The Gravity of Us Read online

  The Gravity of Us

  Copyright © 2017 by Brittainy C. Cherry

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: Brittainy C. Cherry 2017

  [email protected]

  Editing: Editing by C. Marie, Ellie at Love N Books

  Proofreading: Virginia Tesi Carey, Lawrence Editing, Alison Evans-Maxwell-Red Leaf Proofing

  Formatting by Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting

  Cover Design: Quirky Bird

  Cover Model: Stuart Reardon

  Cover Image: Arron Dunworth

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  To love,

  and all the heartache that weighs it down.

  To love,

  and all the heartbeats that lift it up.

  2015

  Before Mama passed away five years ago, she left three gifts for my sisters and me. On my sister Mari’s front porch sat the wooden rocking chair Mama gave her. Mari received the rocking chair because Mama always worried that her mind was always on the go. Mari was the middle child and had a way of constantly feeling as if she was missing out on something in life, which led to her oftentimes living in limbo. “If you don’t stop overthinking things, you’re going to put your brain into overdrive, baby girl. It’s okay to go slower sometimes,” Mama would say to her. The rocking chair was a reminder for Mari to slow down and take a few moments to embrace life, to not let it pass her by.

  Our oldest sister, Lyric, received a small music box with a dancing ballerina. When we were children, Lyric dreamed of being a dancer, but over the years, she packed that dream away. After growing up with Mama, who was a lifelong wild child, Lyric began to resent the idea of a career based on passion. Mama lived her life in the most passionate way, and at times, that meant we didn’t know where our next meal would be coming from. When the rent was due, we’d be packed up and off on our next adventure.

  Lyric and Mama fought all the time. I believed my sister felt responsible for us all, feeling as if she had to mother her own mother. Mari and I were young and free; we loved the adventures, but Lyric hated it. She hated not having a solid place to call home, hated the fact that Mama had no structure in her life. She hated that her freedom was her cage. When the opportunity came for Lyric to leave, she left our sides and went off to become a fancy lawyer. I never knew what happened to the small music box, but I hoped Lyric still held on to it. Always dance, Lyric, Mama used to say to my sister. Always dance.

  My gift from Mama was her heart.

  It was a tiny heart-shaped gem she’d worn around her neck since she was a teenager, and I felt honored to receive it from her. “It’s the heart of our family,” she told me. “From one wild one to another, may you never forget to love fully, my Lucille. I’ll need you to keep our family together and be there for your sisters during the hard times, okay? You’ll be their strength. I know you will because you already love so loudly. Even the darkest souls can find some kind of light from your smile. You’ll protect this family, Lucy, I know you will, and that’s why I’m not afraid to say goodbye.”

  The necklace hadn’t left my neck since Mama passed away years ago, but that summer afternoon I held it tighter in my hand as I stared at Mari’s rocking chair. After Mama’s death, Mari was shaken to her core, and every belief she’d been taught about spirituality and freedom felt like a lie.

  “She was too young,” Mari told me the day Mama passed away. She believed we were supposed to have time that was closer to forever. “It’s not fair,” she cried.

  I was only eighteen when she passed, and Mari was twenty. At the time, it felt like the sun had been stolen away from us, and we didn’t have a clue how to move forward.

  “Maktub,” I whispered, holding her close. The word was tattooed on both of our wrists, meaning ‘it is written.’ Everything in life happened for a reason, happened exactly how it was meant to, no matter how painful it seemed. Some love stories were meant to be forever, and others just for a season. What Mari had forgotten was that the love story between a mother and daughter was always there, even when the seasons changed.

  Death wasn’t something that could alter that kind of love, but after Mama had passed away, Mari let go of her free-spirited nature, met a boy, and planted her roots in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin—all in the name of love.

  Love.

  The emotion that made people both soar and crash. The feeling that lit humans up and burned their hearts. The beginning and ending of every journey.

  When I moved in with Mari and her husband, Parker, I knew it wouldn’t be a permanent situation, but I was completely thrown off when I caught him leaving that afternoon. The late summer air was sharp with the scent of autumn’s chill waiting in the shadows. Parker hadn’t heard me walk up behind him—he was too busy tossing a few pieces of luggage into his gray sedan.

  Between his tight lips sat two toothpicks, and his navy blue designer suit lay perfectly flat against his skin with his folded handkerchief in the left breast pocket of his blazer. When the day came for him to die, I was certain he’d want to be buried with all his handkerchiefs. It was an odd obsession of his, along with his collection of socks. I’d never seen someone iron so many handkerchiefs and socks before I met Parker Lee. He told me it was a common practice, but his definition of common differed from mine.

