{"id":6453,"date":"2021-09-17T11:45:37","date_gmt":"2021-09-17T15:45:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/?p=6453"},"modified":"2021-09-17T11:45:37","modified_gmt":"2021-09-17T15:45:37","slug":"grace-gravity","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/grace-gravity\/","title":{"rendered":"Grace & Gravity"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Based on the Feature film Grace and Gravity<\/em><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

By S.E. Clancy<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

John, an American Christian on a work assignment in the UK, just wants to photograph England\u2019s oldest wooden truss bridge on his day off work. But then a man steps into the shot\u2026and up onto the railing. What choice does he have but to try to talk the man down?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As he tries to save this stranger\u2019s life, a few things become clear: both Englishman and American have some preconceived notions about the other that they need to get past; John will have to come to terms with his own faith in the face of a man who\u2019s lost his; and gravity isn\u2019t the only force at work on the bridge that day.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

First Light<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

John<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The beeping alarm roused John Palmer from his medicated sleep. He rolled over and swiped his phone with a groan. Through the sheer curtain of his rented walk-up flat, the sky was dark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPerfect,\u201d he whispered, voice still hoarse. After a silent countdown, John rocked up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His toes touched the laminate and curled, the chilly flooring waking him as he scrubbed his face with both hands. He needed to shave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Another groan pushed through his lips when he shoved up from the mattress. Mrs. Pottifer promised to have the heat fixed no later than the previous day. The fourth morning of an icy apartment made John grateful that his meds allowed a deep slumber through the night, even if his back ached by morning. Maybe he\u2019d add in a couple of ibuprofen with his daily vitamins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the bathroom, John checked his upside-down boots on the electric dryer he\u2019d had sent to him from the States. At least his feet would be dry for the long walk to the bridge. Electric toothbrush vibrating in his mouth, he drew back the curtain. A sliver of color snaked across the dark horizon. There were about fifteen minutes to finish up and get on the road to catch the bridge at the ideal lighting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His foreman at the tunnel project had mentioned the timber trussed bridge the week before, when they toured two nearby highway crossings. John pulled up the note on his phone to look over the directions again. There was no way he was going to miss capturing one of the oldest remaining British wooden bridges before he went back to California after this project wrapped in a few weeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After dressing and shoving a granola bar into his camera bag, John heard his cell phone ring from the nightstand. It vibrated across the glass top. Both features were turned on so that he didn\u2019t miss a call from home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John grabbed the phone and stared. The cracked screen displayed his wife\u2019s photo from last year\u2019s Christmas party. He plopped onto the mattress watching her picture as it buzzed in his hands. Two cleansing breaths later, he swiped open her video chat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joy smiled into the camera. \u201cHi, sweetie. What\u2019s up?\u201d The speaker distorted her voice. No amount of covering the phone in rice could fix the damage of an English spring deluge. Or three.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He leaned closer, as if to smell the same perfume she\u2019d always worn for twenty-six years. \u201cWhat time is it there?\u201d he asked. She hadn\u2019t changed much\u2014her blond hair still hung to her shoulders, and the cracks in the screen hid any of the lines she complained about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTen at night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John glanced to the window. The horizon blossomed. \u201cThe sun is barely rising here.\u201d He had to get a move on to catch the dawn rays.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her eyebrows dipped together. \u201cAnd you\u2019re up already?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. I want to catch that first light.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHuh, that\u2019s a surprise.\u201d She turned her head sideways. Static squelched through the speaker and John nearly didn\u2019t hear her next words. \u201cSince when do you ever get out of bed this early for anything?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He switched the call to audio and cradled the phone to his ear. \u201cJoy? Honey? Can you hear me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHello? What\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The new telephoto lens sat in its bag near the lamp. John removed it with care. \u201cI\u2019m rushing to catch that light.\u201d It weighed less than he thought it would. But then again, who really looked at the weight when ordering online? \u201cThere\u2019s this amazing old bridge nearby, but I have to hurry.\u201d He placed it on the bedspread, turning it over to look at the features.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou have to hurry?