The song worked.”

  A doorway of white light broke through their wall. Isaac ran to Andrea and gathered her in his arms. “Hold on,” he said, carrying her to the crack. The hem of Andrea’s skirt slipped through the opening and disappeared behind the glow. Isaac took a step through the wall.

  “Isaac, stop!” Andrea clung to the edge of the crack. “What are you doing?”

  Isaac’s eyes held on to Andrea’s gaze tighter than his arms were wrapped around her body. With one look, they told her all that his words would have taken a lifetime to say. He was choosing to hold her hand every single day of his life instead of any pen, to cradle their child instead of any book, to embrace his family instead of any question he had ever asked about the world. “I am coming with you.”

  “You can’t.” Isaac’s destiny twisted inside Andrea. With one more step, all that he was fated to be was going to be erased. With one step, he could always be hers on her side of the wall. Her mind screamed over her heart’s pleas. “You mustn’t. Your life is here.”

  “Andrea, you are my life.”

  She gripped his shoulders. “But you aren’t mine.”

  Isaac’s face crumpled. “What?”

  “On the other side of this wall, I…love someone else.”

  “You are lying.” Tears crept up the rims of Isaac’s eyes.

  “I’m not. I never belonged here. I just got stuck. But now I can go back to my time, to my real home and the man that I’m supposed to be with.”

  “I do not believe you.” Isaac’s voice flooded with tears. “Why are you saying such things? You love me just as I love you. The life we built was…is real.”

  “What we had, Isaac, was a mistake and now I’m going to fix it.”

  “ ‘Fix it’?” Isaac backed away from the crack. “You’re carrying my child, Andrea. Is that a mistake? Is it truly your wish to deprive him of a father? You told me about my legacy, but what use is even the greatest legacy without a child to inherit it? Such a future without him—or you—would be a curse.”

  The light around the crack dimmed, casting shadows over Andrea’s tear-streaked face. “Your child won’t have a future if you don’t let us go now. Give him a chance to live.”

  “I intend to.” Isaac held Andrea tight and lunged toward the glowing doorway.

  “Forgive me….” Andrea pushed herself off from Isaac’s arms and tumbled into the crack. The wall closed behind her.

  Neither can the wave that has passed by be recalled, nor the hour which has passed ever return.

  —OVID

  Los Angeles

  Present Day

  Andrea is twenty-three.

  Carpet scratched Andrea’s cheek. She opened her eyes, but her vision was too blurry to let her see where she was. The words she had spoken to keep Isaac from following her through the crack shredded her soul. The pain tearing through her belly almost equaled it. She cried out.

  Footsteps sprinted toward her. “Andrea!”

  Andrea raised her head. A tide of bile surged up her throat. She swallowed it back. A blurry figure stood a few feet in front of her. “Isaac…”

  “Jesus, Dre. You’re bleeding.”

  “Nate?” Her eyes focused. Nate’s outline sharpened. A cello lay next to his feet. She felt his arms scoop her up before the world turned black.

  —

  Antiseptic and air-conditioning. The cocktail of scents filled Andrea’s nostrils. She opened her eyes. Her hands flew to her stomach. Her fingers found bandages over where her baby had been. Andrea gasped.

  “She’s in the NICU,” Nate said from her bedside. “They had to perform an emergency cesarean to get her out. The doctors are monitoring her. They said she’s doing much better. She’ll be okay. Both of you got here just in time.”

  “She?” Andrea choked on her tears.

  “Yes. She’s beautiful.”

  “Her name’s…Margery.”

  “Margery,” he said slowly and tentatively, like the way one might sip hot soup. When the last of it passed from his lips, his face softened into a smile that broke Andrea’s heart. “That’s a nice name.”

  “You saved her. And me.”

  “I dialed 911. That was about it.”

  “You know you did more than that. You opened the crack. I saw your cello. How did you know that I needed to come back at that exact moment?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then how—”

  “You promised to come back, Dre.” He lowered his gaze. “And I believed you. But I couldn’t just sit and wait.”

  Andrea’s eyes widened. “Do you mean you’ve been—”

  “I’ve been playing Isaac’s song every day since you crossed over, hoping that the crack would open and I would get a chance to—”

  Nate turned his face away from her to hide a thought or a tear. Andrea was not able to tell for sure. “To get a chance to do what, Nate?” she asked quietly.

  “Nothing.” He rubbed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Andrea clutched his hand and felt the calluses that had thickened on his fingers. Tears swelled in her eyes and fell on the back of Nate’s hand. “How…how long have I been away?” she asked, uncertain if she wanted to hear his answer.

  Nate’s hand clenched into a
fist. He drew a breath and exhaled. “Four months,” he said, as though dragging the words from some place so deep inside him that when they reached his lips, their edges were faded and frayed. “Your family has been frantic. The police have been searching for you.”

  Andrea stared up at the ceiling, letting Nate’s words sink in. “It’s been longer for me.”

  “I kind of figured that out when I saw you and…Margery.” Nate anchored his eyes on one of the blinking lights of the monitor she was hooked up to. “I tried to imagine your life behind the wall. Heck, I even searched for you in every history book I could find. Can you believe it?” he said, and smirked. His fingers relaxed in Andrea’s hand. “Me reading history books? You turned me into a certified library card–carrying nerd, Dre. I even wear glasses now.” He pulled out a black-rimmed pair from his pocket and wore them. “See? This is your fault.”

  Andrea chuckled. After everything that had happened between them, Nate still had the power to make her laugh. “Well, you look good in them. You’re welcome.”

  “I scoured museums, hoping that I might find you peeking from an old painting. Sometimes I convinced myself that I did. Silly, right?” Tears found their way back into his voice. “I just really needed to believe that you were okay. That you were happy there with…him.”

  “I’m so sorry, Nate…” Andrea wept. She knew how useless her words were. The kind of wound that waiting inflicted never closed. Apologizing would not be able to give Nate back a single second of the months he had wasted calling her back through the wall. “I’m sorry that I broke my promise to you.”

  “You didn’t break it,” he said, the way parents assured their children with lies that sounded so earnest you wanted to believe them. “You’re here.”

  Andrea laid her hand over her bandaged stomach. She refused to hurt Nate any more than she already had.

  Nate stared out the window. “But you aren’t staying, are you, Dre?”

  “I can’t stay, Nate. We can’t.”

  Nate nodded. “I know. You’re…a family now.”

  “As soon as both of us are well enough, we’re going to go back.”

  “Do you know when the crack can open again?”