Gravity: A Novel (24 page)

I willed him to open his eyes or to squeeze my
hand—anything to signal that he knew it was me. Nothing. Still holding his hand, I brought it to my lips and gently kissed each knuckle, closing my eyes to savor the feel of his hand against my cheek. As I opened my eyes, I was suddenly aware of something on the underside of his arm, halfway between his elbow and wrist, black ink. I gently turned his arm until it was clearly visible, the tattoo from my dream—the broken infinity symbol.
It’s to remind me that nothing lasts foreve
r
. His words echoed in my mind with such clarity.
Was this part of the dream? Am I really awake? How is this possible? How could this be real
? Chills coursed through me, leaving tiny bumps along my skin as I considered the possibilities, felt the weight of the coincidence.

***

I stayed by Drew’s side for hours; the hospital staff came and went, quietly making their assessments and writing in their charts. I replayed our time together in my head over and over again, rationalizing the idea that we had both been drifting in a place between this world and death, together. And that somehow what we had shared was real . . . somewhere.

The more time I spent thinking about it, the less crazy it seemed.
I wasn’t sure how else to explain the tattoo and the fact that I knew I was pregnant and the coincidence that Drew was in this bed, dying just as he had told me in my dream. It couldn’t have been just a dream. I was hopeful that somehow Drew knew what had happened, that he knew how I felt about him, that we had some sense of closure. . . . I had to believe this to be true.

The sun was fading, casting shadows outside the window of Drew’s hospital room.
A nurse in pale blue scrubs entered the room quietly. I wondered if they were trained to tread so lightly. They seemed to enter and exit rooms like ghosts, floating in and out as if they were never there at all. Her soft voice startled me, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Are you a patient here?”
she asked.

I looked up, confused by her question.

“You have a hep-lock. I just assumed that you were a patient,” she clarified.

“Oh,” I said, raising my hand to show the IV
site that was taped to my skin. “Yeah, I’m a patient downstairs, in 412.”

She nodded as she hung a new IV bag on a pole and attached it to Drew’s own IV that was threaded in the vein of his left arm.

“Is there any chance that he’s going to be okay?” I asked.

“I’m sorry
. I can only discuss his condition with immediate family,” she said with a sense of empathy. “You know you should probably head back to your room. You’ve been here nearly my entire shift.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said, wondering why no one had come to look for me.
I squeezed Drew’s hand one more time and then stood. My vision blurred, and my body swayed wearily as my weight settled to my feet. I grabbed the arm of the chair and held on to balance myself.

“Are you okay?” the young nurse asked as I felt her hands on my arm, forcing me back into the chair.

“I’m dizzy and a little weak,” I replied.

“Just sit
. I’m going to get you a wheelchair and have someone escort you downstairs.” I couldn’t protest. I knew there was no way I could make it downstairs on my own.

Moments later a tall, young man arrived with a wheelchair, helped me into it
, and whisked me down the hall toward the elevator. As we passed the waiting room, I saw William sitting with his head tucked into his hands. He looked up just as I passed. I couldn’t deny how broken he looked, but I refused to feel sorry for him after what he had done.

“Gemma,” he called out, standing quickly and walking toward us as we waited for the elevator.

“I can’t do this right now, William,” I whispered, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. I heard the
din
g
of the elevator, and the doors slid apart. My escort stood, holding the elevator doors open, while he waited for William and me to finish our exchange.

“We need to talk, Gemma.
Please just hear me out,” he pleaded as he stood awkwardly with his hands buried in the pockets of his faded jeans.

“No,” I said firmly.
It was all I could say before I broke down again. “Let’s go,” I whispered to the boy waiting to take me to my room. He wheeled me into the elevator, spinning me around so that we faced forward, and I caught William’s gaze right before the doors closed. As the elevator screeched to a halt just one floor below, I felt the tremble take hold of me as William’s dark eyes blazed in my mind, haunting my very soul once again.

Thi
rty-Two

I returned to Drew’s room every day that week during my walks, my daily exercise encouraged by my physical therapist. Only my mother knew the truth as to my whereabouts as I disappeared for hours at a time. And then one day as I sat by Drew’s side, still willing him to open his eyes—my hope never faltering—I somehow knew that this would be my last visit. I was not sure how I knew, but I felt it. Maybe it was the way my gaze locked on his face, and I couldn’t seem to look away, as if I was memorizing every feature—storing it away—adding it to the image I held there of him as a boy.

He looked so peaceful l
aying there, more still than I had ever seen another human being before. I longed for him to open his eyes, to see him smile, flashing me those dimples that I loved so much. I wanted to believe that our time together was real, and I felt a pang in my chest for all the wasted time. All the years that we could have been in each other’s lives.
What were the chances that we were both here at the same time
? But a moment too late. How cruel fate could be.

If only I had been here sooner, if only I had awoken sooner.
We could have said all the things that needed to be said. I reached for his hand, holding it in mine as tears streamed down my face. I leaned down and kissed his cheek, resting my face against his skin. I had to believe that my time with Drew was real. There was no other explanation. Tha
t
had been our chance to say what had needed to be said, to feel what we had needed to feel, to be who we had needed to be. To say good-bye. But I would never know for sure. And this fact gripped me with such uncertainty and regret that I feared it would never let me go.

