She caught the first flight home. She was more than ready to leave the tiny island paradise that had become her own personal hell. Ready to leave the bright sun and happy people, the colourful cocktails by the pool and the 24-hour room service. She was painfully ready to go back to her life where there was rain, and dark colours, and silence. But despite how ready she was to leave, she was even more desperate to not return to her real life. Because real life had suddenly become infinitely more painful.
He had died on a Tuesday. Her mother had said it had been sudden, painless. But it was anything but painless. Rory felt as if she had died a little when her mother gave her the news, and every time after that, when she realised that it wasn't a dream, and that he was really gone, she died a little bit more. He had been one of the only constants in her life. No matter what was going on, she knew that she only had to pick up the phone, and he would be there, with kind words and comfortable silences. He always seemed to know what she needed, even before she did. But that was gone now, vanished with the death of her grandfather.
She got off the plane, and caught the first cab she could find, not bothering to wait for her luggage. She needed to see her mother, her grandmother, to confirm the horrible news that she already knew was true. She silently urged the car faster, but each mile closer to home she got, the burn in her chest grew, and she knew it was no hoax.
Her mother was waiting for her on the porch. The dark clothes she wore brought out the sallowness of her skin, highlighting deep purple smudges beneath her bloodshot eyes. Rory could feel herself falling apart under the sorrow-filled gaze her mother. She felt her leaden heart grow heavier, pulling her down towards the earth, and she only made three steps from the car before sinking to the ground. Lorelai was with her in an instant, and they both huddled, broken and sobbing on the lawn until Luke came out to bring them both inside.
The days leading up to the funeral passed Rory by in a haze. Her hearing seemed to have disappeared, sounds around her reduced to a hush. The only thing that she really remembered clearly was seeing her Grandmother for the first time since her return, realising that the fiery woman she remembered had been reduced to play the part of the grieving widow. Emily had sat in the drawing room, pale, withdrawn, unmoving. Dark glasses hid her eyes, even in the dim light of indoors, a half-full tumbler of ambler liquid permanently at her elbow. They were all staying in the big house, not wanting Emily to be there alone with her grief, but the house seemed cold and empty, and being there felt like trespassing. Rory didn't want stay long.
Dark clouds gathered on the day of the funeral, heavy and repressive, the low rumble of thunder sounding in the distance. It was the perfect weather for a funeral, Rory decided. The weather matching the emotions of the broken family. Small clusters of dark clad mourners huddled beneath wide umbrellas at the gravesite, their focus drawn to the wide cherry wood casket. The minister started the service as the first drops of rain fell.
Rory stood alone, hand wrapped around the stem of her umbrella, dark glasses on, despite the gloom. Her mother was busy with Emily, trying to hold the grieving widow together for the service. Rory stared unfocused at the ground, letting the steady cadence of the minister's voice sweep over her and lead her further into her solitude and grief. She felt her shoulders shake with silent sobs, then a warm arm reaching out to pull her close, as Luke drew her into his side. On her other side, Jess gripped her hand tightly, comfortingly. His appearance had been surprising, but he had simply shrugged his shoulders and explained that he came for her.
The group of mourners were a collection of family, friends and close business partners. Rory saw that Paris and Doyle had come to pay respects, but stood on the fringe of the group, not wanting to intrude on the family's grief. She felt a small surge of love for fiercely loyal best friend. Her eyes continued to pass over the group, not wholly focused, recognising certain faces and not others. A dark shape in the distance, not standing close enough to be part of the service, yet not far enough away to be unrelated, caught her glance. Two figures, both clad in black, huddled under an umbrella. It took a few moments for her to recognise the couple, and a few moments more for her to realise that the service had ended, and people were drifting away from the grave site to escape the rain.
She stayed frozen to the spot, the only heat she felt coming from the strong, sure grip of Jess' hand around her own, Luke having left to take care of Lorelai and Emily. The rain was coming down harder now, and she could feel it starting to soak through her clothes and chill her skin, feeling it down to her bones. It was only then, the site being vacated but for Jess and Rory, that he dared make his approach. His wife waited behind, leaving him to his private farewells. At his approach, Jess let go of Rory's hand, and moved aside to give them some privacy. Rory watched his approach warily, hand gripping tighter on the umbrella's handle.
He stopped at the casket and laid a hand on the smooth, polished wood. His head bowed for a moment, and then he reached inside his coat for an object that he then placed beside the flowers on the lid. It was only later that Rory realised it was the business section of the New York Times.
He raised his head to look at her, moving closer until he stood beside her. The silence was thick with tension and grief, and the discomfort stretched between them.
"Why did you come, Logan?" She didn't turn to look at him, keeping her gaze fixed on an invisible point in the distance instead.
"You know that I loved your grandfather. I came to pay my respects. He was a great man." His voice was quiet, almost unsure. His tone almost caused her tears to start all over again.
"Why did you bring her?"
He turned to face her, his eyes boring into her face. She kept her gaze fixed on the ground, feeling the intensity of his stare. She knew that if she looked up, she would no longer be able to keep her stony façade.
"She's my wife. She came for me."
"I see." Her curt reply, pain evident in her voice, made him take a half step closer.
His voice was quiet, almost pleading. "I came to make sure you were okay."
She finally turned to face him. She pulled off her sunglasses, revealing sunken eyes rimmed with red. The only emotion visible, however, was anger.
"You came to make sure I'm okay? I'm at my grandfather's funeral. Clearly, I'm not okay. The fact that you came is not okay, and bringing that woman with you is definitely not okay. You were on your honeymoon, why did you even bother?" He looked taken aback at her fierce words. His face went slack for an instant, and he lifted a hand to run through his hair, in a heart-breakingly familiar way.
"I needed to see you. You know how I feel about you." He reached out a hand to touch hers.
"Fuck you." Her quiet reply stopped him cold. Her eyes flashed with life and anger for a second before she put her dark shades on again.
"You really are a bastard, you know that. You're the one who left, not me. You moved away, got married. What gives you the right to keep coming back and saying these things to me? You left me, you don't get to keep coming back. What we had is dead. You killed it. And now it's done. And I'm done. I'm so fucking done."
Then finally, after years of sorrow and regret, Rory was the one who turned around and walked away. As she left him behind, Jess caught up with her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. She glanced at him sideways, and saw a familiar twitch at the corner of his lips.
"Welcome back."