Prelude: Luke
Stars Hollow, 1984
As I approached the little house, hefting the weight of my dad's toolbox, an unmistakable noise assaulted my ears. My dread for this job grew to actual fear. I could tolerate anything but a screaming baby.
I rapped on the door. Seconds ticked by. I contemplated escape.
The door flew open and a skinny girl snapped, "What?"
"Uh. Hi --"
"Do you know anything about babies?"
"Um--"
"Like why they scream for three hours straight? Is that normal? The book says it's normal but she won't stop! Three hours. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. For the love of God, tell me you know something about babies!"
"I -- I know about plumbing."
"Huh?"
"I'm Luke Danes. My dad said you need your sink fixed?"
"Your dad?" She looked me up and down and seemed to disapprove.
"Yeah. William Danes. Owns the hardware store?" I showed her the sales slip. "You bought some pipes yesterday and said you didn't know how to install them."
"So you're here to fix my sink? Just like that? You're, what, the sink elf?"
"I'm someone who's trying to fix your sink," I said, ignoring her tone.
"Well, Luke, that's nice but I can't afford to hire a plumber --"
"No, you don't have to pay. It's just a quick job," I said, embarrassed.
"Oh. Well. Thanks." She stood there, looking conflicted.
"I can't reach the sink from here."
"Oh! Right. Come in."
As I crossed the hardwood floor, she followed me, chattering. "I mean, really, I really appreciate this. I've been hauling water from the inn like Laura Ingalls Wilder."
I glanced at the source of the noise: a baby sitting fitfully in a crib that had "Heather" stenciled across the top. "'Heather'? Is she yours?"
"Hm? Oh, she's Rory. Someone leant me the crib. Yeah, she's mine."
I watched the girl pick the howling baby up and rock it on her hip. The girl couldn't be even as old as me.
I indicated the sink. "What's the problem?"
"Water's funny colors. It's really gross. I--" Just then, the baby's screaming reached a new degree of noise pollution.
"I can figure it out," I told her. But I continued to watch her. She looked exhausted. I glanced at the sales slip again: 'Lorelai Gilmore.' "Has she really been doing that for four hours?"
"Nonstop with changes in tune and melody. It's like my own private Cindi Lauper concert."
"Heavy. You have a phone?"
She pointed. I mentally reviewed the town's moms and made a selection based on availability if not temperament. Star Hollow's phone numbers are based on street and house number, so I dialed without looking the number up.
"Mrs. Kim? Hi, this is Luke Danes. . . . Yeah, William Danes. I'm at – I haven't done anything to it. It's Lorelai Gilmore's . . . right, the new girl. . . ." I hoped the words 'unwed teenage mother' didn't carry. "We're not sure if it's sick. . . . Yeah, here she is." I handed the phone to Lorelai. She stared at me a second before taking it.
"Hello?" she asked nervously. "Lorelai Gilmore. . . . I don't see how my age. . . . Sixteen. . . . Hartford. . . . Ten weeks. . . . Three hours."
At the phrase 'breast feeding' I quickly busied myself with the pipes under the sink.
About five minutes later, Lorelai hung up. Five minutes after that, the baby's screaming ebbed to half-hearted whimpers, and, by the time I'd gotten the old pipes out, became silence.
Lorelai knelt beside me. "She's gassy," she said. "I didn't burp her long enough last time I fed her."
I turned in her direction and was momentarily struck dumb: she was beautiful, and she was smiling at me. "Oh," I said.
"Thank you," she said.
"No problem."
"She gave me her phone number, and told me to call anytime except Sundays, mornings before nine, and weekdays after seven."
"Mrs. Kim has her limits."
"She was incredibly helpful. She kind of scolded me, though, and made me promise to go to church."
I chuckled. "Are you going to go?"
She made a face. "I guess I should, at least once. Since she was so helpful."
"Hand me that wrench?" She did. "You're from the city, huh?" I said from under the sink.
"No. Suburbs. Why?"
"No reason. This town's weird. It's like . . . Mayberry. There's all these dumb festivals, and no stoplights, and the arcade stinks. But people help each other. I complain about stuff, for good reason, but the thing is, you're never alone in Stars Hollow."
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