| h o s t e d b y f a n - s i t e s . O R G |
Author: waterlilies'n moonlight
Email: ich.kerstin@gmx.de
Summary: He should be strong for her, for God's sake. But instead he finds himself sitting on a chair in the hallway, bent over in grief, unable to go back inside, unable to keep from sobbing quietly into the flannel of his sleeves.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Notes: I'd really appreciate any kinds of comments, suggestions... whatever.
He knows what he should be doing right now. He should be in there, comforting her.
Hugging her, stroking her messed up hair, telling her it's not her fault.
He should be wiping her tears, letting her hit him against the chest in powerless desperation, meanwhile holding back his own tears.
He should be strong for her, for God's sake.
But instead he finds himself sitting on a chair in the hallway, bent over in grief, unable to go back inside, unable to keep from sobbing quietly into the flannel of his sleeves. He doesn't know for how long he's been sitting here like that, head in hands, trying to muster enough strength to go back inside.
They sent him out so they could get her stitched up and cleaned after the ordeal she's been through. A couple of minutes ago he saw a nurse carry the used sheets out of her room. They were all wet and in some places colored red or pinkish from the amount of blood that had inevitably accompanied the event.
He is sure that by now they're done in there, but still he can't make his feet move, his body feels as if it were glued to the chair.
He thinks about the bloody sheets, remembers her steely grip on his hand. Her screams from earlier resound in his ears.
All the pain, he thinks, all the pain, and it was all for nothing.
Rory and the Grandparents should be arriving any minute now. Right after they sent him out, he tried to reach their cell phones, but without any luck. Switched off, all of them.
He can only hope that whoever they ask for directions to her room will have sense enough to inform him of their presence first so that he can break it to them. As gently as possible. Can news like this be broken gently? He doesn't think so. But under no circumstances he wants her to be forced to explain anything.
"Mr. Danes?" The voice is familiar. It's the doctor who's just exited her room. The door is still slightly ajar.
He looks up into the doctor's face. The lines around his mouth and nose seem to have deepened since he last saw him.
The words that pour out of the doctor's mouth don't make it to the area of his brain where they'd be processed. He just nods whenever it seems appropriate to him and finally manages to get up from his chair to shake the other man's hand. When the doctor has disappeared down the hallway, he has no choice but to go back inside.
He wipes his face with a remaining dry patch of sleeve and takes off the baseball cap, leaving it on one of the chairs.
Then he pushes the door open completely and sets foot into the four walls that should've been witness to their greatest happiness. The room is bathed in sunlight. When they first came here, it was still dark outside.
And there she is, lying in the very same bed he left her on half an eternity ago. Only now she's not in stirrups any more and she's under the covers, wearing a different night gown. It's the one from her bag, he notices. The one with the button-down front.
She's not going to need that now.
The moment the door closes behind him, she turns away from the windows she's been facing and looks at him.
Her dark hair is not up in a ponytail any more, it has obviously been combed and the long curls framing her face make it appear even paler. She tries what looks like a weak smile, but of course she fails and has to cover her mouth with one hand to stifle a sob.
He rushes over to her bedside and takes her free hand in his. It's ice cold. No comparison to the hand he held hours ago. That one was hot and of an almost reddish color, full of life.
"Luke", she whispers almost inaudibly, and a second later throws both her arms around his neck, holding on to him for dear life.
"How could this happen?" Her voice is shaky and because he doesn't know the answer to her question, he just hugs her back and starts softly stroking her back with one hand.
For once at a loss for words, Lorelai also remains quiet from now on. The only thing audible are her sobs, choked in the flannel of his shirt.
That shirt - it is checkered in blue and green and when he put it on in the morning he expected to become a father in it.
Instead he has become the saddest man on the planet.
She strides through the hallways as if the whole hospital belonged to her.
Normally he would be able to keep up with her, but the bags and flowers she has made him carry force him to walk more slowly today.
So he is content to join Rory in the second row. He can't but smile to himself at the sight of his wife, being so obviously excited at the prospect of seeing the new family.
Who would have thought this day would ever come? That Emily and Richard Gilmore would gladly set out to meet their second grandchild, born to their daughter and a man who flips burgers for a living?
But here they are, gleeful anticipation written all over their faces as they make their way through a maze of hallways that all look the same.
When they finally reach the maternity ward, Emily is quick to find a nurse and ask her for the whereabouts of their daughter.
What happens next strikes him as odd. They are asked to sit down in the waiting room, a nurse at the desk picks up the phone and turns away from them as she talks, other nurses offer them coffee.
When they begin to ask questions he thinks that he sees something like compassion in the nurses' eyes as they apologize for not being allowed to tell them anything. One nurse promises to go and get Mr. Danes. Is he imagining things?
"It all went well, didn't it?" Emily anxiously grabs hold of his forearm, the joyful expression has long vanished from her face.
"Of course", he says absentmindedly, hardly believing in his own words although he wishes he could.
Rory sits next to him, eyeing the whole scenery suspiciously. The slender fingers she inherited from her mother tightly clutch the handbag that's resting in her lap. When she notices that he's looking at her, she just shrugs her shoulders at him. He deliberately avoids looking her directly in the eye for fear that she might see through the veneer of calmness he hides behind.
All of a sudden he wonders why Lorelai's voice is nowhere to be heard. Normally one would expect that the minute they come anywhere close to her room, her constant chatter would be audible. But nothing. The only thing he hears is the casual wailing of a newborn perhaps his grandchild? - and Emily shuffling her feet next to him.
In an attempt to calm her down, he gently places one hand above her knee. The hand is immediately covered by one of her own. It feels cold. He knows that she's nervous.
Before he can decide upon anything to say in order to ease the tension building up around them, a nurse approaches them.
"Are you the Gilmores?" Her voice sounds friendly, though not overly joyful. Didn't they just become grandparents and big sister? Shouldn't she be happier to finally show them to Lorelai's room?
"Will you now finally tell us where to find our daughter?" asks Emily in a voice that betrays a mixture of indignation and worry.
"Would you just like to follow me, Mr. Danes will be there in a minute." The nurse replies, not being very helpful, and motions for them to follow her through some more hallways.
She eventually leaves them alone next to a row of chairs mounted against the wall.
He places the bags and flowers he has been carrying on one of the chairs and notices a red baseball cap lying on another one.
Rory, who also seems to have noticed the baseball cap, picks it up and almost instantly a smile spreads across her face.
"Isn't that Luke's?" she waves the cap in front of his face. "So they must be in there", she concludes, pointing at the door next to the chairs.
Emily has also retrieved her smile and is about to knock at the door when it is opened from the inside.
From his position in the hallway he is the first to see who's coming out of the room. And the smile that he felt tugging at the corners of his mouth freezes in the very second he catches full sight of the man standing in the doorframe.
She sees her grandfather's face fall and from then on, everything's a blur.
Only fragments of sentences like "umbilical cord" and "wrapped around his neck" and "tried to resuscitate" make it through the curtain of disbelief that has fallen around her. A burning sensation behind her eyeballs reminds her that she's not dreaming.
"When?" A distraught grandmother asks in a voice that is unusually thin and low.
"About two hours ago." Luke looks as if he hasn't slept in days. Hours can feel like days sometimes, she knows that.
Needing to sit down, she simply follows the impulse and plops to the ground right where she's standing. The Grandparents sit down in the chairs, their faces as white as the wall they rest their heads against. Her gaze falls onto the bags and flowers next to her grandfather. She thinks she's going to be sick.
Luke remains standing there, in the middle of the hallway, staring into space, his hands cramped in fists, knuckles turned white.
"Can I go in and see Mom?" Her own shrill voice asks.
"Sure", he sounds very different from when she talked to him on the phone this morning, when he told her it wouldn't be long any more. And in a way he was right, she thinks, disgusted at herself for having made that connection.
After a brief struggle to regain her balance, she gets up from the floor and goes over to the door Luke so quickly closed behind him when he came out to talk to them.
When she steps into the room, at first it's so bright compared to the windowless hallway that she can't see a thing.
But then her eyes get accustomed to the brightness. Her mother, Lorelai Gilmore, the indestructible, is lying in bed, facing away from her. Apparently looking out of the window. The sunny day outside is cruelly oblivious to the tragedy that has just stricken.
