A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed the first two chapters. You guys are
great (and hilarious!) I just want to remind you that patience is a virtue
and you will be rewarded as I am a literati to my very core. Remember
though, life is not just a destination. The joy's in the ride, my friends.
Please sit back and enjoy the tour, err. . . story. (You know what I
mean.)
Special note to Someone - Nobody hates Dean more than me (except maybe you.) Trust me, I am going someplace nice with this fic. Scout's honor!
. . .
. . .
. . .
'God, he's infuriating,' Rory thinks as she walks to the Inn. It is cold outside but her jacket swings open, unbuttoned, her irritation distracting her from the wind that tugs and lifts the corners of her jacket. Her thoughts come to her in random order without the benefit of chronological sequence to help her sort them, make sense of them. Her mind racing, she allows the thoughts to enter at will. She examines each rapidly and then carelessly thrusts it aside to turn attention to a newly entering thought. Periodically, she sifts back through previously discarded ones searching for a lost idea only to quickly become distracted by a new thought, a new emotion. Thoughts bounce, careen, skitter, crash into each other, bunch in corners, twirl, tilt, whirl, and slide around in her brain.
'Where does he get off criticizing my relationship with Dean?' she thinks. Enter second random thought. 'Does Michel drive stick? Could be a problem.' File that. Become angry again. 'They're together freaking constantly and I have yet to hear her utter a complete sentence. I mean, seriously, can she even read? I bet only Cosmo. God, I hope she makes him take the quiz with her. It would so completely serve him right.' Stop. Low flying thought coming in at 80 miles per hour. 'And for his information, I built a model of the solar system when I was six years old! The damn thing was to scale and the planets rotated. I even added the space shuttle! Didn't mom take a picture of it? I wonder where that is?' Abrupt halt. Sudden course change, 25 degrees to starboard on my mark. Go! 'In the grand scheme of things, it's just a little unimportant fib. A half-truth really. Barely even a lie, more like a lie-let. Lie-lette? Mini-lie?' Put that on hold. Return to Shane. 'I bet she thinks John Irving is a basketball player.' Stream of consciousness shift. Basketball player. Tall. Dean. 'He's going to rent Lord of the Rings. It's not a bad flick but those hairy hobbit feet kinda freak me out. At least Viggo Mortensen is hot. Sigh. . . so is Jess. Ack! Where did that come from?' Return to earlier thought. 'Fiblet?' Careen mind to kiss at Diner. 'I bet she doesn't floss. I hope he gets scurvy. . . or mono. . . or tonsillitis. . . Talk about serving him right.' Enter new emotion. 'I've really missed talking to him.' Pause. Feel pain. Snap out of it. Return to original emotion. 'I mean, it's easy for him to judge when he has never had to deal with an irrational jealous boyfriend. God, I hope he's never had to deal with a jealous boyfriend.' Become frustrated. 'Damn, damn, damn. . .'
Logical Rory has left the building.
Without noticing, Rory has reached the Inn. On autopilot, she walks inside and makes her way across the lobby.
"You!" Michel shouts at Rory.
Shocked out of her stupor, Rory looks at Michel. He is standing behind the Inn's Front Desk eyeing her warily. "Huh?" she replies.
"You are to take my car to be serviced today?"
"Oh," she says remembering why she has come to the Inn. "Yeah. Is your car- "
"I assume you have a valid drivers license," Michel interrupts.
"Of course I do."
"Show it to me."
"Why? I just told you that I have one. Do you think mom would let me drive without a license?"
"I want to check your restrictions."
"I don't have any restrictions, Michel."
"Hmm. . ." Michel pauses, critically inspecting her up and down as if her appearance will provide clues about her driving ability. "Show it to me anyway."
Rolling her eyes, Rory sloughs off her backpack as she approaches the Front Desk. The heavy bag hits the counter with a loud thud as she begins digging through it in search of her wallet. 'Oh, The Lovely Bones,' she thinks as she finds the Alice Sebold book wedged at the bottom of her bag. 'I've been looking for that.' Michel interrupts her thoughts.
