Title: Ain't Life Grand
Chapter 4: Back to the Moment
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I need to add that I don't own the Emerson analogy, and its interpretation was not modified by me, but by Meg Cabot in her Queen of Babble series.
A/N: Thank you again for the reviews! I know what you're thinking: it's about time. You're right. Oh, and if you can't find my LJ, go to my profile and click on Homepage (top left).
We should all be concerned about the future because we will have to spend the rest of our lives there. –Charles F. Kettering
Back to the Moment
Early Thursday morning, Tristan and his partner were in his car, he had just parked on the street in front of the Daily News. He reached to his backseat and grabbed a thick file folder and a couple VHS tapes. It was all held together with a large rubber band. He handed the bundle to Mark.
"Here, take that to the second floor and leave it with the receptionist."
Mark frowned down at the stack. "What is it?"
"Some old case Rory wants to look into."
Mark tried to hand it back to Tristan. "You take it in."
Tristan shook his head and shoved the folder back into Mark's lap. "I can't. You do it."
"Why can't you do it? She's your girlfriend."
"And this is where she works," Tristan answered, pointing to the building. "She might be in there."
"So you're avoiding her?" Stevenson asked. "That's really mature of you."
"I'm not avoiding her per se. I just haven't figured out what to do about the situation yet."
"It wasn't that bad."
"Yes it was. You told me so."
Mark nodded. "Yeah, it really was. Sometimes I wish I wasn't a spectator to so much of your personal life. Remember when you pretended like she wasn't your girlfriend? I think I liked it better that way."
"You're probably in luck. She may not want to be my girlfriend anymore," Tristan said. "As you've pointed out, I'm kind of an idiot. She can clearly do better."
"Are you going to be this dramatic all day? Or are you getting it out of your system now?"
"Will you please just take that up to the newsroom?"
Mark sighed and shook his head. He took the folder and tapes before opening his door. "Fine. I'll take it in. But only because you look like hell—you'd scare someone," he said as he got out.
Tristan didn't bother to get offended. He also didn't bother to look in the mirror. He knew it was true. He was unshaven and his eyes had dark circles around them. It didn't help that one was still purplish. He'd stayed at work late the night before, making copies of the case Rory wanted. Then he spent half the night tossing and turning—after he finally got to sleep. To top off his wonderful week, he overslept and got to work late that morning.
He was checking his mirrors in a paranoid way, expecting Rory to arrive at any second—and see his car—when Stevenson returned. He got back in the car and looked at Tristan expectantly, ready to go.
Tristan paused before driving away. "Was she up there?"
Mark shook his head. "Nope, not yet. The receptionist said she'd make sure Rory gets it when she comes in."
Tristan nodded. "Good," he said as he drove away.
NNNNNNNNNNNNN
Not much later, Rory walked off the elevator at the second floor and proceeded into the lobby of the Daily News. She smiled at the matronly woman sitting behind the receptionist's desk. Before she walked by, the woman stopped her.
"Someone just brought you something," she said, placing a file folder with two video tapes on top of her tall desk.
"Oh, thanks," Rory said, looking down at the labeled folder. She recognized the handwriting. Before she continued to the newsroom, she asked, "Uh, who brought this up?"
"A tall gentleman. Brown hair," the receptionists answered.
She nodded in appreciation. "Oh. Okay, thanks."
She walked over to her desk and took the rubber band off the package. She started paging through the police reports and witness statements. She organized it all into stacks on her desk, though it had all been pretty orderly in the folder. She made a note to find the court transcripts from the trial. She also wanted to make a visit to the jewelry store where the robbery had taken place.
Then, reluctantly, she turned her attention to the options she'd been given from the Life and Style section. She could either write about fashion or food. The answer to that was pretty easy. Good thing she didn't offer her services to Life and Style during Fashion Week, she thought.
At the desk next to her, Kyle hung up the phone and looked over. "Hey Rory."
"Hey what?" she asked, still busy with the things on her desk.
"Do you know what's going on with the Rivers' case?"
"No," she said honestly. "Sorry. What did the spokesperson say?"
Kyle sighed. "Just that the investigators are questioning people of interest."
"Then I guess that's what's going on."
Kyle hesitated before asking, "Do you think you could call your boyfriend and ask him for more details?"
Rory felt her face get warm at the request. She shook her head and averted her eyes. "No, I really can't," she answered.
"I'm sorry about what happened with that source," Kyle offered desperately.
She glanced at her co-worker briefly before responding. "I know. I just can't call today."
Kyle sat up straighter as he got an idea. "I could call him, though, couldn't I? I can be connected to his extension with just his last name. Right?"
"Uh, yeah, technically," Rory answered. "But I wouldn't recommend it."
Kyle slouched back down in his chair. "Oh. Okay."
Rory almost felt bad for Kyle, but didn't get the chance to think about it too much, as her cell phone rang from her drawer. It made her heart beat faster. She was nervous to answer. But she felt relieved when she read the caller ID.
"Hello?" she answered with a smile.
"Rory?"
"Lane?"
"How are you?" she asked cheerfully.
"I'm fine," Rory answered as she gathered up all the papers on her desk. "You?"
"I'm wonderful."
"Oh, wow, you sound extra good. What's up?"
"Well—is it a bad time? I know you're working."
"It's okay, I always have time for you. And I was about to head out anyway."
"All right," Lane said. "So, guess who's going on a second honeymoon."
"Harrison and Calista?" Rory answered.
"No, but I'm sure they've been working hard and deserve a break."
"How about you and Zach then?"
"Yes!" Lane said excitedly.
"Congratulations."
"Thanks. We're so excited. We finally get to make up for the first one. You do remember how bad the first on was, right?"
"Well I don't know firsthand, but I believed your account. So yes."
"Good. So you agree that we need to try it again?"
"Yes. Of course. Why?" Rory asked as she stuffed all of her research into her messenger bag.
"Here's the thing. Mama is going to watch the boys next week. But, she has a big antique convention to go to this weekend. Do you see where I'm going with this?" Lane asked hopefully.
"Yes. Steve and Kwan will be home alone for a couple days. And I wouldn't worry if I were you. I think they'll do a great job of defending the house when Joe Pesci shows up to rob you."
"That's not quite where I was going."
Rory stood up and tucked her chair under her desk. She started to head out of the newsroom as she continued, "Oh, do you need me to baby-sit over the weekend?"
"Would you?" Lane asked in a tone of giddy anticipation. "I know it's last minute."
"Well if I didn't, I'd really be skirting my responsibilities as their Lorelai Gilmore."
Lane gasped. "That's right, you would. So you have to do it. I should remember that, for if I ever have to guilt you into something."
"Good idea."
