The Laws of Gravity (35 page)

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to be with you,” he told her.

“Really?” she said. She hoped her voice had not just squeaked.

“Love at first sight,” he said, tracing her lips with the tip of his finger. “I could hardly believe my luck when I saw you coming out of the synagogue apartment. You and that beautiful little baby in your arms. Your hair looked like it was burning against the snow. I said a quick
barucha
to thank God for his good taste in tenants.—But.” He pulled her down gently so she was sitting next to him on the bed. “Here’s the thing,” he said.

Her heart sank.

“I don’t fool around,” he said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, trying to smile.

“No, I mean it,” he said. “I’m no good at being casual. And I don’t want to be. I’m not going to sleep with you unless we’re married.”

“Married? You’re kidding,” she said.

“I’m dead serious.” He turned sideways on the bed to face her, still clasping her hand. “And I’m not asking right this minute. Just tell me this: Would you even consider it?”

She looked at her hand, held between both of his. “I think I already have,” she said.

He drew the hotel room coverlet over both of them. His black shoes stuck over the edge of the bed. He examined the shape their two clasped hands made, front and back. He looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. One bedside lamp was burning.

“God was in this place and I, I did not know it,” he said.

She laughed. “Do you see God in absolutely everything?” she said.

“Yes.—But I was quoting Jacob again.”

“Where was the place?” she asked.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked. “Seriously stunning. I have no idea why you’re here with someone like me.”

“Quit changing the subject,” she said.

“This too is Torah, and I must learn,” he said.

“What?”

“I’ll tell you another time.” He released her hand. “Jacob fell asleep on a stone pillow at Mount Moriah and saw a host of angels on a ladder. Some were climbing up and others climbing down. God was watching from above, and Jacob from below. Some say the ladder represents prayer—connecting us to God. Some say it’s a vision of the twofold nature of the world.”

“And you?” Abigail said. “What do you think?”

He reached out and touched her cheek. “I think the ladder is a bridge, connecting all the worlds. The world of action, the world of formation, the world of creation, and the world of intimacy.—Do you know that according to kabbalah, each time a man and woman make love, they create a child? It may only be in the spiritual realm, never the physical, but still—you want to be aware of the kind of offspring you are making.”

“Do you really believe all that?” she asked.

“I do,” he said. “Do you believe any of it?”

“Possibly,” she said. “A little.”

He spoke softly, as if he sensed she was falling asleep, which in fact she was. “When Jacob awoke, he said, ‘God was in this place and I, I did not know it.’”

“That’s beautiful,” she said, her eyes slowly falling shut. With her eyes still closed, she asked, “Why did he say the word
I
twice?”

Teddy laughed. “You’re a good student, like your mother. Well, there are lots of theories, and you need your rest.”

“Okay,” she said.

He reached over her and switched off the lamp on her side of the bed. She felt the darkness as a kind of coolness entering the room, since she did not bother to open her eyes. In the new dark, she felt the man at her side still looking at her.

“I’m not the self I was before Iris,” she finally said. “So when Jacob wakes from the dream maybe he’s become a new person. A new I. ‘God was in this place and I, I did not know it.’”

He lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “Did you know we’d end up in the same room like this?”

“Like this?” he echoed. “No. Absolutely not. But I prayed to God, and was hopeful in my soul.”

“Who said that?” she asked.

He squeezed her hand. “I did.”

The Last Time

The phone call came at 1:00 a.m. on a summer’s night. The phone shrilled next to Mimi’s sleeping head, in harmony with the deeper-toned phone downstairs in the kitchen. The whole house seemed to reverberate from the sound, as if from a fire alarm going off.

“Mimi?” the voice said. “You awake?”

It was Nicole’s voice—her new, rougher, octave-deeper husky voice, slurred from the effects of the morphine.

“I am now,” Mimi said. She shook her head hard to make it true. “I’m awake.”

“It’s time,” Nicole said. “You sure?”

“Absolutely,” Mimi said.

“It’s perfect,” said Nicole. “Full moon, stars, the works.”

“I’ll be over right away.”

“Good,” said Nicole. Then, “Thank you,” and she hung up.

Mimi opened Rianna’s door and peeked in. She left the door open a crack as she exited. Then she went into Julian’s room and woke him. “Listen, honey, I’m going out for a little while.” He blinked at her sleepily.

“How come?” he asked.

“Aunt Nicole needs me.”

“Oh. Okay,” he said, and closed his eyes again so that she wasn’t absolutely sure he had heard her. But then he added, “Is she dying?”

“No,” she said. “At least I hope not. Not right this minute.”

“Okay,” he said again.

“Keep an ear out for the baby,” Mimi said. “She’ll probably sleep through the night. But just in case, I’ll leave a bottle of soy milk out, and you can always give her some of those little oyster crackers. But don’t let her stay awake or she won’t go back to sleep. I won’t be gone long. You have my cell number. Call if you need me.”