  For example, having pizza five days a week was a common practice to me, while Parker saw it as unnecessary carbohydrates. That should’ve been a big warning sign when I first met him. He had many red flags along the way. A man who didn’t like pizza, tacos, or pajamas on Sunday afternoons wasn’t someone who was meant to cross my path.

  He bent forward into his trunk and started shifting his suitcases around to make more room.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  My voice threw him off kilter and he jumped a few inches into the air, banging his head against the hood. “Shit!” He stood up and rubbed the back of his head. “Jesus, Lucy. I didn’t see you there.” His hands ran through his dirty-blond hair before he stuffe
d them into his slacks. “I thought you were at work.”

  “The boys’ dad came home early,” I said, referring to my nanny job as my eyes stared at the trunk of his car. “Do you have a work conference or something? You should’ve called me. I could’ve come back to—”

  “Does that mean you’re losing pay for today?” he asked, cutting me off and avoiding my question. “How are you going to help with everything? With the bills? Why didn’t you pick up more hours at the coffee shop?” Sweat dripped from his forehead as the summer sun beat down on our skin.

  “I quit the coffee shop weeks ago, Parker. I wasn’t exactly bringing home the bacon. Plus, I figured if you’re working, I could be helping more here.”

  “Jesus, Lucy. That’s so like you. How could you be so irresponsible? Especially with everything going on.” He started pacing, tossing his hands around in anger, pissing and moaning, confusing me more and more each second.

  “What exactly is going on?” I stepped toward him. “Where are you going, Parker?”

  He stood still and his eyes grew heavy. Something shifted inside him. His state of annoyance transformed to reveal his hidden remorse. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” My chest tightened. “For what?” I didn’t know why, but my chest began to cave in as an avalanche of emotions overtook my mind. I was already predicting the doom of his next chosen words. My heart was set to break.

  “I can’t do it anymore, Lucy. I just can’t do it.”

  The way the words burned from his lips made my skin crawl. He said it as if he felt guilty, but the bags in his car showed that even with that guilt, he’d decided. In his mind, he was far gone.

  “She’s getting better,” I said, my voice shaky with unease and fear.

  “It’s too much. I can’t…she’s…” He sighed and brushed the back of his palm against his temple. “I can’t stay and watch her die.”

  “Then stay and see her live.”

  “I can’t sleep. I haven’t eaten in days. My boss is getting on my case because I’m falling behind, and I can’t lose that job, especially with the medical expenses. I worked too hard to get everything I have, and I can’t lose it because of this. I can’t sacrifice anymore. I’m tired, Lucy.”

  I’m tired, Lucy.

  How dare he use those words? How dare he claim to be exhausted as if he was the one going through the hardest fight of his life? “We’re all tired, Parker. We’re all dealing with this. I moved in with you two so I could look after her, to make it easier for you, and now you’re just giving up on her? On your marriage?” No words from him. My heart…it cracked. “Does she know? Did you tell her you’re leaving?”

  “No.” He shook his head sheepishly. “She doesn’t know. I figured this would be easiest. I don’t want her to worry.”

  I huffed, shocked by the lies he was throwing my way, even more stunned by how he somehow believed those words to be true.

  “I’m sorry. I left some money on the table in the foyer. I’ll check in with you to make sure she’s okay, to make sure she’s comfortable. I can even wire you more money if you need it.”

  “I don’t want your money,” I said, my voice unsympathetic to his pained expression. “We don’t need anything from you.”

  He parted his lips to speak but shut them quickly, unable to form any sentences that could make the situation any easier. I watched every step he took to reach his driver’s side door, and when he did, I called his name. He didn’t turn to look at me, but his ears perked up, waiting.

  “If you leave my sister right now, you don’t get to come back. You don’t get to call when you’re drunk or check in when you’re sad. When she beats this cancer—which she will—you don’t get to step back in and pretend you love her. Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  Those two words were the same he’d used to promise himself to Mari through sickness and in health. Those two words were now forever drenched in agony and filthy lies.

  He stepped into his car before driving off without once hitting his brakes. I stayed in the driveway for a few moments, unsure of how to walk inside and tell my sister that her husband had abandoned her during her storm.

  My heart cracked again.

  My heart broke for my sister, the innocent one in a world full of ruthlessness. She’d given up her free spirit life to live a more structured one, and both worlds had turned against her.

  I took a deep breath and placed the palm of my hand around my heart-shaped necklace.

  Maktub.

