Gravity: A Novel (26 page)

“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 use
d 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
wa
s
always you. It will always be you.”

I held my hands over my belly, feeling a sudden surge of strength, knowing that life and death w
ere 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 gri
p
, 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.

“Never say
good-bye,” he had said to me once.

And so we never did, until that last morning on the dock when he had said
good-bye, breaking the first of the many promises that we had made to each other.

I straightened my black shift dress, brushed a hand through my short, wind-blown hair
, and walked slowly to the church, focusing on the steady rhythm of my heels clicking on the pavement with each step.

The service was beautiful.
I sat between my mother and Logan. The crowd was small, thirty to forty people, close friends and family, just the way Drew would have wanted it. The priest read from a short script, a depiction of Drew’s life and personality, which he nailed to a tee. I silently wondered if Drew had written it himself. His mother’s sister read a poem that brought tears to my eyes, but it was the music that really gutted me.

One of Andrew’s closest
friends from boarding school, Lucas, played a few songs on his acoustical guitar. His voice flowed through me as he sang a simple and beautiful arrangement of “Fix You” by Coldplay, which was so Andrew. But the words stabbed me right in the heart, as if Drew was speaking to me in some way. When Lucas began playing a slow, melodic version of “Free Fallin’” by Tom Petty, I could barely suppress the sobs that raked through me.

I could see Logan
, from the corner of my eye, lean forward and bury his face in his hands. This was one of Drew’s favorite songs, but now, as I listened to the words, I felt a connection to their meaning, as if Drew was telling me that he was sorry and that he had somehow known the truth. It was almost too much. This was most likely all in my head, but he had taken the time to bury a letter for me in our time capsule and painted my cabin when he had barely had the strength to stand. Anything was possible. He knew I would be here, somehow, even though it had been years since we had seen one another.

My eyes wandered to the first pew where Drew’s father and
William were seated. A beautiful woman with long dark curly hair was seated next to William with her hand in his. Beside her was a boy, a young teen, who shared the same dark curly hair. And beside the boy was a young girl, half his age with light brown hair that fell down her back in waves. My gut tightened as I considered the possibility that this was William’s family. Of course even he would have children. The unfairness of it all filled me with the bitterness that I was familiar with, but then I remembered the miracle growing inside me as I wrapped my arms across my belly, protecting him or her from everything that I felt in that moment.

After the benediction Drew’s casket was carried outside to the cemetery that stretched out to the edge of the hill.
A small white tent was set up over the burial site. I walked out, flanked by my mother and Logan, our arms intertwined.

From where I stood, I could see the view of the bay again, and I couldn’t help but think that Drew had picked the perfect spot.
He would be laid to rest, with his favorite view stretched out before him. But, most important, those that came here to grieve him would be reminded of the beauty of the lake. I was sure that Drew knew that such a view might bring them comfort.

The burial service had ended
, and I honestly couldn’t recall a single second of it as I was lost in my own thoughts, a cold numbness growing inside me. Only a few of us remained afterward. Most everyone had left to attend the reception at Monroe Manor. I couldn’t seem to leave, as if something was drawing me to this spot. I stood a few feet from the grave, morbidly staring at the crew of workers as they filled the hole where Drew’s body lay, motionless, in a wooden box. It all seemed so unfair at the moment.

“Gemma, are you ready?” I heard Logan ask from behind me.

My mother had gone ahead to the reception when Logan offered to drive me himself.

The rain had stopped sometime during the service
, and now the sun was starting to peek out from behind a mass of dark clouds. I couldn’t answer or move to acknowledge him in anyway, as if my body was bolted in place.

“Come on
, Gemma,” Logan said, as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and tried to steer me toward the car. I reluctantly let him lead me away from Drew, my feet growing heavier with each step. I leaned my head against Logan’s shoulder, welcoming the comfort. As we neared the driveway of the chapel where the cars were parked, Logan’s voice vibrated in my ear where it rested on his chest.

“Hey
, Will. I thought you had already gone back to the cabin.”

I jerked my head up at the sound of
William’s name and met his eyes in the same instant.

“I need to talk to Gemma,” he said nervously.

“Sure, I’ll give you both a minute,” Logan said as he began to step away from me.

“This is neither the time
nor the place, William,” I said through a shaky voice, reaching my arm out to grip Logan around the waist, holding him in place. I didn’t want to be alone with William. I couldn’t handle the fear and anxiety that had suddenly crept up on me just from the sound of his voice.

“We need to talk about what happened that night.
Please just let me explain, to try to make it right.”

Tears spilled down my face as the nausea settled in at his words.
“Make it right? How can you make it right? You destroyed me that night. I trusted you. You were like a brother to me. How could you?” I choked out.

Before
William could respond, Logan stepped out of my reach, toward William. “What the fuck? You son-of-a-bitch!” Logan yelled seconds before he wound his arm back and connected his fist with the side of Will’s jaw. The sound echoed in the vast space around us. Seconds later he did it again, but this time his fist landed in William’s gut, causing him to grunt loudly as he fell to his knees. He was doubled over with his arm across his abdomen as he held up his other hand to stop Logan from another advance.

It all happened in slow motion.
Logan, breathing heavily, was in a rage and began to approach William again with the intent of kicking him while he was down.

“Stop
, Logan,” I screamed as I stepped in between them. “Please don’t do this,” I pleaded, holding my hand against Logan’s chest. This was not the place. We were here for Drew. They shouldn’t be fighting like this.

Logan stopped in his tracks and leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

William sat on his knees in the dirt, holding his gut. I saw tears running down his cheeks, the left side of his face bright red—almost purple—as he spit a mouthful of blood in the dirt beside him.

We were all panting, the intensity of everyone’s emotions filling the space around us, the air almost too thick with tension to breathe.

Logan’s strained voice broke through the sudden silence. “This is about that night. In the woods. Isn’t it?” he asked, staring directly in my eyes from where he was still hunched over.

I didn’t answer his question.

“There’s more to it than what you told me, isn’t there? It was him. And this asshole actually . . .” His voice trailed off, unable to finish his sentence as he put the pieces together from that night so long ago.

I could only nod, unable to voice the confirmation.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” he said again as he shook his head from side to side. “I could fucking kill you right now,” he growled, directly at William.

“I know.
I deserve that. Believe me, I do,” Will said, surprising me with his words, his admission, the self-hatred that I could sense in his tone.

From where he sat, on his knees, in the dirt, he turned to me then
. “Gemma. There’s no excuse for what I did. I was fucked up. I was so high and wasted that night, I barely remembered what happened the next morning. But I could hear your pleas and cries in my head the next day. I knew that I had done something awful, that I had hurt you.”

“How could you tell Drew that I wanted you, brag
ging to him about sleeping with me after what you had done?” I asked, disgusted with him.

“I was scared.
I thought for sure that you would tell Drew. I knew that if I hurt him enough, he would hate you and leave. And I was right.”

“You make me sick,” I said, angry tears making their way down my face.
I wiped them away roughly, mad that I was allowing myself to cry in front of him.