Her stomach looks strangely flat beneath the covers. And there is nothing in the room to make up for that. No bassinette, no tiny newborn. The picture is not at all what she always imagined it to be.
"Mom." At that, Lorelai turns her head.
Rory is slightly taken aback by the unusual fragility displayed in her mother's looks: Eyes all red and puffy, her skin seeming to be almost see-through, and yet there are those tangled dark curls, falling over her shoulders beautifully - and beauty is so out of place right now.
Seeing her daughter in the room, Lorelai sits up a little in bed and once again tries to smile. And once again she fails, this time not bothering to cover her face with her hands. A pained expression takes reign over her features, causing something in Rory's chest to twitch painfully.
She puts her hand into the one her mother extends to her and sits down on her bedside. Carefully though, not wanting to cause her any discomfort.
"Look what night gown they made me put on." Lorelai half-cries, tugging at the buttoned front with her free hand. "Don't these people think?" The bitterness in her voice makes Rory cringe inwardly.
"I'm so sorry, Mom." In order to not let her see the quivering of her bottom lip, she takes her mother into her arms.
"I'm the one who should be sorry", Lorelai sniffles, "I failed him. They wanted me to push. And I couldn't do it fast enough. When he came out he was blue, and they - "
"It's not your fault. It's no one's fault." She tightens the embrace, so as if to aggravate her words.
"I know. But that doesn't make it hurt any less."
"I know."
They sit silently for a while, just holding each other and she feels her mother's hot tears soaking the shoulder part of her blouse.
"Where's Luke?" Lorelai pulls away from her.
"He's outside with Grandma and Grandpa."
"I don't want them to see me like this." With trembling fingers she wipes at her swollen eyes, not really bettering anything.
"Do you want Luke to be with you?"
"Yeah", comes a hoarse whisper.
Before Rory can say anything else, her mother suddenly starts rummaging through the contents of the top drawer in the nightstand. She produces something small and shiny and hands it to her.
"He took it off because he was afraid I might crush his hand when I was -", she swallows audibly, "could you give it to him?"
It's Luke's wedding band. A golden ring the diameter of which suggests it'd be possible for her pinky to play hula-hoop with it.
"I love you, Mom." She bends down and pecks her mother on her pale cheek.
"Go home, Rory. You don't need to see me like this, either."
She says nothing and slides off the bed, heading for the door, when she hears Lorelai's voice behind her.
"We haven't even agreed on a name yet, you know? We thought it'd be easier to see what he looks like and then -", she doesn't finish the sentence.
Rory's grip on the door handle tightens as she remembers the list of names that's folded up in her handbag. Just in case, she recalls her thought of this morning, just in case they don't know yet what to write onto that little wristband they get at the hospital.
She still finds it hard to believe that whatever name her brother is given will now be chiseled in stone instead.
Out in the hallway, she wordlessly hands Luke his wedding band and then watches him slide it over his finger in what seems like slow-motion.
Once he has slipped into the room out of which for the brief time span that the door is opened soft sobbing can be heard, she sits down next to her grandmother. She has no idea where her grandfather might have gone to, but notices that the flowers along with the stupid bags full of presents aren't there any more.
At the sound of Lorelai crying, Emily briefly stirs in her chair. Rory is glad that, seeming to understand the grieving couple's need for privacy, her grandmother refrains from getting up.
After a while, Richard returns from wherever he's been and motions for them to get up.
"We'll go to our place. There's nothing we can do around here", he orders and they follow him down the hallways, too exhausted to even try and protest.
He pulls into the driveway and once the truck has come to a standstill, activates the parking brake, simultaneously removing the key from the ignition. The headlights die down. He only realizes that the car radio was switched on during the entire drive when suddenly it's completely silent inside the cabin.
Hidden in the shade behind the bushes next to the porch, they giggle quietly.
He gathers his stuff from the passenger seat and then gets out of the truck. Or so he thinks. In truth he remains sitting there, holding on to the green sports bag in his lap. Baby clothes. She didn't want them at the hospital any more. He isn't sure what he is supposed to do with them, though.
They shrug their shoulders at each other. "Maybe he's tired?" one of them offers.
Finally his limbs react to what his brain demands of them and they slowly set him in motion. As he climbs out of his truck, he feels like an old man, aching all over.
They grab everything they need, now ready to jump.
He mounts the steps leading onto the porch. His right hand clutches the sports bag, the other one fumbles for the key in his jeans pocket.
From their position, it's impossible to see his face. It's already pretty dark, after all.
He has finally found the key and is about to stick it into the keyhole when all hell breaks loose.
They jump up, they laugh, they throw balloons and confetti. They even carry a banner.
He is sure this must be a nightmare. But it isn't. It's almost the whole of Stars Hollow, congratulating him. A pacifier hits him in the head. From what he can make out in the darkness of the porch, it is blue.
Not knowing what else to do, he does the only thing he's good at in situations that scare him. He yells.
"Get the hell out of here! Goddamn idiots!"
They are silent. Now close enough, they can look him in the eyes. And what they see, explains a lot.
"Luke..." one of them says after a while.
He doesn't show any kind of reaction, standing there in front of the door, furiously trying to unlock it, so he can be safe from them. But fitting a key into the narrow hole it's supposed to go in isn't an easy thing to do when your hands are trembling.
Eventually someone takes they key from him and opens the door. It takes Ms. Patty only seconds to perform the task.
"What happened? Is it Lorelai?" she asks, slight panic resonating in her voice.
"It's not Lorelai. Can't talk about it right now. You gotta understand. Just get off my back! And take all that ba "he pauses involuntarily and swallows a couple of times, "take all that stuff with you. I don't wanna see it anywhere near the house!" With that, he closes the door right in their faces.
Outside they hear a loud thud against the door only seconds after it has been shut.
Inside he lets himself collapse against the door separating him from their questioning looks and pitiful facial expressions. Preparing himself to let everything out, he buries his head in his crossed forearms. The scream that has been stuck in his throat ever since he left her at the hospital this evening, merely a shadow of her energetic self, is finally released.
They pause their shuffling about for a moment and raise their heads when they hear him cry out. Then they proceed to do their best removing all traces of the celebration they can't believe they're not going to have tonight.
Next to him lies the green sports bag and although he knows that they only meant well, Luke secretly hopes that they feel guilty.
If he could see the citizens of Stars Hollow walking home tonight, he would see his wish fulfilled.
-
The night is moonlit. There are a couple of clouds, driven across the sky by a light but steady summer wind. Grey patterns dance on the covers under which she's lying.
She opens her eyes and at first doesn't know where she is. When she makes an attempt to turn onto her side she doesn't like sleeping on her back the soreness of her entire abdomen painfully yanks her from her drowsy state.
Instinctively she peers over her bedside, looking for the tiny bed her child must be sleeping in. But there is no bed. And within tenths of seconds, it all comes back to her.
Not only is there no bed, but there is also no baby. At least no baby that is alive.
No baby.
Two words that make her cheeks burn, that make everything hurt twice as much as before, that make her want to grab a fistful of her own dark hair and tear at it until it falls out.
She lets her head sink back against the pillows. Lying on her back like this, with her eyes wide open and her mind achingly alert, she slowly lowers her gaze, away from the ceiling and down onto her body.
How she damned her huge belly during the last weeks of her pregnancy! Now it's gone, but somehow she doesn't feel relieved at all. She has to think of Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" and hates herself for making a connection to pop culture - a bad one on top of that.
Her gaze wanders to the button-down front of her night gown. Gingerly she touches the swell of her breasts underneath the soft material, knowing that a couple of days from now they will feel all hot and swollen. Breasts full of milk that won't be needed by anyone. Milk accumulating for the sole purpose of rubbing it in.
Rubbing it in that my baby died, she thinks, that our baby died.
His face appears before her mind's eye.
The face she looked at in-between the final pushes that were supposed to save her baby's life, although she didn't know that at the time.
The face that was so full of anticipation and compassion. The face that was so full of horror and utter disbelief only minutes later when they watched the doctors' futile attempts to save their happiness.
The face he buried in her hair earlier that night, unaware that she only pretended to be asleep.