"Have you ever been in any accidents?" Michel interrogates her.
"None that were my fault," she answers absentmindedly, locating her wallet next to her spare pair of Chilton tights. Opening it, she begins fishing through the compartments for her license.
"What is this? I was not told you have damaged cars in the past," Michel exclaims. "I insist you tell me about your driving history. Do you have a drinking problem?" he asks narrowing his eyes.
"What? No. One time a deer hit my car and then another time, I was eating ice cream and my. . . uh. . . 'friend' totaled my car but that was really the fault of the furry thing," she explains, finding her license and handing it to him.
"You hit a deer?"
"No, the deer hit me. It came out of nowhere and slammed into my car."
"How is this possible?"
"Oh, it happens all the time. Apparently a large portion of the deer population is suicidal."
"And the second time, there was another creature involved?"
"Jess."
"No, a small furry scampering creature."
"Oh right. Sorry. Yeah, some sort of four-legged mammal thing. It was fast, I didn't get a good look at it."
"So you are like the pied piper, summoning animals to cars."
"No. Well, I guess twice. . . but I will try to use my powers only for good from now on."
"You are fired," he declares handing back her drivers license unexamined.
"You can't fire me. I'm free."
"I'm sorry but I believe I have a right to participate in this conversation," says Kirk, walking up next to Rory.
"What rude intrusion!" Michel states. "This does not concern you."
"As the principal doer of odd jobs in Stars Hollow, I feel I should receive the right of first refusal on all errands that need running. Rory," he addresses her, "if you are going to go into competition with me, I'll need to see your articles of incorporation and insist that you be bonded, insured, and licensed to operate by the town council."
"I am not starting an errand service, Kirk," she informs him. "Mom asked me to help Michel and I'm not getting paid."
"Yes, that is also troubling," Kirk continues. "A glut of free labor in this economy will only drive prices down. I must demand that you charge him."
"What!?" Michel sputters. "You cannot demand such a thing."
"Your price quote should be in writing, if possible," Kirk says to Rory. Turning to Michel he continues, "Then, I'd like to be granted a reasonable amount of time to respond with a counteroffer of my own. Three days should be enough time for me to put together a proposal for you."
"You are a crazy man. Get out of my Inn." Michel orders.
"My rates are really very reasonable." Kirk replies calmly. "I also have excellent references."
"Here," Michel says, handing Rory his car keys. "You are not to leave my car unattended for any reason. If you must park it, ensure that there is at least one open parking place on each side. If that is not possible, park only next to 4-door sedans of the same color. I know exactly how much gas is in the tank and how many miles are on the odometer. If you take it for a 'joy ride' I will know. You are not to eat, drink, smoke, or chew gum while driving my car. Do not change the radio station preset buttons. This will make me very unhappy. I expect servicing to take no more than two hours. If you do not have my car back in that time, I will call the police and report it stolen. Is this clear?"
"I am so going to kill my mother," Rory says as she takes his keys and heads to the parking lot.
"By the way, you have some dirt on your forehead," Kirk calls after her. To Michel, he asks, "Do you have any dry cleaning you need picked up?"
Michel eyes him imperiously and resumes working.
"I also walk dogs, except Chihuahuas. I've developed some sort of allergy to them that causes my throat to swell shut. I have the same reaction to certain types of mold." Kirk informs Michel.
An hour and forty-five uneventful minutes later, Rory is back at the Inn. This time, Sookie is behind the front desk. Smiling, Rory approaches her.
"Are you forsaking cooking to pursue a career in hotel reception?" Rory asks.
"Hi Honey!" Sookie trills in greeting to Rory. "No, I'm just holding down the fort while your mom and Michel haggle with the insulation people. They are a cranky bunch. Go figure. Are you here to see your mom?"
"Yep," Rory replies. "Or Michel. How long do you think they'll be?"
"Probably not much longer. The yelling has died down so they must be finishing up."
"I'll just wait in the lobby then."
