Gravity: A Novel (23 page)

Thirty

I was on the verge of being discharged.
My grueling physical therapy was finally proving a purpose as each day I took more steps without the use of a walker, my legs finally functioning like they were meant to. It was a slow process, and my patience was tested time and time again. I focused on Drew’s face, knowing that once I was released into the world—come hell or high water—I was going to find him.

So with each painful step, with each exercise that my therapist pushed me through, I visualized what I would say to
Drew when we were finally standing face-to-face. I continued to call his office, and I left numerous messages for his father, all to no avail. I’m not sure why, but I knew that I had to go to the lake. I felt drawn there. Maybe it was my dream or the fact that I was supposed to be there, had it not been for the accident, but I had a strong sense that I would find Drew there.

I tried to prepare myself for whatever I might
discover when I did find him, my mother’s words heavy on my mind. I just wanted a chance to tell him the truth, a chance to have my friend back in my life. I tried to prepare myself for the wife and children that he may have or the cold-hearted man who maybe he had become. But all I could see was the Drew from my dream. The kind, gentle soul who—even after all these years—still loved me.

So I pushed myself as if I was moving toward Drew with each step
, and I focused on the baby as well. Knowing that my health was a vital component to my baby’s health.

The baby was growing
, and my doctor was happy with the few pounds that I had gained. My stick figure, dangerously malnourished from the coma, was starting to fill out here and there. I was ready for the curves that pregnancy would bring. I craved the swell of my belly, full of the new life that I had dreamed of for so long. It still didn’t feel real, even as I watched the little blob dance and shift on the ultrasound screen, or as I listened to the sound of its strong and steady heartbeat fill the room. It didn’t feel real.

But in the quiet and stillness of the night, when I found myself alone, I would caress my flat belly as I talked to the baby in the encouraging and loving tone only meant for a mother.
I found myself wondering about epic thoughts like the existence of God or fate. I had lost my faith in these things over the years, unwilling to believe that a God would allow someone to suffer as much as I have, to deny me one of His gifts when He seemed to give them so freely to the least likely contenders like teenage girls, crack addicts, and women who possessed not one motherly trait in their body.

I also refused to believe that I was not meant to have a child or to be a mother.
Refused to believe that such was my fate. But now I felt that there was some kind of lesson to be learned, a hidden agenda. That everything happened for a reason. I’d dissected my dream over and over again, wondering its purpose, its meaning. Wondering why Drew would come back to me, even if in a dream, all these years later.
What did it mean
? I wasn’t sure, but I knew that I had to find him. To make sense of it all.

Within all these thoughts in the quiet hours of the night, as I held my hands over the life blooming inside me, I found hope.

***

Ryan and I spent hours talking, trying desperately to connect in some way, to bring back what we had lost.
He broke down and told me about his “mistake.” How it was a momentary lapse of judgment, a moment of weakness, just that one time.

“Why would you take her to our home?
How could you do that in our bed?” I asked, finally facing the questions that I had avoided as long as I could. I was sitting on the edge of my hospital bed with one leg drawn up underneath me. “It was the biggest slap in the face, Ryan. Why not a sleazy hotel?”

Ryan sat in the chair near the bed, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees.
“It wasn’t like I planned it. I had spilled ketchup on my shirt at a lunch meeting. We were at that little Bistro down the street, so I stopped at home to change my shirt before going back to the office. Sasha came up with me.”

I cringed at the sound of her name.
I preferred to leave her nameless. “Please don’t say her name,” I demanded holding my hand up, interrupting him.

“Sorry.
But she followed me into the bedroom and came on to me, very aggressively. I’m not blaming her. But it felt so good to feel wanted. I got caught up in the desire, the connection.”

I felt that sick feeling in my gut.
I wanted him to stop talking, but I knew that I needed all the facts or I would never be able to forgive him. I knew that I would always wonder.

“I wasn’t thinking. Obviously,” he added.

“Oh, you were thinking all right, just not with the right part of your body,” I mumbled.

But inside I felt the guilt flood my heart. I had been so distant and emotionally unavailable for so long.
I had shut down and had completely shut him out in the process, carrying the burden myself when he would have gladly shouldered the weight.

“I deserve that, Gemma, I do.
But don’t forget that we’re supposed to be a team. And you pushed me away. I felt like I had already lost you.”

“Don’t put this on me. I didn’t force you to sleep with her.
You did that all on your own,” I said in a raised voice, pointing my finger at him in anger. I hated the bitterness that I felt in my heart. It was so much easier to be angry and petulant than face the real issue. “You obviously had feelings for her or at the very least felt attracted to her. This didn’t just happen. Was it really just the one time?”

He sighed and buried his face in his hands for a moment and then looked back up at me.
“Yes. I swear it was just the one time. But there was a lot of flirting leading up to it, which I considered completely harmless at the time. Now I realize how inappropriate it was. I’m sorry. I would take it back in a heartbeat. I never wanted to hurt you. It meant absolutely nothing. I love you so much, Gemma. God, it was the biggest mistake of my life. My biggest regret.”

They were only words
, but I knew Ryan well enough to know his torment and his guilt, his suffering. I knew he loved me, and he was
choosin
g
me, choosing our family. I wanted to forgive him, to forgive myself, and to move on, but I didn’t know if I could. The pain of it all was still so raw. I prayed that my mother was right, that time did heal all wounds.