The face that they saw resembled in the features of their tiny son only hours ago when they were given time to say their goodbyes.
She reaches over to her nightstand and picks up the small paper cup left there by one of the nurses. She empties its content into her mouth and swallows.
"In case you have trouble sleeping." The nurse had said.
Lorelai doubts that it would be hard for her to fall asleep without the pills, but she hopes that they will prevent her from remembering her dreams in the morning.
She watches the brown liquid swash around in the bellied glass her right hand is holding.
She's been doing this for quite a while now and doesn't have the intention of stopping it any time soon. It soothes her, prevents her from thinking too much.
Normally it is very unlike her to prop her feet up on any piece of furniture, but tonight she's making an exception. And so she finds herself occupying the entire sofa while her husband, armed with a thought-preventer of his own, is forced to sit in the armchair.
Neither of them has spoken a single word in some time and when she looks up every now and then, stealing glances at his face, she can see that he's worried. Pursed lips, furrowed brows, loosened tie and rolled up sleeves she remembers only one occasion more than twenty years ago that had him look similarly exhausted and troubled: Lorelai confessing to them she was pregnant.
"Isn't it strange?" his voice all of a sudden cuts through the silence.
"Isn't what strange?" she asks weakly, staring into her glass.
"We were actually looking forward to it this time", comes his bitter remark.
"Yes. We were."
Silence falls once again, she is lost in her thoughts, asking herself whether it'd have lead to a different outcome had they not been full of anticipation this time. After all, everything went well the first time, when they weren't getting along and when they weren't exactly ecstatic at the prospect of becoming grandparents and when they weren't loaded with gifts.
Instead he had been wearing the wrong shoes and she had been infuriated by her daughter banning her from the delivery room.
In the back of her mind she knows that questions like these are ridiculous, that the future grandparents' attitude could not possibly have anything to do with the grandchild's well-being, but still she seems to be unable to refrain from entertaining this kind of mind-game. It's very tempting to try and find someone or something to blame this tragedy on.
"Where did you put them?" she asks in an attempt to push the destructive thoughts out of her mind.
"Excuse me?"
"What did you do with the flowers and the presents when you 'went for a walk' this afternoon?" she clarifies.
"I put them in the trunk", he admits, "I didn't know what else to do with them."
"Why didn't you just throw them away or give them to someone at the hospital? We have no need for them any more!" As much as she tries, she is unable to hide the hint of anger in her voice. He has to make it extra hard on everybody, doesn't he?
"Giving them away would've felt like losing him over again", he states quietly, it almost sounds like a confession of personal failure.
"A boy." He sets down his glass onto the small table on the right side of the armchair.
"A boy." She repeats his statement and swallows.
"Do you think they had already named him?"
"I don't know", suddenly she asks herself how long it's been since she last cried in front of him, "I think they wanted to let themselves be surprised by the gender."
And with that, she feels the first tear run down her cheek. She finds herself clutching the glass in her lap very tightly. Are cut fingers going to hurt more than loss and helplessness? She doubts it.
"Emily", he breaths and with a swift move sits down on the sofa, first taking her feet up in his lap and then reaching over to hug her close to him.
Although she doesn't like to let her guard down in front of anyone most of the time not even her own husband she finds herself making another exception aside from the propped up feet as she gives in to his embrace.
"She's strong, Richard, isn't she?" A small sob escapes her lips.
"She is a strong woman and she has Luke and Rory, they're going to make it through", he says, patting her back reassuringly.
"I'm not sure whether I would've been able to deal with something as... as terrible as this", she blurts out. Memories of the month in 1985 that she spent curled up in bed flood her brain.
She lets go of the glass. When she reaches out to hug him back, the brown liquid spills all over her dress and onto the sofa, but much to her own surprise, she doesn't care as her fists grab the material of his shirt.
-
Upstairs, she can't understand anything they say, all she hears are muffled voices and most of the time it's completely silent, anyway. That's why she excused herself half an hour ago. The combination of endless sadness and silence had begun to feel unbearable.
At first she tries lying down on her bed in the room Emily once set up for her in the Gilmore home. It doesn't work, she isn't tired at all.
Then she tries expressing her feelings on the Hello Kitty writing pad she has found in the top drawer of the heavy wooden desk. The pages remain blank.
Then she gets herself ready for bed, thinking that by doing so she can maybe trick her body and mind into making her feel at least a little bit tired. Her plan doesn't work out.
Still wide awake, she is now wandering around her mom's old room. A strange sense of comfort has taken hold of her. When she passes the dollhouse, she suddenly finds herself wondering whether anyone ever bothered to remove the dolls and furniture from it or whether they are still in there, quietly collecting dust and cobwebs.
Peering into the house from its open back side, she is surprised to see that a glass panel has been mounted to it and that inside the rooms and corridors of the dollhouse everything looks as if its young owner would return any minute to resume playing. Not the slightest trace of dust, the part of herself that also likes to separate laundry into sub-piles of colors can't keep from noticing.
There is an unrealistically large amount of people "living" in the dollhouse. Her painfully unerring gaze, however, soon falls onto one particular scene displayed in one of the first floor rooms. A female and a male doll bend over a small crib. She can't see what's inside the crib, but all of a sudden she thinks she can make out the expression on the dolls' faces. There are tears running down their cheeks, the corners of their artfully modeled mouths are pointing downwards. Then she knows that the crib must be empty.
She blinks her eyes. This can't be real.
And it isn't. But the overwhelming urge to call Luke is.
She almost runs back to her room, flops down onto the bed and yanks her cell phone out of the handbag she discarded there earlier.
When she has almost given up hope that he might pick up the phone and her thumb is already hovering over the button that will end this attempted phone call, she finally hears his voice.
"Yeah." He is slurring.
"Luke, it's me, Rory", she says.
"Rory."
"Yes. I just I wanted to make sure you're alright."
"Yeah", he snorts bitterly.
"I'm sorry."
"How're you, your grandparents?" he manages to ask.
"We're okay. How was Mom when you went home?"
"Sleeping. She's very exhausted, you know?" his voice sounds thinner now and a little clearer.
"Of course. Luke, I " she doesn't get a chance to finish her sentence.
"We saw him." The slur is back in his voice.
"What?" What did he just say?
"We named him Julian", it almost sounds as if he's crying now. She has never heard or seen Luke cry.
"That's beautiful, Luke", she replies quietly and then tentatively bites her lip before saying her brother's name for the first time.
"Julian."
"Yeah", he sounds a little bit clearer again, but still quite drunk, "Rory, I'm pretty tired, I-"
"Of course", this time she's the one interrupting, "go to bed, Luke. Good night."
"Night."
"I love you and Mom", Rory says, trying not to say again how sorry she is.
"Thank you, Rory. I just-" he doesn't continue the sentence.
"Night", she gently wishes.
"Yeah. See you tomorrow?"
"See you tomorrow."
"Alright." At least that's what she thinks he says.
And then he hangs up.
Tossing the phone against the piled up pillows at the top end of the bed, Rory makes her way over to the desk, sits down in front of it and picks up the ball-point from earlier.
Not much later, she gets back up and into bed, hoping that either Emily or Richard will wake her up the next morning.
There's a single sentence written on the Hello Kitty-adorned piece of paper that she carefully places on the pillow next to her:
'They named him Julian.'
As she finally slides off into sleep, an infinite sadness once again envelops her, but now that she knows whom they are mourning, it seems a little more bearable.
She prays that her mom and Luke feel the same way.
Looked at objectively, the morning of her homecoming is an exceptionally beautiful one.
Fleecy clouds are scattered across the bright blue sky and the expensive cars in the hospital parking lot sparkle in the sunshine. A slight wind stirs the leaves of a tall tree the top branches of which reach up to her window on the sixth floor.
She pulls the chair from her bedside over to the window and slowly lowers her body onto the seat. Damn episiotomy.
Here she sits, hands slammed into the pockets of her pink fuzzy bathrobe, her hair still wet from the shower she just took, staring at her pale reflection in the window pane.
Thank God that hospital policy doesn't allow for visitors to come before noon.