"Ok, sugar. Stop by the kitchen before you leave and I'll brew you some fresh coffee."
"Thanks Sookie," Rory replies smiling broadly.
Rory wanders into the lobby and sinks into an overstuffed armchair. Partially hidden behind a large potted palm, she exhales deeply and reaches into her book bag to retrieve The Lovely Bones. Opening the book to the marked page, she begins to read. The words, thick and lush, draw her into their world and Rory becomes captured in the thoughts of the dead, the actions of the living.
"Are you hiding from me or the insulation people?" Lorelei asks. "At this point, I'd understand if it was either one of us, although I hope it's the insulation guys. I mean, it's not like they're the Hells Angels, but I swear, they're close."
"It's neither," Rory assures her as she stands to stretch. Walking over to Lorelei, she hugs her.
"Definitely them, huh? Good!" Lorelei deduces, returning the hug. Pulling away, she looks at Rory, "Was it terrible?"
"Ugh. You owe me."
"You can have my first born child. Oh wait. . . you are my first born child. Lucky you. Name your price, except for my first born which we've already covered why you can't have, and it's yours."
"Well," Rory stalls. "I'm going to hold this promise until I need it."
"Hmmm. . ." Lorelei states, narrowing her eyes. "What are you up to?"
"Nothing specific," Rory grins. "Sometime in the future when I ask you for something, I am simply going to remind you that you owe me."
"Oh, no. You are not getting a pony. We've been all through this."
"I haven't wanted a pony since I was 12."
"Don't try that reverse psychology on me. It won't work. No pony. That's final."
"Did I mention that Sookie's making coffee."
"No, and that should have been the first thing out of your mouth. Bad daughter! Bad!"
The two women walk towards the kitchen together.
"After all I've done for you today, you'd call me a bad daughter?"
"Apparently, yes. Wait. . . I thought you were going to get Dean to take care of Michel's car."
"That reminds me," Rory says, pulling Michel's keys out of her pocket and handing them to her mother. "Give these to him for me."
"Oohh. . . did you leave something good in his car?"
"I hung fuzzy dice on his rearview mirror," Rory answers grinning mischievously.
"That's my girl!"
The wonderful smell of fresh brewed coffee greets the pair as they enter the kitchen.
Several coffees later, tired and contemplative, Rory decides to take the shortcut home. The grassy lawns of the Inn, made dry and coarse by the fall weather, crunch under her feet. Rory inwardly congratulates herself over her deft change of subject away from Dean when her mother had asked about him. 'I am smooth,' she thinks grinning.
Nearing the bridge, she pauses, not entirely surprised to find a solitary figure sitting with his feet dangling off the side. He is smoking. She considers turning back but determines that her confident mood will sustain her through any potential encounter with Jess.
As she nears the bridge, he looks back at her. 'He knew I was coming. Wonder how,' she muses. Sitting next to him she says, "I thought you quit smoking."
"I'm a man of many vices," he replies.
Silence falls upon them as they both stare across the water.
"The Lovely Bones." Jess reads the title of the book in her hands.
She follows his gaze to her lap. She is surprised to see she still holds the book in her hand. After pulling it from her backpack at the Inn, she had not gotten around to tucking it away.
"It's good. Different. Have you read it?"
"It's not out in paperback yet," he offers without further comment.
Rory accepts his explanation.
"It's about a 14-year old girl who is raped and murdered by a neighbor. When the book opens, she's already in heaven."
"Sounds brutal."
"I guess in parts, it is," she muses. "It's really rather beautiful. Because she died suddenly and violently, she wasn't ready to give up her life on earth. She maintains a connection to her physical self by keeping watch over her family. The book tells the story of the family she left behind as they move through their grief, but it's all relayed from the perspective of the dead girl."
"Huh," is his only reply. He looks at her and wonders if she even remembers their earlier argument. 'If she was anyone else,' he thinks, 'I'd swear I was being played.' He concludes that Rory is incapable of intentionally keeping him off balance, confused. 'But does that make it any less wrong?' he questions silently.