Thirty
-One

The next morning, I took a walk, holding the railing tightly as I shuffled slowly down the familiar hall of the transitional care unit. I reached the end, staring at a door to the stairwell.
What the hel
l
, I thought. And decided to push myself a little. I was wearing cropped black yoga pants, a loose-fitting pastel T-shirt, and running shoes. My hair had been slowly growing back; my mother had styled it in a short, spiky cut.
What I wouldn’t give to have my long blond waves back.

I looked less like a patient today and more like a visitor as I pushed the heavy gray door open and ascended the stairs, one at a time as I gripped the railing with a steady hand.
I reached the next floor and pushed through another door that opened to yet another hallway that bore the same antiseptic smell, constant movement, and hushed voices. I walked slowly, peeking into each open door as I passed, wondering what each patient was suffering through.
Was it cancer, an illness, elective surgery
? I looked up and felt my feet nearly crumble beneath me.

William.

I gripped the railing tightly as my breath caught in my throat.

His tall and bulky frame filled the doorway of the
next room that I was about to pass. He was stepping out into the hallway, just a few feet from where I stood. His dark hair was gray at the temples, his blue eyes sad but held some measure of warmth—so different from the cold depths that had haunted my dreams.

For years I had envisioned this moment, rehearsed what I wanted to say.
But now my mind was utterly thoughtless, my scripted words nonexistent. My body was a flurry of activity though, anything but quiet. A sheer layer of sweat arose on my skin; my heart pounded in my chest
—
thump, thumping
in my ears—my stomach churned, bile rising in my throat as I felt a slow tremble travel through my limbs.

I couldn’t seem to look away, my wide eyes staring at him in disbelief.
He turned and looked at me; his initial expression conveyed confusion, but, as sudden recognition reached his eyes,
he looked just as shocked as I was. We stood in silence, my gaze unflinching, for what felt like forever as the sound of my heart rose to a crescendo. My face flushed with heat.
Before either of us could utter a word, my eyes wandered inside the room that he had been exiting. It was then that I saw
hi
m
.

I balled my hands into fists, digging my short fingernails into the skin of my palms until I felt a sharp, stinging pain where they broke through the surface, proof that I wasn’t dreaming
—again. For a fleeting moment I was elated, stunned that he had been here all along, in the same hospital, just one floor above me.
What were the chances
? I had found him, and my once-still mind was now a jumble of emotions and words that I longed to convey to him. The moment split, burst in two, as his condition finally registered somewhere inside me.

My feet were suddenly moving faster than my mind could process the scene.
I pushed William aside as I entered the room. Throwing myself against
him
, uninhibited by the number of tubes and wires that protruded from his still body. I sobbed onto his chest, soaking the pale blue hospital gown that covered his ashen skin, desperately hoping that
thi
s
was the dream, that this wasn’t real.

“No,
no, no,” I sobbed. “No, Drew,” I whispered. As if I already knew why he was here, the glaring reality weighing down my heart like a two-ton brick. And that was when I heard William’s deep voice from behind me.

“Gemma?
What are you doing here?” William asked softly.

Hearing him say my name, almost took me back to the woods. I could almost smell the unmistakable scent of smoke from the bonfire, the smell of whiskey on his breath.
Almost. With Andrew lying motionless on the bed before me, I pushed it all away and buried it deep inside, reverting my focus to the more important matter.

“Will
iam,” my voice cracked and I cleared it before I spoke again. “What’s wrong with him?” I asked without taking my eyes from Drew.

“He has an inoperable brain tumor, like Mom.
He refused any kind of treatment and signed DNR forms against our wishes. He’s . . . gone, Gemma.” His words were broken as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. “We’re just waiting for him to take his last breath.” I could sense the exhaustion in his voice and maybe grief.

“I’m too late,” I whispered to no one, just words suspended in the thick air that surrounded me.
Tears streamed down my face as my love for this man slashed through my heart. Waste
d
. That was the word lingering on my tongue, filling my mind. These emotions, the love, the grief, all the years we had spent apart. Wasted. “It isn’t fair. . . . It isn’t fair,” I repeated in a breathless whisper. And then I felt it, the anger, boiling inside me, threatening to spill over. I stood and faced William, no longer paralyzed with fear but overwhelmed with my disdain for him and what he had done.

“
YOU
,” I yelled, the word coming from a place deep inside me, a voice I did not recognize. “You did this,” I continued to yell, stalking toward him. I slapped him across the face, the sound echoing in the quiet of the room, drowning out the machines and monitors. He instantly raised his hand to his cheek where my handprint was marked in red across his skin, branding him. “You took him from me. You ruined us. You ruined
m
e
. How could you, William? How could you?” My resolve was faltering, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before I fell apart, my anger surrendering to my grief, breaking me wide open.

“
GET OUT
,” I screamed. “You don’t deserve to be here. You don’t deserve to grieve for him,” I said, pointing toward the open door, ignoring the part of me that had once loved William like a brother, ignoring the part of me that was reminded by the fact that he was Drew’s brother, flesh and blood, heart and soul. With a solemn look in his eyes, he turned and walked out the door. I collapsed into the chair near Drew’s side, my head on his chest, sobbing once again while my body shook from the adrenaline that had pounded through me.

When my devastation began to ebb, I pulled my face back to look at Drew.
He looked older than he had in my mind and yet the same. Still beautiful. I longed for him to open his eyes, to get lost in their icy blue depths, to see him smile at me with those signature dimples. I caressed his cheek and his arm, reaching for his hand as I intertwined our fingers. I imagined my touch melting into his, wondering if he could feel me, if he sensed that I was here.