\u201d She used that tone of voice when their daughter Jenny was leaving without eating breakfast. Or when he had to work out of town for a few weeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Dawn woke outside, spilling onto the hills. \u201cJoy, you know I love that stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They\u2019d met at an art exhibition in college. He\u2019d shirked around the corners, trying not to bump into anyone he knew from the engineering department. She\u2019d found him at a collection of black and white prints of brick buildings, near her own watercolor lilies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, I know you love that stuff.\u201d The edge still hung on her tone, even through the static, all the way from the other side of the globe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s my only day off. Aren\u2019t I entitled to a little bit of fun?\u201d Between weather delays and the company being slapped with fines after an inspection, it most definitely had not<\/em> been a good week at work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joy sighed into the phone. He\u2019d heard that sigh so many times in the last few months. Resignation. Defeat. Acceptance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo, you\u2019ve got your coat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John stood and rounded the bed, depositing the new lens into his black camera bag. \u201cOf course, I have a jacket.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is England, for crying out loud.\u201d He continued into the bathroom, his voice bouncing off of the tiny tiled walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sighed again. The static rattled his eardrums. \u201cI wish I was there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John reached down to pick up a tissue that had missed the trash can. \u201cYeah, I wish you were here, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI love you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He threw the tissue into the toilet and closed the lid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJohn? What? You won\u2019t say that you love me, too?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. Of course, I can say it.\u201d He flushed the toilet on his way out of the bathroom. \u201cI love you, too.\u201d It was too fast, too clipped. And she knew it as well as he did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you there?\u201d Joy sounded like she was speaking through a kazoo. \u201cDon\u2019t forget Jenny\u2019s gonna call.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Next to the bed, his Bible lay on a wooden tray that doubled as his dining table when he ate in. If he took time to read the devotion for the day, he\u2019d miss the shots altogether. He grabbed the worn Bible tract that sat haphazardly on top of his Bible. John always kept it in his shirt pocket, just in case he needed to remind himself about forgiveness<\/a>. He slid it into the pocket of his plaid flannel under his jacket. Layers were the key to staying warm and mostly dry. Maybe he\u2019d have time to read it again after he took his shots of the bridge. He really needed to work on memorizing the verses inside the tract he\u2019d picked up before his trip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat time will she call?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joy hummed, and it tickled John\u2019s ear. \u201cI don\u2019t know. Maybe around one o\u2019clock, when she gets back?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne a.m.!\u201d John sat on the edge of the bed again. \u201cWhat\u2019s she doing until one a.m.?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joy scoffed. \u201cIt\u2019s her birthday, John\u2014\u201d The phone slid from John\u2019s ear to the floor and bounced on the carpet. He grabbed the phone and Joy was still talking. \u201cShe\u2019s going out to a show and then going to a club\u2014\u201d Whatever she said after that was swallowed by static.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJoy?\u201d He moved to the end of the bed. Sometimes that helped with reception.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you even remember Jenny\u2019s birthday?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John\u2019s muscles went rigid. She just had to dredge it up. Again. \u201cNo, I\u2019m a terrible father.\u201d He distracted himself by grabbing something, anything from the camera bag. An extra useless strap. \u201cOf course I remembered.\u201d He shoved the strap into the other pocket of his flannel and stood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust don\u2019t let her down. You promised, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, I\u2019m very aware that I forgot her birthday last year.\u201d Cell service was spotty in that part of Montana, and it didn\u2019t help that he\u2019d been called to bail out two of his employees from jail. Add in the time it took to recover the truck from the towing company\u2026and yeah, he forgot. \u201cThank you for always bringing that up.\u201d John shrugged on his jacket. Same conversation, different day. At least the bridge wouldn\u2019t rehash his mistake. As if he needed help with that every single time he saw Joy calling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re blowing it out of proportion, John. She was hurt. She waited for that call.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John snorted in disbelief. \u201cForgive me for being so busy trying to be a godly provider.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease don\u2019t do this, John. I\u2019m sorry I brought it up.\u201d She sniffed into the phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Great, he\u2019d made her cry. He closed his eyes, trying to focus. Could he ever get things right between them again?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJoy,\u201d he said tenderly. \u201cJoy\u2026Joy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI just wish that you two would talk like you used to. Or go to the movies.\u201d He wasn\u2019t sure if she was crying or if it was static.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For years, every Friday or Saturday, they had a daddy-daughter date. Waffles at Kate\u2019s Diner, then a movie. Sometimes she\u2019d drag him to see the latest Star Wars movie six weeks in a row.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He squashed the phone to his ear. \u201cI can\u2019t help it. I tried.\u201d It took Jenny days to return his apology text because she wouldn\u2019t answer his calls. And when the Montana job ended, she always had something else to do rather than catch a movie. \u201cShe\u2019s the one who wouldn\u2019t talk to me after that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt was just a phase.\u201d Right. A phase that lasted for months and months. It was a wonder Jenny would call today at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. I know she blames me for everything, and you just allow it,\u201d he said. Joy would never stick up for him. It would mean that she\u2019d have to tell Jenny\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you tell her?\u201d Joy\u2019s distorted voice sounded even smaller, more hesitant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He paced to the end of the bed, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. \u201cI told you I would never tell her anything about that.\u201d They\u2019d sworn to secrecy, to keep Jenny in the dark. It was\u2026less messy that way. \u201cLook, I really have to go.\u201d The sun peeked over the horizon now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d Joy said. \u201cWell\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay.\u201d The line went dead. He held the phone out and glanced at the black screen. \u201cBye,\u201d he said to the empty room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gathering the camera bags and tripod, John headed down the three flights of stairs. His rental was parked a block away, wedged between a delivery truck and another tiny car. John dropped his equipment into the passenger seat and started the engine. \u201cDrive on the wrong side,\u201d he whispered, maneuvering the two-door sedan to the roadway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He glanced through the windshield as the trees blurred by and the sun rose higher. He still had sixteen minutes to go, according to the lady robot voice on his phone\u2019s map. It wouldn\u2019t be the light he\u2019d wanted to capture, but it\u2019d still be close enough to play with the aperture and depth of field. If there was a breeze, he could even get a few long exposures to catch the movement around the trestle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The map directed John to a small dirt turnout, where a gate barred the way on a tumbled gravel road into the woods. \u201cOkay,\u201d he said, cutting the engine. \u201cI\u2019m up for a hike.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Throwing a camera bag on each shoulder, John slipped his phone into his pocket before grabbing the tripod and locking the car. The tall grass and sparse trees soon blended into a carpet of ferns and mossy tree trunks. John sped his steps, trying to get to the bridge before his shots were blown by locals or tourists.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A random apple tree draped over the narrowing path. The bottom branches were stripped bare, probably by people on their way to the creek. But nestled behind a thick set of leaves, a red-tinged green apple weighed down its branch, just aching to be plucked. John obliged after a quick glance around to make sure no one would see. He polished it against his jacket. Launching into the crisp skin, he immediately spit the sour bite out, regretting his thievery, and tossed the apple into the tall ferns. Then he heard the creek far away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The tree line broke, and John found himself on a typical English hillside, overlooking the dark timber trussed bridge. Tall grasses and ferns filled the field, the trail disappearing over the edge. John descended the hill, and the creek grew louder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Large cobblestones and white birches lined the creek bed. Because the bridge sat in a valley, the brightest light hadn\u2019t bathed the area. John hurried to set up the tripod. He still had time to catch the light he wanted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After switching to his trusty wide-angle lens, John crouched to check the tripod\u2019s height adjustment. An upward angle would work perfectly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rays of sunlight broke through the trees to the east, streaking across the bridge. John leaned into the viewfinder to line everything up, when from the corner of the frame, a man in a white suit walked into the shot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John dropped his head and rubbed his forehead. When he looked back up, the man kept walking toward the center of the bridge. \u201cCome on, buddy,\u201d John whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Since the intruder didn\u2019t seem to be interested in leaving, John took the time to fasten his camera bag closed. He didn\u2019t want his new lens to fall out and break.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man finally stopped, dead center on the bridge. Of course. John bent forward as the guy did something with his shoes. Was he taking them off?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John grabbed his camera and zoomed in as much as the wide angle would go. His stomach dropped as the man in white climbed onto the railing and held onto the sides, pausing to look up into the sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was going to jump.<\/p>\n\n\n