"And you won't even notice them. They will be perfect angels for you."
"I have no doubt," Rory said as she pressed the button for the elevator. Then she had a thought. "Oh shoot."
"What? No 'oh shoot', you already agreed."
"I'm not sure if I'll have to come into work for a few hours Saturday."
"That's okay!" Lane said quickly. "What about Tristan? Would he be willing to stand in for you?"
"Oh, uh, I'm not—," Rory felt herself blush again at the mention of his name, and was glad when Lane interrupted.
"Or what about Lucy and Olivia? They're nice girls. I bet they'd love to hang out with a couple of nine year old boys for a little while."
"Uh, yeah, maybe," Rory said as she opened the door and walked out into the bright sunlight. "I could ask Lucy. She'll probably do it."
"Great."
"And if nothing else, I could bring them into the office, if I really need to."
"Good, so this is a plan?"
Rory nodded and hailed a cab. "It's a plan."
"Excellent. Would you be able to pick them up from the train station, say—tomorrow after work?"
"Yes I would," Rory agreed.
"Thank you so much. You're a life saver."
"That's what I'm here for," she said before they ended the call.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
A couple hours later, Mark and Tristan were sitting at a table across from Erika Hart again. They put the picture of Courtney Rivers in front of her, just like they'd done with her brother.
"We'd like the truth this time," Stevenson said. "We know you were lying, just like your brother."
Erika defiantly didn't respond at first. No one said anything for a moment. But then she broke down. "Fine. She was dating my brother."
"Why did you lie?"
"Because I know my brother didn't kill her. I didn't want you thinking that he did."
"Dating her wouldn't have meant that he killed her," Tristan commented. "Buy lying hasn't helped his case."
"Fine. So they used to go out," Erika started. "I know you'd try to make a case against Paul if you knew that."
"Do you know how the American justice system works?" Tristan asked.
"Please. You're probably focusing all your attention on Paul now. And just because he used to date Courtney."
"No. It was the lying—on both of your parts—that's making us focus on him," Tristan said impatiently.
"Was there any other reason you thought we'd focus on Paul?" Mark asked.
"No," Erika answered with a shrug.
"She's been to your apartment?"
"Yeah."
"Did you know your brother took her to your place when you weren't there?" Tristan asked.
The blonde woman frowned. "No. He did that?"
He nodded. "That's what he told us."
"I didn't know that."
"Do you think he gave Courtney the key he had? Maybe he didn't really lose it," Mark suggested.
"No, I don't think so," Erika said, though she said it slowly.
"Would she have stolen it from him?" Tristan asked.
The woman shrugged. "Maybe. She seemed like she could be a little conniving. She was manipulative. She'd get my brother to go along with whatever she wanted. She was really pretty," Erika admitted. "She probably got by on her looks."
"Do you know what she did for a living?" Stevenson asked.
"Wasn't she a waitress?"
Mark shook his head. "No."
Tristan noticed the necklace Erika was wearing. A pick gemstone hanging from the silver chain caught his attention. He frowned and opened the file they had on their victim. He flipped to the picture of her after the fire. He turned the picture around so Erika could see.
"Are you wearing the same necklace as her?" he asked as he pointed to the jewelry.
Erika looked down at the picture and her hand went to her own necklace. "It looks the same." She gasped indignantly. "Is she wearing my necklace?"
Tristan looked at her like she was stupid. "This one is in evidence," he said as he pointed to the picture. "You're obviously wearing yours."
She put her hand back down. "Oh, right."
"Who gave it—," Mark started. However, Tristan kicked him under the table.
"Do you know where it came from?" he asked.
"It's from Satya Jewelry, over on Broadway."
"Great. That's all we need from you today," he said as he stood and let Erika out of the small room.
Mark looked at his partner with a frown. "Why don't you want to know who bought it?" he asked.
They both walked out of the interrogation room and went over to their desks. "I do want to know. I just want to know the truth before she lies about it. That's probably a specialty item, only made by Satya. Hopefully whoever bought those paid with a credit card."
"Good idea. I knew you were good for something," Mark said. "Let's go see what we can find."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
A little while later, Tristan and Mark walked into Satya Jewelry. There was only one person working, and he was occupied with a customer.
Mark looked into a display case to view the sparkling jewelry inside. "Maybe I should get Hannah something while we're here. She's been pretty stressed out lately."
"Wedding plans eating her alive?" Tristan asked dryly.
"No. School just started."
"Oh," Tristan said before he wandered away.
As he gazed down at all the diamonds and gemstones that glittered in the special lighting, he thought about getting Rory something. He needed to do major damage control. Then he—dreadfully—considered what the damage control was for. Maybe jewelry wasn't the way to go.
He was staring down into a display case and didn't notice that the employee had approached him.
"Thinking of popping the question?" the silver haired man asked nicely.
Tristan lifted his head sharply. He felt like all the blood had drained from his face. "What?" he asked guiltily.
The man nodded down at the display case. "I could take one out for you, if you'd like a closer look."
Tristan glanced back down and noticed that he was standing in front of diamond rings. "Oh, uh, no thanks," he answered quickly as he shook his head.
Mark walked over then. He snickered before addressing the man behind the display case, "While we can reasonably assume that he'd like to take a wife, he has women figured out."
"Ah, perhaps he should write a book, for the rest of us," the jeweler suggested genially.
Mark shook his head. "You don't want what he's selling."
"Could we get back to work?" Tristan asked impatiently as he showed the man his badge.
His partner nodded. "We're investigating a homicide. The victim was wearing a necklace that we believe came from your store."
"Oh I see."
Mark showed the man the picture of Courtney Rivers so he could see the necklace in question.
"Oh my," the jeweler said when he saw the burns on the woman. He sat a pair of glasses on his nose so he could see the necklace better. He nodded. "Yes, we make that. It's our Passionate Possibilities Necklace."
"Do you think we could have receipts of everyone who's bought one in the past year?" Tristan asked.
The man nodded. "Yes of course. I could have them ready for you tomorrow, if you like."
The detectives nodded. "Thanks," Mark said.
"Can I help you gentleman with anything else today?"
"Actually, yes," Mark said. "I want to buy one of these bracelets over there," he said, jerking his head back to the display case he'd been browsing. They moved closer and the grey haired man took out the item indicated. "It'll need a few links taken out," Mark added.
"All right, I can have that ready for you tomorrow with the receipts you need," the man said. "Anything else?"
Mark looked at Tristan with a grin. "Do you need a minute?"
"Nope. Let's go," he answered firmly.
They both headed for the door. Tristan opened it at the same time someone else was walking in. Since she was looking down at her phone, they bumped into each other. Tristan grabbed her shoulders to hold her steady. He gasped in horror when Rory looked up at him. Her eyes grew wide and her cheeks turned pink. He took his hands off her shoulders quickly.
"Uh, we're here for work," he said hastily. In a panic, he looked at Mark for help.
"It's true, we are," Mark said, holding up the file folder as proof.
"Oh. Yeah. Me too," Rory said anxiously.
"Good. You got that file, then?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Sure," Tristan said with a nod. "We were leaving."
"Right," she said.
He and Rory tried to step out of each other's way, but just looked like they were dancing, as they moved left to right. Tristan grabbed her shoulders again and moved her in the opposite direction he was going so he and Mark could exit the store.
When they were safely outside, Tristan's heart was pounding uncomfortably in his chest. He closed his eyes tightly as he tried to shake the feeling of mortification. He really hadn't wanted Rory to see him today, he was a mess.
Mark looked at him. "Just think. That could have been awkward." He waited a second to see if Tristan was going to recover. "Do I need to drive again?"
Tristan nodded silently and handed over his keys.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Later that afternoon, Rory was back at her desk in the newsroom. She was typing up a glowing review for a new restaurant she'd been to over the weekend when her desk phone rang.
"Newsroom," she answered.
"Yes, this is Officer Young," the caller said.
Rory only paused for a second before she continued typing. Her nerves were too shot from her earlier encounter to bother being scared. "Cut the crap," she said in a perfectly calm voice. "You aren't a law enforcement official of any kind."
"Maybe not," the man conceded.
"So what did you do? Go to a museum and copy down a badge number, so you could find out the name of the officer it used to belong to?"
"Not quite."
"It wasn't a bad idea." Rory continued, "It certainly made you seem credible—for about five minutes."
"I knew I wasn't going to fool you."
Rory thought for a moment and remembered Courtney Rivers' occupation. "Are you a cop like a stripper is a cop?" she asked. It started to make sense to her. "Oh my God, that's what you are. You're a Hot Cop, like from Arrested Development, aren't you?"
"No."
"Do you go around telling women that they have the right to remain sexy?"
"No."
But she nodded. "That's why you know about the case, you knew Courtney Rivers. You're in the same community." Rory was pretty proud of herself for figuring that out.
"I don't even know what you're talking about," the man said.
"Using a dead cop's name was a pretty good idea," Rory said again, in a complimentary tone. "So what do you know today?"
"You first," he said cryptically.
"What do you mean?" Rory asked with a frown.
"What do you know about Jack Young? I'm confident your journalistic instincts have kicked in."
He had her there. She picked up the thick file and opened it. "He left a wife."
"I don't care about that."
"Oh. Fine. He was shot, I already told you that. By Jeff Levin—when he was robbing a jewelry store on Broadway."
"That's not true. Jeff didn't have a weapon."
Rory didn't question how the caller knew that—correct—information. He'd already proven he knew inside information about the other case. Why not know about both?
"Well, there are only two witness accounts, and they match," she said.
"Who were the witnesses?"
Rory looked down at one of the documents. "Jeff Levin's partner-in-crime, a Derek Crabtree. The fact that he was robbing the place couldn't have made him reliable," she reasoned. "But Young's partner, Douglas Aldred gave a collaborating statement."
"And what are those statements?"
"There was a struggle between Levin and Aldred. Levin got the officer's gun and shot Young. There were two surveillance videos," she went on. She had to admit, she was getting more interested. "I watched both. One shows Crabtree and Levin casing the place beforehand. But when they went in to rob the place, they covered up the camera, so no one saw what happened except the other officer. And his account collaborated with Crabtree's."
"Someone is lying."
"If one is, then they both are," Rory pointed out.
"Exactly. I knew you were smart."
Rory wasn't sure what she was supposed to make of that. So she changed the subject. "Your turn," she said. "Since you're obviously close to the Courtney Rivers case, for whatever reason."
"Sure. You earned it. Erika Hart's boyfriend should be a person of interest. You can even put that on the record."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know who you are. And you're just going to make the real police look bad."
"So? Aren't you trying to sell a paper?"
Rory shook her head and avoided the question. "I'm not even writing about that case anymore." She thought for a couple seconds. "If you know who the police should be looking at, why don't you just tell them yourself?"
"I can't, my hands are tied. Plus, I just have this feeling that you'll pass the message onto the people who matter. Or at least, to one of them," he said. "I have to go. But I'll talk to you tomorrow, Rory."
The line went dead, but even if it hadn't, Rory slammed the phone down anyway. The frightened feeling she'd fended off rushed over her. Random people who called the newsroom weren't supposed to know her real name. I was several minutes before she was calm enough to continue with what she'd been doing before the interruption.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
That evening, Rory arrived home. She was trying to forget certain parts of her day as she flopped onto the couch. She sighed and closed her eyes. When she heard her cell phone buzz from the coffee table, it wasn't a welcome sound.
"Hello?" she answered reluctantly.
"I'm bored," Lorelai stated. "Entertain me. Unless you're busy entertaining someone else," she said suggestively.
"I'm not. Tristan isn't here—if that's who you're referring to. And if it isn't, I'm offended that you think I'm so slutty."
"Is he still at work? I guess criminals aren't concerned about nine to five schedules."
"I don't know if he's at work," Rory admitted. She turned over on the couch to lie on her back. "He wasn't here last night, either."
Lorelai gasped dramatically. "Do I sense a lover's quarrel?"
"No," Rory said shortly. "He's probably just giving me space."
"Did you ask for space?"
"No. But yesterday I walked away from him in what one might call a storm off. So it's a fair deduction that I'd want space."
"What happened? Are we mad at him?"
"We aren't mad," Rory answered. "We're moderately annoyed."
"What did he do?"
"I don't want to say."
"Why not?"
"Because. It's embarrassing."
"For him?"
"For me."
"So you're embarrassed with yourself and annoyed with Tristan."
Rory sighed and sat up. "Yes."
"I'm going to need more," Lorelai said. "I'm too intrigued for you to stop now. Calling you for entertainment was definitely the right choice."
"Fine. Yesterday, he gave me a plastic ring," Rory said as she got up and walked to her kitchen. "From a box of Cracker Jack."
"Oh my. I can see why we're annoyed."
"He put it on my left ring finger," Rory explained pointedly. She opened the refrigerator to view her dinner choices. "Do you know what it usually means when a man puts a ring on his girlfriend's left ring finger?"
"Oh," Lorelai said, drawing the word out. "So what did you say?"
"I asked what he was doing."
"And?"
"He was 'putting a ring on it'," she said, in exasperation as she pushed the refrigerator door shut and leaned against the counter.
"No, you already told me that part."
"I know. That's what he said he was doing."