The next day I shuffled in to Drew’s room
, and found the bed empty and stripped, as if he had never been there at all. I shouldn’t have been surprised; I had felt the end draw near the day before, but my breath still ceased in my chest, the overwhelming loss knocking the air from my lungs even though I had known that this moment was inevitable, that he was already gone. I sat in the chair where I had rested by his side that entire week and cried. The same young nurse, who I now knew as Annie, came to my side and gently rubbed my back.

“He finally went late last night.
He’s at peace now,” she said, as if her words would comfort me. But all I could feel was fate’s cruelty once again and my hatred for William. I knew that it wasn’t his fault that Drew was gone, but I needed someone to blame. I needed someone to blame for this pain and grief and anger that was filling me to the brim. Before it spilled over, leaving me empty, I ran from the room as fast as my weak and damaged legs would carry me.

Coincidentally I was discharged that very day.
Ryan was prepared to take me home, back to Seattle. But I refused, insisting that I needed some more time. I wanted to stay with my mother for a while until I was stronger. Ryan felt defeated but gave in to my wishes. He didn’t have much of a choice.

When my mother and I were settled into her car, I took a deep breath and said what had been on my mind since I
had learned that Drew was gone.

“Take me to the lake,” I said, almost a demand.

“Gemma? You need to rest. We’re going home, and, when you feel up to it, then we’ll go,” she said as she gripped the steering wheel tightly, looking in my direction where I sat with my eyes fixed on the parking lot ahead.

“No, I need to go now.”
Something in my voice must have changed her mind because I heard her sigh and start the car. When we pulled out onto the highway, we were heading north, toward the lake.

I felt a strong sense of
déjà vu as the car veered around each corner. My mother slowed as we rounded a sharp curve, and I realized that this was the scene of the accident. I remembered feeling anxious that I was almost there and then getting the text from Ryan. I remembered my screams as I felt the car skid across the road—the moment when my reality split, my mind finishing my journey while my body fought to hold on.

“I came here, to this place, many times while you were in a coma.
I don’t know why. I would sit on the side of the road and pray. I just wanted my baby girl back. I couldn’t help but feel responsible, sending you up here alone in your condition.” My mother wiped the tears from her eyes as she pushed her foot on the gas pedal, and we moved on from the place where I had almost lost my life.

The moment passed
, and I was unable to say anything. Unable to think about what it would have meant if I hadn’t woken up. I placed my hands across my belly, imagining the world without me, without this life growing inside me.

We drove slowly down the dirt
lane that led to the cabin, pausing at the larger potholes in the road. As we were passing Monroe Manor, I opened the door and lunged out, hearing my mother’s protests as I shuffled down the driveway toward the back door. I turned the knob but it was locked, I banged on the door as if someone would be there. Nothing. I followed the walkway that ran alongside the cabin toward the beach. Cupping my hands around my face, I veered into the large windows that faced the lake. No one was there, but everything looked the same as I remembered. Some of the furniture was different than in my dream, but still I couldn’t help but look at the couch and remember what it had felt like when Drew had touched me.

Tears filled my eyes as I turned and looked out at the lake.
Without much thought of where I was going, I walked down the beach and out to the end of my dock. It was a beautiful and warm summer day, but I shivered at the chill that invaded me. It was as if I had just stood in this very place yesterday, and yet it had really been years since I had been here. It was hard to believe that I hadn’t recently breathed in the clean scent of the pine-filled air or looked upon the mountains in the distance or felt the cool water of the lake on my feet.
It had to be real
, I kept repeating in my mind.

I walked up the lane to my cabin and stopped dead in my tracks when I took in the exterior.
It was just as I saw it last. Cedar-red siding, freshly stained, a bright white trim outlined the large front windows. My mother was perched on the restored porch swing, swaying back and forth, watching me with worried eyes. It was all as I had left it, just weeks before, not the twentysome years that had supposedly passed since I had been here last. My heart beat with trepidation, as I walked slowly to the porch.

I looked at my mother with questions in my eyes that I could not articulate.

“I don’t know what to say, Gemma. Someone did us a kind favor, that’s all. Don’t go looking any further into this,” she said, as if I had asked the question in my mind out loud. The front door sat ajar, and I made my way up the steps and through the threshold. I wasn’t sure what to expect, what I might find. Inside, the cabin was the same from my childhood. The air felt damp and musty. The kitchen remained untouched, dust coated the red Formica countertops and the white sheets that covered all the furnishings. The memory of my arrival was so fresh in my mind—the smells, the touch of the fireplace, even the dusty white sheets that I had carefully removed one at a time. But here everything sat, untouched. Except the fresh paint that coated the outside walls.

I pushed open the back screen door and stepped out onto the deck overlooking the creek.
The deck was still in poor shape, boards protested under my feet with pleas to be replaced, the paint faded and peeled away at the edges. I felt a panic building inside, an urgency to find something that made sense, a sign that would confirm my instincts. I ran back inside, my slow and heavy body betraying me with every step. I frantically searched through the chest of drawers in the hallway, looking for my grandfather’s compass. Wanting it to be absent from where it had rested for nearly twenty years, wanting it to be gone because I had gifted it to Drew.

I was compelled by my dire need for some sort of sign from God or fate that my time with Drew was real.
And just as I was sure that the compass was amiss, my hand felt the familiar cold round surface. I withdrew it from the drawer, my heart beating heavy in my chest, as I turned it over in my hand. I swept my finger over the smooth surface, lacking the inscription that was there when I last remembered holding it in my hand, the day that I had given it to Drew. That day, from my dream, when Drew and I had spent time at Upper Priest, replayed in my head.

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.