Thirty more minutes of being able to just be herself lie ahead of her and she sighs gladly. Thirty minutes until she will be forced to return to the world of the living. A world that includes an inn that needs to be run, dozens of nosy townies, a family and a husband who deserve to be loved and a nursery that needs to be... She doesn't dare to think of what they'll have to do to the nursery. And what if he's already done it? Cleared it out.
She dreads her return. And she feels guilty because of that. Unconsciously, she begins biting her bottom lip as she makes a feeble try at sorting through her muddled feelings.
It's not that she didn't like to have her family and friends around at the hospital, in fact they even managed to distract her from the dark thoughts that clouded her mind whenever she was alone.
The problem simply was that they didn't manage to make her feel better at long sight - all their visits left was a feeling of deep exertion.
In the back of her mind she knows that things like these happen when you put on a show for people. 'Wonder Woman Hanging In There'. Yeah. That's what her show should be called.
They all tried to reach out to her, to help her get through this. And she did them the favor of not crying or screaming although she certainly felt like it 59 seconds out of 60.
The hours Rory spent stroking her back while she stared into space and gritted her teeth, Emily's silent embraces, Richard's informal clothing, Sookie refraining from bringing Davey with her when she came by and Luke's almost constant presence in the hospital she knows he hates all of theses gestures warmed her heart, but they weren't able to melt its frozen core.
It seems that it would be better for all these people to just leave her alone in the future.
Afraid of accidentally dragging them down with her, she is not going to risk really taking the hands she is offered, anyway.
Taking these hands would mean crying and screaming. And she doesn't want them to have to put up with that. When from time to time they already felt annoyed by a witty and talkative Lorelai, how could she expect them to endure a Lorelai all frantic with grief and anger?
She decides that the black hole she's been sitting in for the past week is to remain hers alone. She will find a way out of it on her own. Sullen determination makes her set her jaw.
"Hey", she hears him greet tentatively from across the room and snaps out of her daydream.
"Hey yourself." Seems like visiting hours have begun. Time to go home.
He's next to her now, bending down and placing a small kiss on her right cheek. He's clean shaven. For the special occasion, she snorts inwardly.
"How're you?"
"Okay."
"Packed up your stuff already?"
"Nope." Monosyllabism is a trait she never prided herself to possess. At least not until this week.
"Why not?" he inquires gently.
"Because I was too Goddamn tired!" She really doesn't want to snap at him, but it happens nevertheless.
"Oh. Sorry."
When she turns around she sees him reaching into the closet repeatedly, stuffing her clothes into a red carry-all.
"You realized that I'm still wearing my bathrobe, didn't you?"
"I... uh, sure. Here." And with that, he places the red bag on the bed, motioning for her to get up and pick out some clothing to wear for the ride home.
She lifts herself up from the chair with a sigh almost inaudible and makes her way over to the bed. His eyes follow her as she walks, but she doesn't look up to meet the gaze she can feel on every inch of her skin.
When did she forget how to chatter through every moment of her life, never mind how uncomfortable or embarrassing?
Mindlessly, she grabs some articles of clothing and disappears into the adjoining bathroom. Behind her back she hears him shift his weight from one foot to another and then turn around to complete his task of emptying out her closet.
The bathrobe is quickly discarded onto the floor and when she is about to button her jeans, she realizes that this is the first time since the fifth month or so that she's wearing what is considered "normal" clothing.
Okay, it's not one of the tight pairs of jeans she used to wear all the time before she got pregnant, but it's one of the more comfortable, larger ones that she keeps in her closet for days spent at home. They also come in handy when one has a belly that doesn't fit into normal jeans any more and isn't yet big enough for maternity wear.
She gulps down a sob and slips on a hooded sweater before hastily turning to leave the bathroom. The bathrobe on the floor is forgotten and thus her foot gets caught in the fuzzy pink material, causing her to lose her balance.
Before she knows what exactly has happened to her, he is already there, kneeling beside her on the white tiles.
"I... I just -" she stutters, tears beginning to blur her vision. It didn't even hurt that bad. Why the tears?
"Shh, it's okay. Are you hurt? Can you move?"
"Yeah, I'm alright", she sniffles, already struggling to get to her feet. Wonder Woman.
But right now she really doesn't seem to be the Wonder Woman she fancies herself to be most of the time. It's not fall-induced pain or injury that make her collapse against his broad shoulders, but sheer emotional exhaustion the weight of which suddenly threatens to crush her.
She feels sore inside and out. The pulse beat hammering in her ears reminds her of a noise she immediately associates with the sonogram appointments they went to.
"I miss him so much!" she cries into his flannelled shoulder.
"I know you do." His arms reach around her and he draws her closer.
"How can I miss someone I never even met?" her voice has turned into a whisper.
"We met him, Lorelai. It's okay for you to miss him. I miss him, too", he says, obviously trying to sound as soothingly as possible.
"This isn't fair!"
"No, it isn't."
"I don't wanna go home, Luke. I'm afraid everything's gonna remind me of him. And I'm afraid nothing's gonna remind me of him. I don't know what I want!" Her fear of facing the inevitable has risen to the surface. She doesn't want the nursery to be there when she comes home and she doesn't want it to be gone, either. All she wants is their son.
"We can "
"What if someone in town sees us coming home? What if they ask about the baby?"
"They won't, Lorelai."
"Did you tell them?" she asks in a shrill voice.
"They just won't, believe me. They're not gonna ask."
"What happened?"
"You sure you wanna hear about it?"
"Luke!" She pulls away from him and gives him a determined look out of eyes shining with tears.
"Alright. They were there when I came home the first night. Something like a surprise party. They wanted to congratulate." The tone of his voice betrays how much it must hurt him to speak these words.
"Oh God", is all she can manage before she sinks back onto his shoulder. But this time he doesn't let her rest there.
"Come on. You need to get up!" he commands and slips out of their embrace.
"No."
"Yes, you do. The floor's too cold."
"I don't care."
Wordlessly, he helps her to her feet and really it is him doing most of the work, but she can't help it right now.
"Luke?" she asks as soon as she is standing upright again.
"Yeah?"
"You know I love you, right?"
"Of course. I love you, too. Let's go home, okay?" A gentle kiss is placed on her forehead and for the first time in days they really look at each other. Hurt and despair are clearly displayed in his face and she knows that there's nothing left in her eyes that could accidentally remind him of the Wonder Woman he married one and a half years ago.
But she doesn't allow it to remain like this for very long. Feeling the need to brace herself for the walk through the hospital corridors and especially for the ride home and through Stars Hollow, she commands Wonder Woman to appear on stage this minute.
And so she does, although somewhat weakened by her fall to the bathroom floor and into his arms.
After he has collected the last items from the nightstand and folded the tangled mass that is her formerly beloved bathrobe, Luke wraps his arm around Lorelai's shoulders and they exit the room without looking back.
Perhaps she will after all consider taking one or two of the hands reaching out to her. Even Wonder Woman needs to rest every now and then.
They sign Lorelai out at the nurses' desk, confirming that yes, she's had the last check-up this morning and that yes, she'll be seeing her obstetrician in due time. Do they want the nurse to give them a list of places they can get psychological counseling at, in case they feel it's necessary?
She takes the list, hands it to him and he stuffs it into his jeans pocket. Sweat breaks out on his forehead at the thought of the infamous "couch" every person offering psychological help inevitably owns. He manages to give her a gentle squeeze with the arm that is still wrapped around her shoulders and then they walk down endless white and artificially illuminated hallways towards fresh air and daylight. Finally, he thinks.
When they step out into the parking lot, his forehead has dried and he doesn't leave her side until they have arrived at the passenger door. He opens it for her and then watches her climb into the passenger seat.
He can't help but wince when he hears her let out a little moan as she sits down, but at the same time he knows that there's absolutely nothing he can do. Some scars, the emotional ones, they share, but not the one paining her right now.
Having sat down in the driver's seat, he sees her fasten her seat belt from the corner of his eye and concludes that she must be ready to go.
"You ready?"
"No", she simply states and then turns to look at him with a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, "is 'no' an option here?"
"I don't think so", he says and shakes his head at her, feeling the need to be honest. Not knowing what else to do with his hands until he gets a reply from her, he keeps them busy by adjusting his baseball cap.