"No he didn't," Lorelai said with a laugh.
"Oh, but he did. Then he called me weird."
"So we're annoyed because he called you weird?"
"No—not that it helped. I'm annoyed because it's a serious thing he was implying, but he was so cavalier about it. Like it was no big deal to put a ring on my finger."
"But it was fake."
"I know."
Lorelai thought for a moment. "I think I need the context. Give me more details surrounding the incident. You're a journalist, use your words. Be as descriptive as I know you like to be."
"We were in front of the precinct," Rory started. "We were talking and I don't know why, but he gave me a weird look. And the next second he put that stupid plastic ring on my finger."
"Did he say anything else?"
Rory thought back. It wasn't too difficult, she'd gone over it a couple dozen times when she was trying to sleep the night before. She answered, "Something about if anything happens to him, I should get his benefits—his death benefits."
"Oh. Well that's nice of him, to want you to be provided for. A little morbid, but nice."
"He picked a really weird way to get his point across. But I guess that's true."
"You'd probably have to be married though," Lorelai mused.
"Probably," Rory agreed. "I think that's what he meant by the plastic ring."
"Okay. I'm starting to get the picture. I think. Have you been giving off a marriage vibe?"
"No," Rory answered with furrowed brows. She opened her pantry. "What's a marriage vibe?"
"Have you said anything like, 'you know, we could file a joint tax return if we were married'?"
"It isn't tax season, so no," Rory answered. "I mean, I don't think I have. I did mention a new Italian restaurant this past weekend. And five minutes later, Tristan asked if I wanted to go eat there. So he can take a hint. But if I ever gave off a marriage vibe, it wasn't on purpose."
She thought for a moment, but shook her head. "I honestly don't think he knew what he was doing yesterday." She didn't find anything she wanted in the pantry, so she closed the door and moved back to the refrigerator.
"Maybe it was accidently on purpose," Lorelai reasoned.
"What?"
"You know, it was on purpose, but an accident."
"It doesn't make more sense when you turn it around."
"Think about it, he wants to marry you on purpose, but accidently asked without planning it out better—or at all."
"But he didn't ask."
"Ah-ha!" Lorelai said triumphantly.
"What?"
"That's why we're mad."
"We aren't mad, we're—"
"Annoyed. Right." Lorelai continued. She went on, matter-of-factly, "You're annoyed that he didn't ask anything."
"No. I'm annoyed because he acted like a fake ring and a rambling mess of words was supposed to mean something. I mean, what is that, a joke? Who doesn't think about that kind of thing first?" she demanded.
"Sometimes you don't have to think. Sometimes you just know, so you ask."
"Well, that isn't what happened, Tristan didn't ask anything."
"See, you keep coming back to that. Which makes it seem like you'd be less mad if he did ask."
"That isn't what I'm saying."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I don't know!" Rory said in frustration.
"Okay, fine. What are you embarrassed about?"
"The way I acted. He didn't make a big deal out of it, but I did," Rory explained. She sighed in defeat. "I probably freaked him out. He looked freaked out when I ran into him today—at a jewelry store."
Lorelai chuckled a little. "It keeps getting better. Isn't that good though? Maybe he was there to get the real thing."
Rory shook her head. "He was there for work. That's why I was there too." She frowned. She hadn't realized that when she spoke with the mystery caller that afternoon. She should have brought it up.
She shook her head to return to the moment. "Besides," she continued, "that's what I'm afraid of, not what I'm hoping for."
"So you're afraid that he will ask?"
"I'm afraid he'll go out and do something big that he isn't ready to do—or doesn't want to do—just because I got mad and maybe—inadvertently—implied that I wanted him to do something . . . something big," Rory said in a somewhat rambling manner. "I don't want him to go out and do something stupid because of how I acted."
"He can get more stupid?"
"We probably shouldn't underestimate him," Rory said dryly. She opened the freezer and found some toaster pizza. She went to a cabinet and pulled down a plate. It was the last one. She wondered why she didn't she have any more clean ones.
"But maybe he does want to ask you to marry him," Lorelai reasoned. "Would that make you feel better?"
"What do you mean?" Rory asked suspiciously.
"I mean, would you prefer that Tristan ask you for real?"
Rory was silent for a full minute. "Not if he doesn't want to ask me," she said slowly.
"Nice way to avoid the question."
"Well, the future is sort of fuzzy, but I pictured myself getting married eventually."
"Sure. It's nice to have someone who will always be there, no matter what."
"That sounds nice," Rory agreed quietly.
"Mm-hmm."
"Plus, I'm at an age where I want to be in a relationship that's moving forward," she said, a little defensively. "And yeah, I'm completely finished with school—"
"Was it sad for you to say that out loud?"
"I died a little on the inside."
"So you are kind of weird."
"As I was saying, I'm finished with school. So my next major life event will probably be . . . marriage."
"That sounds fair."
"It does?"
"Yes," Lorelai said reassuringly. She continued cautiously, "So, to that end, do you feel as though your current relationship is moving in the direction you'd like?"
Rory didn't say anything for a minute, again. Finally, she exhaled heavily and grudgingly answered, "Yes."
"You sound really happy about it," her mother observed.
"Can't you just let me be annoyed with him for a couple days?" Rory asked impatiently as she put her plate of pizza in the microwave and slammed the door shut.
"Sure, sorry," Lorelai said. "So you're saying that the picture is a little less fuzzy these days?"
"A little." Rory went on slowly, "That doesn't freak you out, does it?"
"I think if I was freaked out by my thirty year old daughter wanting to get married, I should seek psychiatric help."
"I'm twenty-nine," Rory corrected—falsely.
"Oh hey, me too."
"You still might need psych—"
"I'm going to stop you right there," Lorelai interrupted. "I know the end of that sentence, and I resent it."
"All right," Rory conceded as the microwave buzzed. She took her dinner out and sat it on the kitchen island. Before she started her own meal, she sprinkled some fish food in the bowl that sat at the edge of the counter.
"I am a little freaked out at how much you sound like your grandmother," Lorelai commented.
"I do? How?"
"Oh, no reason."
"No, what is it? Has Grandma been talking about me?"
"Not really, it was just this one thing. At your graduation party."
"What happened?"
"It's really nothing, but I got the feeling that she may have been hoping something was going to happen."
"Something like what?" Rory asked absentmindedly as she blew on the hot pizza before taking a bite.
"It was a graduation party," Lorelai said. "And we're talking about your grandmother. So think about it."
Rory frowned and did try to think about it as she chewed. "I don't know, tell me."
"Come on, what do you think Emily Gilmore might hope her single granddaughter's boyfriend might do after she graduated?"