  Instead of running like Parker, I went to see Mari. She was lying in her bed resting. I smiled her way, and she smiled back at me. She was so skinny, her body pushing each day to fight against expiration. Her head was wrapped in a scarf, her once long brunette hair now nothing more than a memory. It made her sad at times, staring into the mirror, but she didn’t see what I saw. She was so beautiful, even in sickness. Her true glow couldn’t be stolen away by such changes to her body, because her beauty stemmed from her soul, where only goodness and light resided.

  She’d be okay, I knew she would, because she was a fighter.

  Hair grew back, bones regained strength, and my sister’s heart was still beating, which was reason enough to celebrate each day.

  “Hey, Pea,” I whispered, hurrying over to the bed and crawling into it to lie beside her. I lay on my side, and she turned on hers to face me.

  Even in her weakness, she found a way to smile each day. “Hey, Pod.”

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  She shut her eyes. “He’s gone.”

  “You knew?”

  “I saw him packing when he thought I was sleeping.” Tears started rolling from the corners of her eyes, which she kept closed. For a while, we just lay there. Her sadness became my tears, and her tears articulated my sadness.

  “Do you think he’ll miss me when I die?” she asked me. Whenever she brought up death, I wanted to curse the universe for hurting my best friend, my family.

  “Don’t say that,” I scolded.

  “But do you think he will?” She opened her eyes, reached across to me, and held my hands in hers. “Remember when we were kids and I had that awful dream about Mama dying? I spent the whole day crying, and then she gave us all a talk about death? About how it isn’t the end of the journey?”

  I nodded. “Yes, she told us we’d see her in everything—the sunbeams, the shadows, the flowers, the rain. She said death doesn’t kill us, it only awakens us to more.”

  “Do you ever see her?” she whispered.

  “Yes, in everything. In absolutely everything.”

  A small whimper fell from her lips, and she nodded. “Me too, but mostly I see her in you.”

  Those words were the kindest I’d ever had delivered to me. I missed Mama every second of every day, and to have Mari say she saw her within me meant more than she’d ever know. I moved in closer to her and wrapped her in a hug. “He’ll miss you. He’ll miss you while you’re alive and healthy, and he’ll miss you when you’re a part of the trees. He’ll miss you tomorrow, and he’ll miss you when you become the wind brushing against his shoulder. The world’s going to miss you, Mari, even though you’ll still be here for many years to come. The second you’re better, we’re going to open our flower shop, okay? You and me, we’re going to do it.”

  All our lives, my sister and I had been in love with nature. We always had a dream to open a floral shop, and even went so far as to attend Milwaukee’s School of Flower Design. We each earned degrees in business so we’d have all the knowledge available to us. If it weren’t for the cancer, we would’ve had our shop. So, once the cancer was gone, I planned to do everything in my power to bring that shop to life.

  “Okay, Mari? We’re going to do that,” I said once more, hoping to sound more convincing, hoping to bring her ease.

  “Okay,” she said, but her voice dripped with doubt. Her brown doe eyes, which were shaped like Mama’s, were filled with the deepest look of s
orrow. “Can you get the jar? And the bag of coins?”

  I sighed, but agreed. I hurried to the living room where we’d left the jar and the bag of change sitting the night before. The Mason jar was wrapped with pink and black ribbon, and it was almost full of coins. We had started the jar when Mari was diagnosed seven months ago. The jar had the letters NT written on the side, which stood for negative thoughts. Whenever one of us had a bad thought race through our minds, we’d place a coin in the jar. Every negative thought was leading to a beautiful outcome—Europe. Once Mari was better, we’d use the money to go toward us backpacking across Europe, a dream we’d always wanted to bring to life.

  For every present negative thought, the coins were a reminder of better tomorrows.

  We had eight jars filled to the top already.

  I sat back down on Mari’s bed, and she pushed herself up a bit then grabbed the bag of change.

  “Pod,” she whispered.

  “Yes, Pea?”

  Tears raced down her cheeks faster and faster as her small frame was overtaken by emotion. “We’re going to need more change.”

  She poured all the coins into the jar and when she finished, I wrapped her up in my arms where she continued to fall apart. They had been married and healthy for five years and it only took seven months of sickness to make Parker vanish, leaving my poor sister brokenhearted.

  “Lucy?” I heard as I sat on the front porch. I’d been sitting in the rocking chair for the past hour as Mari rested, trying my best to understand how everything that unfolded was destined to happen. When I looked up, I saw Richard, my boyfriend, hurrying my way as he leaped off his bicycle and then leaned it against the porch. “What’s going on? I got your text message.” Richard’s shirt was covered in paint as always, a result of him being the creative artist he was. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls. My phone was on mute while I drank my sorrows away about being declined an invite to yet another art gallery.”

  He walked up to me and kissed my forehead. “What’s going on?” he asked again.