Meanwhile, she settles back into her seat and sighs. It occurs to him that in a situation like this when he has to deny her something she usually is quick to make a witty comment showing her disapproval or mocking him because he once again has to act as the voice of reason. Not so this time.
"Let's get going, then". Now that's an order for him to work with.
But when he is about to turn the key in the ignition, a sudden vision of what should have been afflicts him, causing his hand to stop mid-motion.
A baby-boy in the backseat.
Next to him an extra bag full of balloons and presents. Not just the stupid red carry-all.
He can even imagine himself honking the truck's horn upon their arrival in Stars Hollow. How very out of character that would have been. Luke, honking a horn. And how it would have felt completely right nonetheless.
Announcing the homecoming of Stars Hollow's newest mother and baby.
Well, today it's just the mother he's about to bring home. Julian is to follow as soon as arrangements have been made.
Arrangements... Do they even manufacture caskets that small?
"Come on." She pipes up and with that rips apart the cocoon of thought enclosing him. The tone of her voice is gentle as her left hand touches his right. White knuckled it is still clutching the car-key.
"Sorry", he mumbles almost completely under his breath and then doesn't lose any time to get the car started.
It seems that neither of them knows what they are supposed to talk about once they are out on the highways and country roads that lead them home. After all, there is nothing to talk about except loss. Loss and how it makes them feel. Certainly nothing one needs to discuss with the sunny countryside of Connecticut flying by outside the window and while traffic needs to be paid attention to.
So he focuses on the driving, silently wondering whether life will ever matter to them again.
While in hospital, she never wanted him to buy her a newspaper or a magazine, so after a few days he quit asking. As soon as he realized that piling them up on the kitchen table was all he did with the newspapers he got for himself, he stopped buying them as well. Neither Rory nor him ever switched on the TV. He can't even remember what exactly they did when they weren't at the hospital or at the Grandparents' house.
Thank God for Lane and Caesar, he thinks as an image of the Diner pops up in front of his mind's eye.
He still finds himself completely disinterested in whatever might be going on outside of the microcosm that is his family and he suspects that she feels the same way. Otherwise she wouldn't have had him turn off the radio the very moment they pulled out of the hospital parking lot.
"Please, no." Her words echo in his memory.
Sitting next to him with her head leaned against the window, hands folded in her lap, she is just as silent as she has been all week.
As often as he wished for Lorelai to be rendered speechless at least once, he certainly never thought that one day it would really happen. At least not this way.
Today the well-meaning citizens of Stars Hollow seem to have mercy on them. Hardly anyone is to be seen when they drive through what could be referred to as the downtown area and they reach home without being stopped a single time. Even the usually unpredictable traffic light with the apparent dislike for his wife doesn't dare to switch to red when they approach it.
They are spared all the awkwardness that would surely have ensued once a familiar face out in the streets had given in to the need to greet or even try and console them. Oh boy, is he glad.
Luke is unaware of the huge sigh he heaves as soon as the truck is parked in their driveway. Only the distorted smile she offers him in return makes him realize that some sort of noise or even utterance must have escaped his mouth not too long ago.
-
"Wanna go inside?" he finally asks.
"Do we have a choice?" she asks back, playing the game she already knows so well by now.
"I don't think so."
"Alright. Who's there?"
"Rory and your parents. They wanted to come over. I couldn't keep them -"
"What did you do with the nur- "she pauses, "with the room?" Breathe, Lorelai!
"I didn't do anything 'cause I thought we might wanna do it together. You know, to -"
She nods silently and tries to widen the smile she so expertly or so she thinks - faked for him only moments ago after his sigh startled her from her fearful thoughts. These thoughts have been with her ever since they left the hospital parking lot and a certain song played on the radio. She hates the eighties with a vigor not known to her before as it resounds in her ears over and over again.
99 dreams I had
In every one a red balloon.
It's all over and I'm standing pretty
In this dust that was a city.
If I could find a souvenir
Just to prove the world was here.
Feeling her husband's worried gaze search her face for clues as to what she might be thinking, Lorelai asks herself whether it's possible to be afraid of one's own house, of one's own life.
And so it comes that a minute later she willingly takes the hand Luke extends to her from where he is standing next to the opened passenger door. Perhaps she has just found her souvenir.
Completely absorbed in thought, she runs her fingers over the rim of the wooden crib set up in the center of the nursery. The wood feels cool and smooth beneath her fingertips and it comes to her mind that this is how the whole room feels to her. Cool, despite the sunlight streaming in through the windows. Light blue curtains shine in an almost unearthly way, every now and then moved by a gentle breeze. It's already May after all.
Her gaze then wanders away from the light to the point that seems to be the darkest in the room. The crib is empty except for fluffy white baby-sized bedclothes and a colorful, in parts even furry, musical clock tied to the bars at the top end.
That musical clock they gave it to the expectant parents for Christmas last year. Reluctantly she permits a smile to take over her face it certainly is an unfamiliar sensation after so many days at the fond memory of the gleam visible in Lorelai's eyes after they listened to the clock's lullaby for the first time. She remembers the inner triumph she felt. Finally she had given Lorelai something that would not only be useful to her in the future, but that also seemed to be to her liking.
That gleam and the embrace she and her daughter shared afterwards... The most fabulous Christmas in years, she thinks and her smile widens until it gets painful. Then the corners of her mouth drop again.
In an unconscious because long since automated gesture her hands smooth the fabric of her expensive dress while her eyes stay fixed on the musical clock. Whenever the rings on her fingers come in touch with one of the shiny buttons the front of her dress is adorned with, a clicking sound can be heard. So that is what wealth sounds like.
The realization hits her that she would be infinitely glad to do without her membership in numerous exclusive clubs and societies, without maids and without all their money from now on if only it brought them their grandson back! If only she'd be able to reach into the crib right now, pull the string and listen to the musical clock playing its lullaby for Julian.
Before she gets the chance to actually give in to temptation and reach down into the crib, she hears car doors being slammed. The well-manicured hand that much to her own surprise already hangs in mid-air is quickly retracted and Emily moves over to the window. Parting the curtains she gains sight of the driveway.
There they are, her daughter and son-in-law, slowly making their way to the porch steps, holding each others' hands. She watches them until they disappear under the canopy. Seconds later the front door is opened and shut again.
Lorelai.
Having closed the door of the nursery behind her as quietly as possible, she hurries over to the stairs. After the first few steps she can see four pairs of feet standing in the hallway by the door.
There are Richard's black leather shoes on the left, then Luke's feet clad in his usual brown workman's boots close to a pair of worn-out blue sneakers these must be Lorelai's - and finally two feet in purple socks standing on tiptoe right next to them. Mother and daughter are obviously hugging each other.
Not a single word is spoken. Suddenly the heels of her shoes hitting the stairs seem to cause an awful lot of noise as she finishes her way down the stairs and finally joins them in the corridor, once again straightening out her clothes with both hands. Relief washes over her when Richard clears his throat rather loudly, thus bringing about a wince from Luke and confused glances from his daughter and granddaughter.
Her eyes meet those of her daughter.
"Mom", Lorelai finally says, completely disengaging from Rory's embrace. Somehow there's an undertone to her voice that Emily can't identify yet. So she decides to do what seems safest right now and simply greets her daughter.
"Lorelai", her hand gently rests on Lorelai's forearm, "it's good to see you."
"What were you doing up there?" That undertone in her daughter's voice can now be described. It's furious. Emily's hand slides off Lorelai's arm. Of everything, she certainly wasn't expecting to be barked at like that.
"Lorelai, dear, what "
"I saw you standing at the window", her daughter explains, looking at her sternly. Once again there's a gleam in Lorelai's eyes, but this time it seems to be brought on by anger rather than joy. Oh, dear.
"I just wanted to "
"I don't care what you wanted! It was supposed to be his room and it's none of your damn business!"
Staring into Lorelai's pale angry face, Emily realizes that there are a million things she could say in response to this and they would all be wrong. She can only back off now. They are all hurt and emotionally drained, she reminds herself. Not the time to start a battle of words.
"I'm sorry, Lorelai. I never intended to -" Inwardly she prays that the apologetic look her face has hopefully adopted by now is firm enough not to let any of the indignity that she is feeling shine through.