Rory thought some more. She put her pizza down, now worried. "Oh my God, she didn't actually think Tristan was going to—at my graduation party? Why would she think that?"
"Because she's Emily Gilmore. I thought we established that. Plus, it happened before."
"That doesn't mean anything!" Rory protested. "Why did she think it would happen again?"
"I don't really have to respond to that, do I? Because we keep circling back to the same answer," Lorelai said.
"Oh my God," Rory groaned. She just remembered something. "After the party, Tristan said that Grandma kept looking at him. I told him he was just being paranoid."
"He wasn't. She had her eye on him. Her evil, evil eye."
"I can't believe she thought I would get proposed to the same way twice. Especially considering how it turned out last time. Not that the location of the proposal factored into the answer," Rory said as she shook her head, feeling more embarrassed. She picked her pizza back up to resume eating.
Lorelai went on, "Mom was obviously suffering from wishful thinking. She probably won't rest easy until you're successfully married off." She was silent for a moment, before she musingly said, "Huh. I thought she thought highly of Tristan."
Rory nodded. "She does. Probably because he's a Yale man. And she likes his grandfather."
"Sure, but she clearly underestimated his originality," Lorelai reasoned.
Rory snorted. "I think we all underestimated that one."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
The next morning, Tristan was at his desk, making phone calls. At the desk across from him, Mark was doing the same. While searching Courtney Rivers' apartment, they came across a box of business cards, all belonging to men.
"That's fine, we'll see you tomorrow," Tristan said before he hung up his phone. He looked over to his partner. "Another one just lawyered up."
Mark shook his head. "There's a lot of pre-emptive action going on with these guys."
Tristan nodded in agreement. "What kind of illegal activities do you suppose they were doing with a nice looking exotic dancer?"
"She might be giving all strippers a bad name."
"Maybe she needed some extra money, since she was in the middle of that custody battle," Tristan theorized.
"Yeah, maybe. Lawyers do suck the life blood out of people."
Tristan nodded in agreement. "Do you think she was using Erika Hart's apartment as a shag palace?"
"That's a possibility."
"We should talk to the landlord again. He saw Courtney go there with Paul. Maybe he saw her there with her other gentlemen callers."
Mark nodded. "And we need to drop back by the jewelry store, too. Maybe we can cross reference one of these business card guys with a name on a receipt."
"Let's hope so," Tristan said as they both stood up.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
In the newsroom, Rory was trying to find out what she could about the jewelry heist where Jack Young was killed. She wanted to speak with his widow. She also wanted to talk to the other two people involved—the two that were living, that is. Douglas Aldred would be easy enough, he still lived in New York. However, Derek Crabtree, the partner-in-crime, moved shortly after the trial ended.
Rory had made a call to her vacationing colleague. And luckily, Marie had answered.
"So this Jeff Levin guy was accused and convicted of killing a cop?" Marie asked after Rory explained the case.
"Yes," she answered. "And I was thinking of going to prison—to get his side of the story, but get this. He escaped."
"He escaped from prison?"
"Yup."
Marie was silent for a moment. "So he's just out there somewhere, and you're bringing the old case back to life?"
"It isn't me. It's whoever's calling me."
"Maybe it's Levin himself. If he didn't do it, he probably can't go to the police to ask for their help," Marie suggested.
"Yeah, maybe. But why pick me to do the dirty work?"
"I don't have an answer for that one."
"I want to find Levin's brother. He's the only family member I can find for him. Maybe he knows more about it."
"Plus, he isn't potentially dangerous."
"Also true."
"Well, I'd love to keep talking with you during my vacation, but I'm on vacation," Marie said. "And I prefer to not think about work when I'm on vacation. So I'm going to have to let you go."
"Oh. Okay," Rory said as they both hung up.
She tried to continue her research, but she stopped to tap her pen on her desk anxiously. She shifted her attention somewhat, to the current murder. She wondered if Erika Hart's brother really should be a person of interest. And she also wondered if the police knew. There was one way to find out.
She glance at her phone, but didn't make a move to pick it up. Instead, she put her pen down and drummed her fingers on the desk nervously. She lifted her hand and held it over the phone. It hovered there for a few seconds before she quickly picked it up and dialed. After all, some things were more important than a stupid plastic ring.
She nervously tapped her foot as she listened to the ringing. She wasn't sure if she wanted an answer or not. When she heard Tristan's voicemail, she felt a little relieved.
"Uh, hi, it's me," she said timidly. "I was just wondering if you guys were looking into Erika Hart's boyfriend. I don't know his name, but I heard he might be a person of interest. Or should be. I don't know. I was tipped off," she rambled. She tried to wrap it up, "Anyway, uh, that's all. Um, bye," she said before she hung the phone up just as quickly as she had picked it up.
She sighed and covered her face with her hands
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Around mid-day, Tristan and Mark were walking down the hall of an elementary school. Tristan peeked into classrooms as they walked by, catching glimpses of students sitting at their desks.
"So this is public school," he commented as he eyed some student work displayed on the wall.
"Yeah," Mark said. "Is this the first time you've ever been in one?"
"Maybe," Tristan answered. "It smells funny."
"It smells like an elementary school," Mark said. He shook his head at his partner. "I suppose you and Rory will send your kids to fancy private schools."
"Will you shut up?" Tristan asked harshly.
"Oh that's right, she doesn't want all that," Mark said as he stopped at a classroom.
He stood at the doorway and looked inside. His fiancé was in the middle of teaching a math lesson at the board. When she glanced over and saw the detectives watching her, she waved in surprise. Mark held up a narrow velvet box, to indicate he'd brought her a present. She looked happily interested and motioned for them to come in.
Not wanting to interrupt the lesson, the two men walked quietly through the coat hall, which led to the back of the room. There was a round table with five small chairs where they both sat down. A stack of construction paper and a basket of art supplies sat in the center of the table.
Mark grinned as he took a small pair of scissors to cut a narrow strip of cream colored construction paper. "Maybe this can be a learning experience for you," he quietly told Tristan.
"I don't want to brag or anything, but I already know my times tables," Tristan replied dryly as he watched Hannah work through a multiplication problem on the board.
Mark just shook his head as he picked a crayon out of the basket.
Tristan wrested his cheek on his fist as his eyes roamed around the classroom. The walls were decorated with various posters. Some offered motivational phrases, others were instructional. He read one and got a reminder about parts of speech. Hannah had expectations and consequences posted in large print at the front of the room, next to the dry erase board. He noticed that there were smaller versions of the rules posted on the other three walls. It made him wonder if third graders were really forgetful enough to need so many reminders.