"It's interesting. Her heaven is her high school, which she dreamed of attending but never got to. She takes only art classes and gets tested on the current issue of Seventeen because that's what she wants. The book contends that heaven is different for everyone. You know, you create your own heaven based on what your idea of heaven is."
Jess looks at her. Her heart beats faster. He looks at her neck studying her pulse. His gaze return to her face and he meets her eyes. He smirks. For some reason, this makes her blush.
"So what about you?" she asks.
"What about me?"
"What will your heaven be like?"
'This,' he thinks. He looks away from her to the water and instead says "I've never thought about it."
"You've never thought about dying?" she asks.
"I didn't say that."
"You've thought about dying but never thought about what happens afterwards?"
"Seemed like too much of a luxury. I've never let myself believe in things I can't see."
"C'mon," she entreats. "Pretend."
Growing uncomfortable, he asks more sharply than he means to, "What's your heaven like?"
"Hmm. . ." she replies thinking. She looks down for a moment then turns back to him, "there's definitely coffee in my heaven."
"I'm shocked."
"And my house, and my stuff, and my mom. . ."
"You heaven sounds a lot like here."
She smiles.
"I guess it does," she says. "My heaven is full of books. Not just the books I've read and loved but other books not found on earth. My heaven is full of authors who kept writing, even in death. Can you imagine A Confederacy of Dunces being simply the first book by John Kennedy Toole and not the only book by him? In the years since his suicide, he's been in heaven writing. His books are all there waiting for me. Not to mention new stuff by Ayn Rand, Jane Austen, C. S. Lewis, Alan Ginsberg. . ."
"John Kennedy Toole leaving the world having only written one book is tragic."
"Not to mention rude," she adds.
"Ignatius J. Reilly. Now there's another character that rivals Owen Meany in the originality department."
"Agreed," Rory smiles. "Ok, You've stalled long enough. I'd like your answer now please."
"My answer to what?"
"Jess, what's your heaven like?"
Jess pauses. 'How can I even begin to answer that question?' he thinks. 'The only heaven I've ever known, I've found on the pages of a book. Or with her.' He decides to risk it.
"Actually," he begins, making burning eye contact with Rory, "yours sounds pretty good. Mind if I share it?"
She inhales sharply. She feels the sensation of cold that she used to get as a kid making angels in the snow. Tingling, it passes and she feels herself blush. Not trusting her voice, she doesn't speak. Instead, she looks at him and nods her head.
He smiles.
"You and me hanging out in heaven's library?" she asks when her breathing permits it.
"I can think of worse things."
"There is no smoking in my heaven," she warns.
"I knew there'd be a catch."
"Well, it's my heaven you're borrowing."
"Will you at least allow Hemingway in the library?"
"If it will make you happy, yes," she whispers.
"Thanks," he whispers back.
She feels an unfamiliar sensation. 'This must be how parachutists feel,' she thinks. She looks back over the water briefly before standing on shaky legs.
"I have to go," she half explains, half apologizes.
He simply nods. She picks up her backpack and book and walks down the bridge towards her house. Reaching the bank, she glances back over her shoulder to find him regarding her thoughtfully. She smiles shyly before ducking her head and walking home.
Jess, too, feels an unfamiliar sensation. Absently, he thinks it might be love.
. . .
. . .
A/N: I live for reviews.
Special note to Someone - Nobody hates Dean more than me (except maybe you.) Trust me, I am going someplace nice with this fic. Scout's honor!
. . .
. . .
. . .
'God, he's infuriating,' Rory thinks as she walks to the Inn. It is cold outside but her jacket swings open, unbuttoned, her irritation distracting her from the wind that tugs and lifts the corners of her jacket. Her thoughts come to her in random order without the benefit of chronological sequence to help her sort them, make sense of them. Her mind racing, she allows the thoughts to enter at will. She examines each rapidly and then carelessly thrusts it aside to turn attention to a newly entering thought. Periodically, she sifts back through previously discarded ones searching for a lost idea only to quickly become distracted by a new thought, a new emotion. Thoughts bounce, careen, skitter, crash into each other, bunch in corners, twirl, tilt, whirl, and slide around in her brain.