"You better be!" her now teary-eyed daughter shoots back. Then Lorelai blinks repeatedly, obviously trying to hold her tears at bay.
Emily opens her mouth in order to say something, but the more she thinks about it, the surer she gets that she really doesn't know what on earth she could say to console and appease Lorelai.
Is it possible to die of both shame and heartache because yet again one has miraculously managed to do and say the wrong thing at the wrong time?
"Come on, let's sit down for a while." Luke's voice somehow breaks the tension. With an apologetic look of his own at the innocent bystanders, namely her husband and granddaughter, and an exasperated one at her, Luke leads his wife into the living room. Who would have thought that Lorelai Gilmore would ever wordlessly comply with any of her husband's suggestions and not even resist playfully?
"Grandma, you wanna help me get something to drink from the kitchen?" Rory looks at her with questioning eyes, obviously offering to help her escape from the awkwardness of the situation.
"Of course, dear." As she thankfully follows Rory into the kitchen, the weakness in her own voice somehow doesn't surprise Emily.
-
"I shouldn't have snapped at them like that", she snivels, "I don't know what to do!" She's been like this for more than an hour now and he still doesn't know what kind of advice to give her.
All he can do is tell her that they understand. That they are not mad at her. That they really don't expect her to apologize. That they went home not because they couldn't stand her behavior any more, but because they felt she would be better without them there.
He guesses that that's probably true. After all Lorelai unlocked the bathroom door as soon as everybody except for the two of them was out of the house. And didn't the hiccupping and uncontrollable crying also subside only then?
He runs his hand through the tangled masses of hair that lie in his lap and over her cheek. It feels hot and if his hands weren't bearing weals from renovating what was to become the baby's room, he is sure he would be able to trace the salty tracks of her tears with his palms.
"I don't know what it is with me", she states and sighs bitterly, "I mean, look at me. I'm a complete wreck. The minute I'm back home I turn into this madwoman. First I snap at my Mom, then I accuse Rory of giving me some kind of weird, pitiful look and finally I " she swallows, "and then I crack up because of Dad's stupid question!"
Luke painfully remembers Richard's admittedly somewhat thoughtless question regarding the 'arrangements' that still need to be made for their son's funeral.
"It feels like I'm suddenly unable to communicate what little variety of different feelings is left in me, you know?"
"You need to give yourself some time, Lorelai." He hates himself for being unable to say something that might actually be helpful in the frustrated state she is in.
"I don't even know how I'm supposed to apologize", she cries, "before this there was always the funny way out, you know? Crack a joke, provoke a smile and everything's alright again. Just like that."
"Hmm."
"And now I don't even remember how to make a joke. I'm sure I couldn't even spell 'witty'. Not if my life depended on it, Goddamnit!"
What has established itself as Lorelai's favorite way of communicating with other people really doesn't seem to work any more these days.
The death of their child has smothered the sometimes more, sometimes less playful banter that used to thrive so well between Lorelai and everyone else.
The part of Lorelai that called him "Duke" and "Butch", that demanded coffee 24/7, that made him bid on her basket all these years ago, that seriously suggested they name their baby Lorelai, even if it turned out to be a boy that part is gone. For now. Or for good?
Leaning down to kiss her on the cheek, Luke tastes the salty remainders of her tears and then gives his best trying to ignore the burning sensation behind his eyeballs.
On the third Thursday in May rain is pouring down on them mercilessly, but she doesn't hear the noise produced by the drops hitting everyone and everything around her. Later on she won't be able to recall a single word that has been spoken during the service. The rushing of blood in her ears is much too loud.
Looking up to where grey clouds are driven across an equally grey sky, she remembers that day in English class when they talked about how writers liked to employ nature to mirror their characters' emotions. Sunny day outside? Sunny day inside!
Whoever authors their lives certainly knows his profession well, she decides. This is just spot-on.
Sometimes she likes to imagine what statements made only inside her head would sound like if they were spoken out loud. And somehow she almost feels like really giving it a try this time, just to see whether she can scream as loud as she imagines she would.
Despite the enormous umbrella Luke handed her before they left the house, her clothes are soaked. The new black summer jacket never before having worn black at this time of year, she found herself lacking suitable attire for the occasion sticks to her back and whenever she moves her toes it feels as if there was a swimming pool in her shoes.
She would love to take the useless umbrella and beat somebody over the head with it. She would love to turn around to her right and hug her mother. She would love to be brave enough to turn at least one of these impulses into action, but she, her grandmother's child after all, judges them both as momentarily inappropriate. Also, during the past few days hasn't Luke really been the only person her mother allowed herself to be comforted by?
"Don't worry about me." That's what Lorelai said when they talked on the phone during her two-day stay at Yale this week. Yale seemed to be twice as far away from home when she hung up the receiver. But somehow, however guiltily, she enjoyed the feeling of being away from home, away from the utter sadness.
There were friends to be met, professors to be talked to about the situation that required her presence at home for another three days, notes to be copied and so many more things that kept her mind at least partially occupied.
Goosebumps spread across her wet back and she clenches her teeth. That grave is not even half as big as the giant heap of flowers and ribbons piled up next to it.
And just like her feelings careen incessantly between sadness, anger and guilt for feeling reluctant to actually be involved in any of this, the rain doesn't bother to decide upon one direction to come from. It has repeatedly tried out all four of them by the time the casket is lowered into the ground. Her hearing returns for as long as the minister's mouth stops moving. Feet shuffle on wet ground, people cough cautiously and she thinks that once or twice someone whispers her mother's name.
Black umbrellas, hats, hoods and scarves crowd the grounds of the small cemetery behind them. Yes, for a change Lorelai Gilmore's place is in the first row. There was no sneaking in late today, no giving away of tickets in exchange for faraway box office seats, no bags full of candy being passed between the Gilmore girls. They were the first to arrive and will be the last to leave. This is neither a Bangles concert nor a town meeting, although it certainly seems that the whole town of Stars Hollow is paying her dead brother their respects this morning.
She leans forward a little and turns left to look at her grandparents. Emily and Richard Gilmore are clearly at their best. Their outwardly dignified appearance doesn't betray the dabbing at smudgy eye make-up her grandmother had to do in the car or the many times her grandfather cleared his throat and re-adjusted his tie on their way to the cemetery.
Emily looks straight ahead and there's only one thing about her grandmother that Rory doesn't understand: No earrings, no necklace, no rings on her fingers except for her wedding band.
On her right side, her mother is resting her head on Luke's shoulder. Her hair is tied back in a simple ponytail and her left hand rests atop the arm Luke has wrapped around her middle. If Luke's arm disappeared into the back of her shirt instead, Lorelai could be mistaken for a ventriloquist dummy at rest, she realizes.
A few more minutes into the ceremony the minister has resumed talking and Rory is facing the grave again, doing her best to pretend to be listening. All of a sudden something hits her umbrella from the side. Averting her gaze from the drenched minister, she realizes that Luke has nudged her umbrella with the one he is holding up for Lorelai and himself.
He is wiping at his eyes awkwardly with the hand that holds the umbrella. Suddenly aware of her looking at him, an expression she has never seen before takes over his face. Their gazes lock for a brief moment before she forces a sad smile onto her lips and then turns away. Coward.
Had she been able to see his face during their phone conversation on the night of Julian's birth, she would have recognized this expression she now thinks of as unknown to her.
Ever since her mother's return home almost a week ago she has been wondering how on earth he is doing it. From what she has heard and seen, he gets up every morning at the exact same time, prepares Lorelai a breakfast she never eats, brews her a pot of coffee she never empties and comforts her regardless of what state she may be in when she finally leaves the bedroom.
One more glance at Luke's arm around her mother's waist abruptly brings about the realization that there is no arm supporting Luke. With one arm he holds her mother and with the other one he holds himself.
No wonder he doesn't have a free hand to wipe his tears. She feels selfish.
-
Having tossed and turned in his bed for what must have been several hours now, he just can't get the images out of his head. They keep on popping up in front of his mind's eye like a slide show and no matter how hard he tries to ignore them, he can't.
His daughter and son-in-law shake the hands dozens of compassionate townies extend towards them as they parade past the tiny grave.
His daughter practically kneels on the ground, wordlessly straightening out the ribbons that hang out of the pile of flowers on top of the grave.