Tristan turned his attention to the students, who were sitting in their tiny desks. A few of the boys curiously glanced back at the detectives. But when Tristan made eye contact, they quickly turned back to their teacher. He wondered if he was ever that small. He was fairly certain he was always this height. He thought back to elementary school. Things were much simpler back then. The hardest thing he had to decide was whether or not to kiss Paris after being dared to do so. Yeah, like he would have tried to get out of a dare.
All of the boys and girls gave their teacher their full attention as she wrote down the page number of the assignment on the board. He noted that—during the whole lesson—none of the boys had to be reprimanded for staring at a girl. He sighed and tiredly rubbed his face in his hands. At least he was coming up with fresh and new ways to embarrass himself in front of the girl he liked.
As the students took out their textbooks, Hannah moved around, checking to make sure they understood as they started the assignment. Tristan turned back to the table. He frowned at the paper Mark had in front of him. 'The DuGrey's' was written at the top of the paper.
"What are you doing?" Tristan asked.
"Drawing you a picture."
"Of what?"
"Your future."
"What? Why?" Tristan asked with furrowed brows.
"Because Hannah says everyone learns differently. And the verbal thing isn't working with you lately. So I'm trying visual today—it's differentiated instruction. Frankly, I think you ought to understand either way. But here," Mark said, sliding over a drawing of four stick figures. "That's you and Rory. And those are the kids she would like to have. With you. You can name them Hypothetical and Imaginary, if you like."
Tristan stared down at the slip of paper. He pointed to the second stick figure child. "You should make that one a girl."
"What?" Mark asked, a bit disbelieving.
"One should be a girl. She'd—probably want to pass her name on," Tristan said hastily.
Mark stared at Tristan for a full five seconds before he took the paper back and drew a triangle for a skirt and long brown hair on the stick figure indicated.
"Okay, Hypothetical and Lorelai," Mark muttered under his breath, shaking his head a little. He turned the paper back around. "There. Better?"
Tristan glanced down and then quickly away. "Yeah."
When Hannah approached them a couple minutes later, Mark stood to talk to her. Tristan snatched the paper and folded it a few times—it didn't need to be sitting around for anyone to find.
"Hey, what are you guys doing here?" she asked, glancing at Tristan and back to Mark.
"I got you something," Mark answered, handing over the velvet box.
She opened it and smiled down at the sparling bracelet. "Ooh, it's really pretty," she said as she took it out of the box. Mark helped her put it on, closing the clasp. "Thank you."
She turned her attention to Tristan. "You know, I talked with my friend, and you don't have to be a groomsman if you don't want to be," she explained sympathetically. Too sympathetically.
Tristan looked at Mark sharply. "Did you tell her?"
Mark shrugged and nodded. "She asked how my day was."
"And you couldn't have left that part out?"
Hannah shook her head. "Oh no. He could not have."
Tristan looked away sourly.
"It'll be okay," she said encouragingly. "Do you guys have to get back to work? Or do you have time to impress a room full of eight and nine-year-olds?"
"Sorry, but we do have to get back," Mark answered.
He and Tristan followed Hannah to the front of the room. As they walked beside a row of students, she called on a boy who had his hand raised.
"Are those guys the police?" he asked, glancing at their guns with wide eyes.
"Yes. They have to get back to work to catch the bad guys," she answered. Some of the boys looked at each other with excited expressions.
Before the three adults got to the door, Hannah paused and turned back to her students. "And if anyone doesn't follow the rules, they might have to come back to talk to you," she added sternly.
When she looked back at the detectives, they had their eyebrows raised.
She shrugged. "What? It's the second week of school. I have to show them who's boss."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
That afternoon, Rory was sitting in the newsroom, where reporters were busy finishing up their articles for the next day's paper. She was jerked out of her research cocoon when her desk phone rang.
"Newsroom," she answered.
"I'd tell you who it is, but you won't believe me," the man on the other end said.
Rory wasn't going to let this guy scare her. She had a plan today. She might not have perfected her poker face, but she could at least sound confident over the phone. "So it's the Hot Cop again."
"Not really, but that's kind of flattering, in a way."
"Are you Jeff Levin?"
"No."
"I guess you know he escaped from prison six months ago, don't you?"
There was a pause. "I may have heard something about that."
"So, where is he?"
"Why? Do you want to turn him in?"
"Actually, I want to interview him. Get his side of the story," Rory said.
"Aren't you afraid to talk to a cop killer?"
"You're making it sound like he might not be guilty."
"So I've brought you around to my way of thinking."
"You know, since I don't know where Jeff Levin is, I might talk to his brother. He has one. And I've found him," Rory said, bluffing.
"Did you?"
"Yes."
"I don't believe you."
"That's your prerogative," Rory said coolly. "I want to know more about the Courtney Rivers case," she said, intending to get the upper hand in the conversation. "Do you know anything?"
"Oh, I know the most important thing."
"What's that's supposed to mean?"
"What do you think?"
Rory did think. The most important thing in murder case was to find the murderer. "Do you know who killed her?" she asked in a hushed tone. She looked around the newsroom to make sure no one was listening.
"I do."
"Who?" she asked. "Wait, I don't want to know. Go tell the police."
"I already told you, I can't. My hands are tied."
"What does that even mean?" She gasped. "Did you do it?"
There was a long pause. "Yes. It was me. I killed her," the man said matter-of-factly. "And if you go running to that detective, he'll be next."
Rory's heart sped up. "What? I don't know who you're talking about," she said in an unconvincing voice.
"Yes you do. Your boyfriend. The blonde one."
The blood drained from her face. "What do you think you're going to do?" she asked incredulously. Then she answered her own question. "You aren't going to do anything to him."
"You're the one in control of that now, aren't you, Rory?"
The line went dead and Rory's mind was racing. She hung up the phone with a shaking hand. She didn't know what to do. Her first instinct was to call Tristan, but that seemed like it was the worst thing to do. She wondered if anyone would actually know if she told him about this, but didn't want to risk it, if they did know. After all, someone knew her real name. And her cell phone number. And about Tristan. What else could they find out? She wasn't sure, but she didn't want to find out the hard way.
He'd probably stay at his apartment again, she reasoned. Good, that was probably safer. Although, he didn't have anything to eat there. Maybe she should order something to be sent to him, so he wouldn't starve—then again, he might know it was her and think she was offering an olive branch. She wasn't trying to lure him out.
She picked up her phone and dialed. After three rings, Marie picked up.
"Seriously? I thought I got my point across earlier that I'm on vacation. Do you not know how vacation works? I can explain it to you. I only have a couple days left," she whined.
"Who has my cell phone number?" Roy asked quickly.
"What? I don't know. Who do you give it out to?"
"Only people I really, really like," she answered. "Family members. Friends. And really trustable new people."