'Where does he get off criticizing my relationship with Dean?' she thinks. Enter second random thought. 'Does Michel drive stick? Could be a problem.' File that. Become angry again. 'They're together freaking constantly and I have yet to hear her utter a complete sentence. I mean, seriously, can she even read? I bet only Cosmo. God, I hope she makes him take the quiz with her. It would so completely serve him right.' Stop. Low flying thought coming in at 80 miles per hour. 'And for his information, I built a model of the solar system when I was six years old! The damn thing was to scale and the planets rotated. I even added the space shuttle! Didn't mom take a picture of it? I wonder where that is?' Abrupt halt. Sudden course change, 25 degrees to starboard on my mark. Go! 'In the grand scheme of things, it's just a little unimportant fib. A half-truth really. Barely even a lie, more like a lie-let. Lie-lette? Mini-lie?' Put that on hold. Return to Shane. 'I bet she thinks John Irving is a basketball player.' Stream of consciousness shift. Basketball player. Tall. Dean. 'He's going to rent Lord of the Rings. It's not a bad flick but those hairy hobbit feet kinda freak me out. At least Viggo Mortensen is hot. Sigh. . . so is Jess. Ack! Where did that come from?' Return to earlier thought. 'Fiblet?' Careen mind to kiss at Diner. 'I bet she doesn't floss. I hope he gets scurvy. . . or mono. . . or tonsillitis. . . Talk about serving him right.' Enter new emotion. 'I've really missed talking to him.' Pause. Feel pain. Snap out of it. Return to original emotion. 'I mean, it's easy for him to judge when he has never had to deal with an irrational jealous boyfriend. God, I hope he's never had to deal with a jealous boyfriend.' Become frustrated. 'Damn, damn, damn. . .'
Logical Rory has left the building.
Without noticing, Rory has reached the Inn. On autopilot, she walks inside and makes her way across the lobby.
"You!" Michel shouts at Rory.
Shocked out of her stupor, Rory looks at Michel. He is standing behind the Inn's Front Desk eyeing her warily. "Huh?" she replies.
"You are to take my car to be serviced today?"
"Oh," she says remembering why she has come to the Inn. "Yeah. Is your car- "
"I assume you have a valid drivers license," Michel interrupts.
"Of course I do."
"Show it to me."
"Why? I just told you that I have one. Do you think mom would let me drive without a license?"
"I want to check your restrictions."
"I don't have any restrictions, Michel."
"Hmm. . ." Michel pauses, critically inspecting her up and down as if her appearance will provide clues about her driving ability. "Show it to me anyway."
Rolling her eyes, Rory sloughs off her backpack as she approaches the Front Desk. The heavy bag hits the counter with a loud thud as she begins digging through it in search of her wallet. 'Oh, The Lovely Bones,' she thinks as she finds the Alice Sebold book wedged at the bottom of her bag. 'I've been looking for that.' Michel interrupts her thoughts.
"Have you ever been in any accidents?" Michel interrogates her.
"None that were my fault," she answers absentmindedly, locating her wallet next to her spare pair of Chilton tights. Opening it, she begins fishing through the compartments for her license.
"What is this? I was not told you have damaged cars in the past," Michel exclaims. "I insist you tell me about your driving history. Do you have a drinking problem?" he asks narrowing his eyes.
"What? No. One time a deer hit my car and then another time, I was eating ice cream and my. . . uh. . . 'friend' totaled my car but that was really the fault of the furry thing," she explains, finding her license and handing it to him.
"You hit a deer?"
"No, the deer hit me. It came out of nowhere and slammed into my car."
"How is this possible?"
"Oh, it happens all the time. Apparently a large portion of the deer population is suicidal."
"And the second time, there was another creature involved?"
"Jess."
"No, a small furry scampering creature."
"Oh right. