Page 3 of Gravity

Fifteen years later…

As I pull up in the driveway of my home, I turn off the ignition and take a moment to let my mind readjust to being back. These past four years have been both a blur and an uphill climb in my mind, and there has been a questionable amount of time where I’ve wondered how I’ve managed to get through it all.

The day I received the letter to say that I had got into Wesleyan College to pursue my dream—to study Marine biology and Oceanology—was the best day of my life. I remember it like yesterday, and I’m so thankful that I have had that opportunity. But the years that followed were a turbulence, and there were a few times where I wanted nothing more than to give up as I felt my body crumbling beneath me.

If it hadn’t been for my best friend, Makenna, in those times, I would have. Her weekly visits and regular phone calls where all that kept me going when my parents were too busy to check in with everything else going on. But here I am now, a college graduate with a degree, waiting on what’s to come.

You never expect the unfortunate to happen to you, but within the space of two years, that cloud of unlucky didn’t just strike our family but it took out the boy next door, too. Two households were torn apart for completely different reasons, and where ours has found a way to manage and cope with the dramatic change, I fear that Grayson remains in a silent world of his own grief.

Glancing across to his driveway, I latch on to the swing that’s hanging from the tree on his front lawn. Now battered and worn, that swing holds so many memories of the summers he used to push me on it—the summers when I would skip out of my house at just a meagre age and demand him to hang out with me instead of my brother. Of course, that never happened because of the fifteen-year age gap, but he never failed to give me his time in one way or another. If my brother, Asher, needed him for something, Grayson would tell him to wait five more minutes because he’d promised me his time.

Pushing me on his swing turned in to him helping Dad build me a tree house and that led to him taking me to Duck Donuts every Saturday morning before we walked along Virginia Beach with my brother. But in the last two years, since I’ve been at college, Grayson has gradually put an invisible wedge in our friendship, and I don’t know why. The texts have fizzled out, and when I’d come home for breaks, he was hardly around. I can count on both hands the times I’ve seen him in the last twenty-four months. Each time I left got harder as my heart ached more for him in a way that I’ve been secretly battling for years.

A loud squeal catches my attention, and I look up to find my mom dancing around the front porch in excitement, waving at me like she hasn’t seen me for months. But what has my smile growing wider and me heading out to greet her is the man who follows her out in his wheelchair, lifting his arm up in an attempt to wave.

“Hey, guys!” I beam, heading up the steps and throwing my arms around Mom in a tight squeeze.

“Nora, baby. How was the drive? Did you manage it okay?” Her motherly worry is constant, and I swear she forgets at times that twenty-two is a big enough number for me to be able to look after myself.

“Mom, campus is only an hour away. It’s hardly a long drive.”

People around here have often passed comments about how I decided to stay on campus for four years while my home was only a short drive away, but there is only one explanation for that, and it comes in the form of my brother. With the ten-year age gap, and him being a former SEAL, Asher is the type of guy who would be satisfied if I remained single for the rest of eternity. He’d no doubt be over-joyed if I announced that I wanted to join a convent. So, if I wanted to breathe and experience a life outside of his protective grip, campus was my only escape, which at times wasn’t easy because every guy that walked the grounds of Wesleyan college knew who I belong to.

“No, but the dark circles under your eyes tell me you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I haven’t been sleeping because I’ve had three weeks of less studying and more drinking.”

Her loud gasp has my dad chuckling at the side of her, and I move my attention to him. A pang of emotion unexpectedly hits my chest as he looks up at me, and I can’t control the tears that sting my eyes. He seems to have lost more weight since I last saw him. His collarbones are more prominent than they have ever been, and his head now rests more to the side as he can’t support it when he gets too tired. Even though his appearance makes my stomach tighten with dread, he still has that sparkle shining bright. Leaning down, I hug him tight. His arms hold me as best as they can, his weak grip reminding of how much he’s suffered, yet how lucky he is to still be alive.

One night, while home on spring break, I had been woken by a blood curdling cry. Racing to my parents’ room, I’d seen Dad lying on the floor, unmoving, while my mom cried over him. He’d suffered a massive stroke, and all the medical experience my mom had with working at the children’s hospital was suddenly stripped away as she become helpless to everyone in that moment. That was the storm that had ripped through our family, and from that day everything changed. Dad went from being a healthy man—who once fought for his country as a Navy SEAL and had numerous escapes with death over the years while out on the field—to being wheelchair bound within hours, having to have intense therapy to help him recover and learn to talk again. To this very day, we don’t know why it happened or if it will be the end of it, but despite his recovery and the endless times I’ve had Mom crying to me down the phone, they both forbid me from stepping away from my studies to come home and help.

“Hey, Pop. I’ve missed you.”

“My. Girl. H-home.” Where he would once be able to hold a conversation, Dad’s vocabulary is now more of a stop and start exchange—one where patience is needed because the time is precious.

“I sure am,” I whisper, not worried about the tear that escapes. Pulling back, my dad looks up at me with the same pride in his eyes as he had done through all the years I was a child.

“How are you feeling? I see you have some super new wheels.” I smile, pointing at his flash new wheelchair with more buttons than I can work out what they are for.

“Honestly, he was like a kid at Christmas when he got it.” Mom sighs, but grins down at dad.

“Drives. Better. Th-than… you.” Dad replies to mom and it has us laughing. He’s certainly not lost his humor.

“Still got the spark then, Pop.”

“Nora, I think your father has become more devilish since his stroke. Sometimes, I can’t contain his excitement.” Mom hugs me again and squeezes my arms. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. You look like you could do with a good meal inside you.”

I chuckle. “Mom, I do know how to cook. I have eaten since the last time I was home.”

“Maybe. But it’s no crime to want to feed my daughter.”

“No, but with your cooking, I’m likely to gain a few pounds within days.”

Stepping inside, Mom heads down into the kitchen as I let my eyes and my senses adjust to being back in my childhood home. The living room decor is now white and blue walls, big light gray couches and finished off with hard wood flooring to make it more accessible for dad. The family photo in the center of the wall is still the one that was taken when I was sixteen, my older brother still carrying a look on his face that I’ve never been able to understand. But the look in my parents’ eyes is what makes me smile. They were—and still are—so in love, and the pride they have for this family shows every day. However, it is the glorious smell wafting from the kitchen that has my stomach growling and my veins remembering I’m finally home.

“Apple Pie,” I hum.

“Your. F-fave.” Dad says behind me as he presses the buttons on his wheelchair to make it operate.