“Will do,” he said. He reached out his long fingers and touched the back of her hand. “Mom?” he said.

“What?”

“Drive carefully, okay?”

“I will.”

“And give Daisy a kiss for me if you can—and Aunt Nicole.”

“Do you want me to wake you when I get back in?”

“No.” He yawned hugely. “I’ll be asleep.”

Nicole was waiting out by the front door, a canvas beach bag in her hand. She wore a long caftan and, over that, a light cotton sweater. “Blanket, towels, morphine patch,” she said. “Ideal midnight picnic at the beach.”

“How about a flashlight?” Mimi asked.

“Good idea.” Nicole went back into the kitchen, rummaged through a drawer, and was back after a few minutes. She moved very slowly these days.

“Do you want to leave a note for Jay?”

“Done,” Nicole said, nodding toward the kitchen. “I left the light on so he’d find it before he could get scared. It’s funny,” she added. “I used to think nothing could frighten him. And I turn out to be the most terrifying thing.”

Mimi helped her swing her swollen legs into the car. “Windows down?” she asked. Nicole nodded. How many times had they driven to the beach in summer, Nicole with her beautiful head thrown back, threads of red hair blowing in the wind, her feet out the window. Now she just sat slumped in the passenger seat, her head turned, smiling out at the night.

Mimi did not have to ask where they were going. Nicole’s favorite beach was in Oyster Bay, a small private beach that closed at sundown and in any event was reserved for residents of Oyster Bay with the proper stickers on their car windows. But at this hour it wouldn’t matter. The town beach was so far off the beaten path that no one bothered to fence it in, and the Oyster Bay cops had better things to do than chase down the few souls who ventured there at this hour. Yet strangely, when they finally got there—gliding over back roads as if they were made of black glass, no traffic this time of night, even the changing green and red streetlights seeming superfluous—the beach was roped off, like the entrance to a movie theater, blocked by a heavy metal chain. Mimi grabbed the flashlight and hopped out to investigate. The chain had a large lobster-claw clasp at one side. All she had to do was open it and drag the chain over to the other side. Then she drove through and refastened the chain. Theirs was the only car in the small parking lot.

“Come on,” Nicole said. She got out of the car and hobbled straight down the hill toward the water. Mimi was suddenly afraid she might not stop when she got to the edge. What would she do if Nicole tried to drown herself? What if she loaded down her pockets with stones like Virginia Woolf and waded into the bay? Would Mimi have the courage—or the cruelty—to drag her back? But Nicole’s voice came echoing back from the beach, and gravelly and hoarse as it was, it was a happy cry. “Hurry!” she called.

As soon as Mimi got fifty yards from the water, a fog rose around her. She could feel it swirling on her face. “Where are you?” she said. The flashlight was worse than useless. It bounced the light straight back into her eyes.

“Just follow my voice,” Nicole said. Then she made her voice higher and squeaky. “Follow the yellow brick road. Follow the yellow brick road.” Because of the roughness in her new voice she really sounded like a Munchkin.

Mimi slid and slipped down the sound. She nearly fell over Nicole. “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my,” she said.

“Sit,” ordered Nicole.

Mimi sat. Nicole had spread out the blanket and anchored it down with stones, with her slip-on shoes, with the edge of the canvas bag holding the rolled-up towels.

“Want to swim?” Nicole asked.

Mimi shivered. “Do you?”

“Absolutely not,” said Nicole. “I may be dying, but I’m not crazy.”

Mimi tilted her head back. “It’s funny,” she said. “I can’t see the beach, and I can barely see you, but I can see the moon, and even some bright stars. Why is that?”

Nicole shrugged. “You’d have to ask someone smarter than we are, like Julian. But I know those are planets, not stars.”

“How do you know?”

“One, hours spent in planetariums. Two, they’re too big and bright, and they don’t twinkle.”

At that instant a streak of light arced across the sky and seemed to fall straight into the dark blur of the bay.

“Now
that
,” said Nicole, “was a star.”

“A shooting star.”

“I don’t know what to wish for.”

“I do,” Mimi said quickly.

“No. Don’t waste your wishes on that,” said Nicole.

They sat for a few minutes in silence. The fog seemed to grow patchier, seemed to lift slightly, though maybe it was just their eyes growing used to the dark. The waves slapped lightly against the shore, splashing one-two, one-two.

“This is so nice,” Nicole said finally. “I’m happy. Thank you for bringing me.”

Mimi had to speak around the lump in her throat. “You know,” she said, “we’ll never forget this—the beach at night, that shooting star, the waves. We will always remember this.” She could not bring herself to use the pronoun
I
, even if that’s what she meant.

“I am remembering it now,” said Nicole.

That was the last good night. Nicole’s condition went down from there, gone out of control. Despite all their efforts, she had to be moved to the
hospital, where she saw less of Daisy, to her sorrow and relief. Jay had been furious when they came home from the beach that night; of course he had wakened, and then waited for them to show up.