After everyone else has left they slowly make their way back to the cars, careful not to slip on the slobbery ground.
His granddaughter, however, isn't careful enough. Her jacket gets all muddy when she falls and the fabric is most likely ruined, his wife guesses.
When they take her with them to Hartford for a late lunch she says that she never planned on wearing the stupid thing again, anyway.
As soon as he has pulled into the driveway she is out of the car and disappears around the corner of the house to where the garbage cans are.
When she comes back her hands are empty, the jacket is gone and if he isn't imagining things, so is the tortured expression her face wore ever since the ceremony ended.
After lunch she announces, much to their surprise, that she is not going to stay for dinner today.
"Yale?" he asks.
"No, Stars Hollow. Mom and Luke."
And somehow she looks relieved.
With a click barely audible to the average human ear, a crucial screw falls out of its place and onto the floor. Seconds later he curses for the umpteenth time in the last two hours or so: "Damn!" Ouch.
Another heavy piece of furniture falls apart just in the wrong moment of its disassembling and - of course another sharp-edged piece of wood collides with his shin.
He really feels like giving it up right then and there. It doesn't seem that anything good is going to come out of his work on this day anyway. But he knows giving up is not an option. He is not going to leave the room like this, a chaotic mess of wood and screws, of pillows and curtains, of toys and clothes, of broken dreams and pain. And he is not thinking of his black and blue shins here.
After all, he gave her his promise. Only under the condition that everything would be gone by the time she came back she let herself be urged out of the house this morning.
And he is so ultimately glad she dared to take this step out into the world, back into what they used to refer to as their life. It's only Sookie's house and perhaps one or two of the stores in town, but still. Considering that during the past six weeks she never left the house except for their visits at the cemetery and for doctor's appointments, he now feels as if a heavy weight has been lifted from his shoulders.
Is there a direct connection between one's shoulders and one's heart? The minute she was out of the door it sure felt like it.
Sighing deeply, he goes about picking up the panels and metal parts that made up a dressing table only half an hour ago. Then he carries them over to the other side of the room where the parts of what used to be a crib, a couple of shelves and a rocking chair already sit, waiting for their transport to God-knows-where.
Indeed, he hasn't really thought about this part of the operation yet. Where is he supposed to store what is left of Julian's existence? There isn't enough room in the attic for all of it. With the attic being the only place in the house not ever frequented by her (an irrational fear of everything even remotely spider-y keeping her away) this is a true shame.
They never talked about what was to happen with the crib, the dressing table, the rocking chair and the baby-size linen.
"Make that I don't have to see them any more. Okay?"
"Yes."
"You know, it's not that I don't want to see them any more, it's just that I can't. Somehow. I don't know. Do you-"
From where he stands in the hallway he can see her hands flying through the air, lost in aimless gestures.
"Shh, don't worry, Lorelai. I'll take care of it. Promise."
His arms slowly encircle her waist from behind, he feels her leaning into him a little and once again it occurs to him how very wrong it all went.
To people who don't know about it, it is hardly visible any more that two months ago there still was a baby. She got her figure back remarkably quick. His guess is that this is what refusing to eat and being unable to sleep do to you.
He is almost sorry now that the in-laws have not mentioned resuming Friday night dinners yet. Perhaps she would eat something then. For the sake of appearance. Hell, he'd be glad to go out and get her a fat-dripping burger and chili fries right now. Ten times a day. Whatever, whenever. Like he did when-
Her sigh makes him blink and suddenly he's back downon earth. Standing there behind her in the doorframe, looking at what was not meant to be.
"I love you. Don't you ever forget that."
"I love you, too." Then she turns around and with her back to the nursery begins wiping at her eyes. When she looks up at him there is one last black trail of wetness on her cheek that she has missed and he makes it disappear with a well-aimed wisp of his right sleeve.
"Guess I shouldn't have put on any make-up after all. No use, apparently." A thin smile breaks through the sad façade of her features as she speaks and then starts descending the stairs.
The kiss she places on his lips before she disappears through the front door to take on the challenge that is Stars Hollow feels like sandpaper on his lips, but nevertheless he kisses her back, clenching his left hand in a painfully tight fist behind his back.
Hopefully, the day out in the world will help the dark circles below her eyes pale a little.
Hopefully, Sookie will find the right words.
Hopefully, by the time she gets back he will have figured out what to do with the furniture.
There still is the garage. Of course he could put them in there. But ever since they emptied the room for the baby she goes into the garage once every week, looking for whatever it is her caffeine-deprived mind tells her to look for. Or at least that's what she used to do. Before.
And isn't the garage a tad too humid for brand new furniture like this? But is it at all important what happens to the wood?
Who knows whether they'll ever need it again?
There is only one thing he is sure about: He doesn't want to put her under any kind of pressure, doesn't want to suggest she forget entirely about their son, that she get pregnant again any time soon, that they never have another child.
The saying is that you 'cannot not communicate', but right now he would prefer it if the opposite was the case and his actions did not convey any message, whether it be intended or not.
They should have talked about it. But talking has never been his strong side and somehow it isn't hers any more, either.
A great fatigue invades his limbs and he sits down next to the pile of wooden parts. For the past weeks he has been walking on nothing but black ice. Never sure whether with the next step he would fall. He doesn't want to fall, never having been keen on being forced to take another person's hand so he can get back to his feet.
A look at the clock tells him it is time to make a decision. Fast. The big parts of the rocking chair, the dressing table and the shelves go up in the attic. The rest he will have to store in the garage, whether he wants to or not.
Balancing the awkwardly shaped pieces up the steep ladder that leads up into the kingdom of everything eight-legged doesn't take as much time as he thought it would. And so he finds himself standing in front of the garage door sooner than he likes. On his shoulder rests the headboard of the crib they bought some time after Christmas and in his hands he thoughtfully weighs the key.
After setting down the heavy headboard, he finally unlocks the door and it falls open with a quiet creak. What he sees still takes him by surprise every time. His father's boat, right there, in the middle of the garage, still as unfinished as it was when Lorelai bought it from Mrs. Thompson a lifetime ago.
He doesn't remember the garage being this crammed. There is not even one free corner. His gaze falls upon his father's boat once more.
What he does next comes unexpected, especially to him.
The headboard fits into the internal space of the boat nicely, with it still lacking seats and everything else a boat should have. And there is room for more.
When he has shoved the last wooden part into the boat and is resting his hand on its side, an odd kind of comfort comes over him. Good thing he kept the boat. Hadn't she told him so? Of course back then she could not have known how the boat would be of use one day.
And then, out of the blue, he feels himself fall despite the fact that he is still standing securely on both of his feet, next to his father's boat.
-
"Mom!" leaning out of the side window of her car the girl yells over to her on the other side of the street.
A small smile curls her lips as she recognizes her daughter. She waves back at her and then makes her way over to where the car has meanwhile come to a standstill.
"Want me to give you a ride?" The passenger door is already open and she says yes.
"How's your week been?"
"Okay, I guess." She would love to say more, to tell Lorelai about the A she got on her Literature paper, about the fun night she spent with Marty at the movies yesterday, but instead she keeps silent, planning to save the good news for when she knows what mood Lorelai is in today.
"Okay."
Then there is silence for the rest of the way.
"Here we are", she announces unnecessarily after killing the engine.
"Thank you, sweetie." Her mother's hand briefly strokes her cheek and then she is out of the car.
"Sookie says hello, by the way", Lorelai offers hesitantly when she is standing next to her as she unloads the trunk, "I was on the way home from her house when you picked me up."
"Really?" she doesn't care to hide the gladness in her voice. Sookie's house!
"Yeah. It was time to get out of the house again, I guess", Lorelai replies with a lopsided smile on her face.
"Oh, Mom." She takes her mother's hand and picks up her bags, beginning to move in the direction of the house when she sees that the door is ajar.
"Is Luke home?"
"Yes. He's clearing out the-"
"Oh." She can interject before Lorelai has to say the word.
"Yeah. Uh, listen, why don't you bring in your stuff and I go and get Luke? Haven't been in the garden forever." She doesn't miss the hint of artificiality behind Lorelai's cheerfulness, but simply obeys.
"Alright. Call if you need me."