"How do you know if they're trustable?"
"I don't know, it depends on where I meet them and what they need the number for.""
"You didn't give it to Kyle, did you?"
"No. How does someone I've never met before know my name and number? And about Tristan?"
"Wow, you're getting in deep, aren't you?" Marie asked in a more concerned voice. "Maybe someone called the phone company."
"Oh man, it could be a guy at the Chinese place, for all I know," Rory said, her imagination running wild. "I have to give them my number for carry out."
"Okay, calm down. I doubt it's anyone from a Chinese restaurant. Why don't you make a list of all the contacts you have in your phone? If you need to, you can call down the list to see if it's any of them. Maybe someone's playing a joke."
"It's a really sick joke," Rory said ruefully. She picked up a pen and pad of paper. When she picked up her cell phone, the time glowed at her. "Shoot. I have to get over to Penn Station. I'm baby-sitting this weekend."
"You're baby-sitting? This weekend? You're not the best person for the job right now."
"You think?" Rory asked desperately. "I can't do anything about it. The boys are on their way. I have to go."
"All right, try to calm down," Marie said before they both hung up.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
It was nearly the end of the day when the detectives returned to the precinct. After they'd gone over everything from that day, they made a game plan for Saturday. Tristan noticed the light flashing on his phone, indicating a missed message.
He picked it up and dialed to hear his voicemail. His heart sped up a little when he heard Rory's voice. He barely paid attention to what she actually said. He was listening to her tone, trying to gage whether or not she sounded mad. He had to listen to it a few times, and he concluded that she didn't sound angry. After he hung the phone up, he made a note about Erika Hart's boyfriend.
Tristan looked up at his partner. "Tell me the answer."
Mark looked over at him. "What?"
"The answer to your stupid riddle. Am I the wagon or the star?"
"I told you to figure it out yourself."
Tristan shook his head. "I can't, I'm going to get it wrong. And you know what? You can't even see the stars in New York City," he rambled. "How am I supposed to figure out who the star is, when I can't even see the stars?"
"I see you're back to overthinking things again," Stevenson observed wryly.
"I think it's safer. Now tell me which one I am. Maybe it'll help me explain myself."
"There's an easier way to explain yourself," Mark said as he rearranged the items on his desk. "You want to make an official commitment to you girlfriend—preferably in the traditional way."
"Shut up, no I don't," Tristan said quickly.
Mark shook his head. "I didn't realize being around third graders would make you act like one."
"I'm not acting like a third grader."
"Fine, then you're in denial. More grown up?" he asked flatly. "I'm not a licensed professional in the mental health field. But my guess is, you've been telling yourself that you don't want to get married because you think she doesn't want to. I think it's a coping mechanism." Mark nodded, convinced that his assessment was accurate.
"Stop trying to psychoanalyze me," Tristan said indignantly.
"Sure thing. I don't want to be in your head any more than you do."
Tristan didn't say anything. He just glowered as he drummed his fingers on his desk for a while, wondering how he should proceed.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
A couple hours later, Tristan was parked in front of Olivia's art studio. He wondered why she hadn't closed up yet. He had been sitting in his car for about ten minutes, trying to decide if he was going to go up or not. He still didn't know what he was going to say, but was hoping something would come to him when he saw Rory. He wondered if she maybe went back home for the weekend. It would make sense. Then he thought about how she'd probably go to dinner at her grandparents—and they'd ask about him. He cringed. He could only hope that she told them that he had to work.
Tristan shook his head. "This is stupid," he said to himself as he grabbed a couple plastic bags from the passenger side seat. He got out of his car and went to the art gallery door.
Olivia met him, she had the building keys. "Finally. I was wondering if you were ever coming in," she said as she locked the door behind him.
"Oh. Sorry," he said. "Uh, is Rory here?"
"Yeah, of course. They're upstairs."
They? Tristan wondered as he walked to the back stairs. He went up to the second floor and stopped when he was in front of Rory's door. He lifted his hand and paused. He exhaled determinedly and knocked. It felt odd to do so, he hadn't knocked on her door in a while.
He felt nervous when he heard the locks being undone. The door swung open and Rory was on the other side. He noted that she didn't blush when she saw him this time. On the contrary, she looked pale. She even looked a little worried.
He point back towards the stairs. "Uh, I can go, if you don't want—"
He was cut off when Rory stepped forward and hugged him—rather tightly. "Um, hi?" he said, confused. He started to wonder if Wednesday happened. He was pretty sure it had. It was a pretty vivid memory. "Are you okay?" he asked her.
The side of her face was pressed against his chest and he felt her nod.
"I'm fine. Come in," she said, pulling him inside.
He watched her as she looked both ways down the hallway before she closed the door. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," she said as she relocked the door. She turned to face him and looked him over. "How are you?"
"Fine," he answered slowly. He glanced over into the living room and saw two boys sitting in front of a board game. If he had to guess, he'd say they were nine years old. He felt like he was a pretty good judge at this point.
He turned back to Rory. "I know I haven't seen you in a day or so, but I didn't think that was enough time for you to have a couple Asian kids."
She pursed her lips. "That's Steve and Kwan. Lane's kids. I'm baby-sitting this weekend. I'm pretty sure you've met them."
"I don't think we've been formally introduced."
"Boys," Rory called out as she walked toward them. "You know Tristan, don't you?" she asked them.
The identical black haired boys looked up at him. One boy nodded and the other shook his head, "No."
"Oh, well. That's Tristan," Rory told them.
Tristan held up a hand as a wave
"Hi," both boys said.
"Is it my turn?" Rory asked them.
"Yes," one of the boys answered.
Rory tossed a dice and moved her playing piece. When she'd finished her turn, she headed for the kitchen and gestured for Tristan to follow.
He put the bags he had on the kitchen island. "I brought food," he explained as he showed her the Chinese food in one of the bags.
Rory checked out the other bag, which was full of Pop Tarts. "Are you feeding an army?"
"No, just you. But isn't it about the same?"
She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so," she took the boxes over to the pantry.
"I thought you might be out. You were running low the last time I was here," Tristan said anxiously. "Uh, Wednesday."
"Right, Wednesday," Rory said, turning back to him slowly. "Sorry I overacted."
"What?" Tristan asked. He was the one who was supposed to be apologizing. What the hell was going on tonight?
Rory nodded. "I blew the whole thing out of proportion. I mean, you were just joking around."
"Oh, uh, yeah. But I was still pretty stupid," he said with knit brows. "I didn't really know what I was doing."
"It's okay," she insisted again. "It was just a prize, no big deal. Don't worry about it."