"I will."
She lifts her bag from the ground and slowly trots up the porch steps and into the house just when she hears her mother's voice from the garden.
"You in there?"
-
What is he doing in the garage? She would have thought that there was enough room in the attic for all the... stuff.
The closer she gets to the door, the better she gets an idea of what he is doing in there.
The bow of the boat is the first thing that comes into view when she opens the door fully and then a streak of light from outside falls on his bent over figure leaning against the boat.
He is crying. Crying like she has never seen him cry before. Has she ever seen him cry?
With the speed of light she is next to him, wrapping her arms around his trembling shoulders and pressing her cheek to his. The mixture of wetness and stubble she feels there reminds her of their trip to the beach last summer, of the sand between her toes and his refusal to put on the swimming trunks she got him.
When his hand leaves the side of the boat and reaches out for one of hers, she lets him take it, in a way very grateful that now she gets a chance to bethe strong one. He squeezes so hard it almost hurts, but she bears the sensation. Somehow it feels good to finally feel something again.
She has always liked to be in control and perhaps an occasional reversal of roles is something that can help them regain just that over their life together control.
-
Neither of them notices Rory who some time later comes looking for them and who, after having satisfied her need to find out whether they are okay, returns to the house under the impression that their chances to really be okay again one day have at least doubled.
They resume Friday Night Dinners in late July.
At first it is difficult. Too many memories seem to be in the room with them that suffocate the conversation they could be entertaining. Lorelai's well-rounded stomach, the soft drinks and sparkling water she had instead of wine, the thoughtfulness with which Luke or Rory helped her up from the couch before they made their way over into the dining room - all these images cloud their minds and make them hesitant to bring up everyday-topics.
How can today be of any importance and rightfully talked about when suddenly the yesterday behind it still seems so real and unprocessed that they feel guilty for negating its existence, even in their thoughts? So the first few Fridays are spent first in thought and later on, more privately, in frustration and tears.
But the more Fridays pass, the less awkward they feel. It gets easier to talk about what charitable function Emily is going to attend next. When mentioned at the dinner table, the ridiculous names some of Richard's business partners call their own finally manage to reap the laughter they deserve. The tension in Luke's shoulders fades noticeably with each week. One Friday morning at Yale Rory finds herself actually looking forward to going to Hartford that night. And when on the same night Lorelai surprises everyone, including herself, by making a carrot speak, suddenly they can all breathe a lot easier than before.
Slowly but surely they slip back into the comfortable routine of drink, food and togetherness. And with this growing security on the terrain of weekly dinners also the weekly teasing and nagging, squabbling and babbling returns. They are not the Gilmores - or Daneses, for that matter - for nothing. Especially those among them equipped with two x-chromosomes once again thrive on that kind of interaction, there is nothing they can do about it.
Indeed, being given the chance to be there for him proves to be just what Lorelai needs to find a way back into some kind of life. This life she begins to conquer for herself does not resemble her old one in every respect, but somehow that is okay. It hurts, but she learns to accept the direction her life has taken and with each day it gets easier to walk the path laid out for her and not look back all too often or for much too long. Laughter and a quick tongue return to her step-by-step. And whenever she feels guitly about it she remembers the words Rory said to her after the word "dirty" escaped her lips for the first time in weeks and immediately sent her into a crying-fit.
"I think he would have had your sense of humor. Bet he would have loved to see you laugh."
One week after "the boat.. thing", as Luke refers to it from then on, Lorelai finds a crumpled piece of paper behind her nightstand while looking for an especially freedom-loving earring. Straightening it out, she recognizes it and after some thinking calls a number in Hartford. Why not give it a try?
The doctor is really nice and she discovers that 'the couch' is more of a cliché than reality. In fact, there is no couch. They sit facing each other as they talk. During the hour she spends at the doctor's office, Lorelai cries a little, smiles a little and then, more towards the end, realizes that this is something that might actually help. She returns once a week for half a year and twice actually manages to drag Luke along. The other 24 times his aversion towards everything medicine-related keeps him away.
The best therapy for him is being able to witness her become Lorelai again. On her first day back at the inn she comes into his diner before and after work, quietly takes and drinks the coffee he offers her and then they kiss over the counter, just like the used to do. No sandpaper-lips, not clenched fists, just kissing. As soon as she is out of the door and the jingle of the bells has subsided, he has to excuse himself to the back where in the morning he wipes away the wetness forming in his eyes and in the evening simply has to give the air a good punch. Yes!
He thanks whatever higher power it is that grants them a second chance at happiness.
-
"Watch out for the thorns, okay? We don't want you to hurt yourself. Look, there you go." With that she hands her the rose and silently watches the girl trudge across the grass towards her destination. When she has reached it, she turns around and looks up at them, as if asking for their approval.
"Right there is fine, honey", she says and nods her head. The toddler's forehead puckers up in concentration, but then her hand opens and the flower falls to the ground. It comes to rest next to dozens of others.
"Well done!" he praises and gives her waist another squeeze before removing his arm from around her and kneeling down on the ground.
With a delighted squeal their daughter makes her way over to where he extends his arms for her. He scoops her up into his arms and stands up next to Lorelai.
"Another year, huh?"
"Yeah. Another year." She leans over to where the little girl is burrowing her head in the crook of her father's neck and caresses her cheek.
"I can't believe it's already been three years", he states and clears his throat, causing the girl to lift her head and look around curiously at the noise.
"Me either", she replies and then presses a kiss onto their child's forehead. They stare ahead of them for a minute or two, each hanging on to their own thoughts.
Her mind wanders back to this day two years ago. She sees herself telling him she wants them to try again.
The memory of this day one year ago brings back the images of a stick turning pink in her trembling hands, of him spending an incredibly cold week in January carrying and reassembling wooden nursery furniture, of that day in February as happy, as scary, as painful and as relieving as there never was one before and probably never will be again.
And here they stood, her holding a huge bouquet of flowers and he carrying a car seat in which their second baby slept.
"You ready?" he asks after a while, averting his gaze from the headstone reading Julian Michael Danes May 8th 2006 We will never understand why it was not meant to be.
She nods and interlaces her fingers with his as they begin to make their way back to where they have parked their car. On the way there their daughter starts to squirm in his arms and so he sets her on the ground and takes one of her tiny hands in his, slowly walking the rest of the way with her.
Already leaning against the side of the truck, Lorelai cannot help herself but smile at the sight of Luke making toddler-size steps so that the little girl can keep up with him.
"What are you laughing at?" he asks when he looks up into her smiling face.
"Nothing. I love you, you know that?"
Just when he is about to reply, the girl clutching two of his fingers decides that some object on the ground requires further examination and therefore bends down, dragging his hand down with her. He would have laughed had anyone told him years ago how firm a little child's grip on one's hand can really be.
"Whoa, Mia, what's that down there?" he asks as he kneels down next to her.
Lorelai also steps a little closer to where their daughter is crouching in the grass.
"Fower!" Mia exclaims merrily and holds up a rumpled little daisy. "Take!"
"Alright, we can take it home and put it in a vase", Lorelai agrees, "but before that we go to Grandma and Grandpa's house for lunch, okay?"
Mia nods eagerly and gets back to her feet, clutching the daisy in one fist.
"I bet Grandma and Grandpa have a vase they can borrow you for the time being." Luke tells his daughter as he lifts her up into his arms and then places her in her seat in the back of the truck.
They don't talk much on the way to Hartford, but nowadayas silence has lost the awkwardness it once used to hold. In the rear mirror Luke can see Mia still holding on to the daisy, even though she is fast asleep by now.
He points the sight out to Lorelai and once again she smiles at him. This smile is a little more crooked, though.
"Right now I really wish he could be here", she almost whispers and he nods in agreement.
"Yeah, me too." The single tear rolling down her cheek does not escape him.
He reaches out for her hand and his right holds her left until the Gilmore residence comes into view. Rory's car is already standing there when he pulls the truck into the driveway. When he has turned off the engine and they have unfastened their seatbelts, they lean in and kiss each other on the lips. Mia sighs softly and stirs in her seat, a new maid opens the front door and behind her Rory and the grandparents wave for them to come inside already.
It's May 8th 2009 and they are doing okay.