Tristan wasn't sure why he was getting off the hook so easily. But he also wasn't going to press the issue. It wasn't like he came up with anything to say for himself. Other than what Mark said that afternoon before they left work. Tristan definitely wasn't going to use that as his explanation.
"Uh, anyway," he went on. He decided to change the subject. Might as well, she was letting his stupidity slide. "I went home tonight. But I realized something."
"What?" Rory asked.
"I don't really like it there anymore."
"That's probably because all the stuff you like is here," she reasoned. "You knew that already."
"Yeah, all the stuff I really love is here," he agreed, looking at her meaningfully.
Rory stared back at him for a moment.
She cleared her throat and pointed to the living room. "Uh, I think it's my turn. I'll be right back."
Tristan smelled something in the oven and he got up to investigate. There were chicken nuggets and French fries baking. So, he turned back to the Chinese he'd brought and stuck it in the refrigerator.
"I think I'm losing the game," Rory commented as she returned.
"I can make you a winner later," Tristan said without thinking. His eyes widened guiltily. "Sorry, that was inappropriate."
Rory raised a brow at him. "You're just being true to yourself."
Tristan thought she was being awfully forgiving of him tonight.
The timer went off on the microwave and Rory grabbed a potholder before she took the pan out of the oven. Tristan found some clean plates and condiments, then took it all to the island.
"Steve, Kwan, dinner's ready," she called.
The boys came in and Tristan gave them each a plate. Everyone helped themselves to the fries and chicken nuggets before going to the living room. Steve and Kwan took a seat on the floor and Tristan and Rory sat on the couch.
"Okay, did you guys decide what movie to watch?" Rory asked as she turned on television.
"Spy Kids," Steve and Kwan said at the same time.
Tristan tilted his head closer to Rory and asked, "Do they do that all the time?"
"Only enough to be cute, but not enough to be annoying," she answered reassuringly.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Later that night, Rory was in the kitchen by herself. She was sitting at the island, which was half covered with papers. Everyone was in the living room. Steve and Kwan passed on the spare bedroom, instead opting to camp out on the living room floor. Rory had them get ready for bed before they fell asleep during the movie. And sure enough, they were out like lights an hour later. That included Tristan, from his place on the couch.
Rory was looking through the information she had about the jewelry heist and subsequent shooting. She also checked out the list of contacts stored in her phone. She had five names circled. They were names of people she didn't need numbers for anymore, but planned checked out. Since the person calling her was a male, she crossed off three of the female. That left her with two. And she knew which one she wanted to find out about first.
When she heard Tristan get up and head for the kitchen, she put the list in the folder and closed it.
"Hey," he said in a drowsy voice. "What are you doing in here?"
"Just going over some stuff for work," she answered, not completely untruthfully. "I wrote a review about that Italian place we went to last weekend."
"Oh. Yeah, that place was good," he said as he went to the sink and ran some water for the dirty dishes. He turned to her while he waited for the sink to fill. Rory thought he looked a little pensive. But maybe he was just tired. "What are you going to do next?" he inquired.
Rory shrugged. "I'm not sure. I might work my way through all the sections of the paper before I get back to crime," she answered. Then she smiled. "I'm thinking I might do sports next."
"What?" Tristan asked as he turned the hot water off. He seemed confused, and she couldn't really blame him.
"Yeah. Maybe they'll let me write a column. It'll be from a woman's perspective, for other women like me—who don't know anything about sports. I can highlight the important parts."
"That isn't what I meant."
"What did you mean then?"
"I meant, what are you going to do after the Daily News?"
Rory frowned. "What do you mean?" she asked again, slower this time.
"You were taking a break from politics, right?" he asked.
Rory walked over to the sink to dry the dishes as he washed them. "Yeah."
"It was just a break, though, wasn't it—just for now?"
"Well, kind of. But I haven't really felt the desire to go back. Our lawmakers act like a bunch of selfish children. They haven't made me eager to return."
"Still," Tristan went on. "You want to write about more important things than crime in New York, don't you?"
"Why? Don't you think crime is important?"
He shrugged. "Sure. It's just smaller scale than what you want to do," he said as he handed her a wet dish. "Right?"
"I guess."
"I mean, if a revolution broke out in northern Africa," Tristan continued, "you'd want to go cover it, wouldn't you?"
Rory was wondering where this was all coming from. "I'm not sure."
"Nah, you'd want to go," he said assuredly. "It's what you've always wanted to do. It'd be a no brainer."
She thought for a minute. "Hypothetically, I'd want to go."
"Hypothetical isn't real," he said.
"No. It's hypothetical."
"What is there to think about?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the dish he was rinsing off.
"Well," she started slowly as she put a stack of plates in the cabinet, "take the presidential campaign, for example. It wasn't as glamorous as you'd think. It can be pretty grueling." She thought about it some more. "I did learn a couple important things, though."
"Like what?"
"First of all, I learned that I have to have respect for the people that I'm writing about. I don't like writing about people who don't deserve the attention." She frowned. "I don't really want to be a pundit either. No one ever thinks good things about pundits."
"Okay," Tristan said. "What was the other thing you learned?"
"Well, after traveling for so long on the campaign trail, even though I was proud of the work I did, it still felt good to come home. Coming home felt just as rewarding as filing reports." She tried to summarize her point, "If I go out to cover a big important story, I want to know where home is."
Tristan shrugged. "In my experience, a house is not a home."
"That's true," she said. She thought about what her mother had said the night before, about having someone who was there no matter what. She also remembered that she didn't want to spook him again. She continued carefully, "It's the people there that make it home." She glanced at him timidly.
He nodded. "Yeah," he agreed as he let the water out of the sink. "That makes a difference."
Rory hoped he wasn't saying that absentmindedly. He turned to her. A couple seconds ticked by before she asked, "So what do you want to do now?"
"Go to bed."
"To do what?"
"Sleep."
"Want to do anything else first?" She wiggled her eyebrows a little.
He frowned and glanced in the living room. "What?"
She nodded. "You haven't been here in a couple days. Come on," she said, tilting her head toward the hall. She took his hand and pulled, but he didn't move.
"The boys are right in there," he protested.
"So? They're asleep."
"So, I don't know. It doesn't feel right."
"Maybe that's because we're standing in the kitchen. Come on."
He was still hesitant.
She furrowed her brows at him. "Do you think Lane and Zach haven't had sex in ten years?"
"Shh," he said as he put a finger to his lips and nervously glanced in the living room again. He shrugged and answered, "Probably."
She laughed a little and shook her head. "I don't think so." She let his hand go before she turned and walked down the hall.
Tristan followed. "You're like the worst baby-sitter ever," he said. "Or the best. I'm not sure."
"There's a fine line," Rory said as they walked into the bedroom and she closed the door behind them.
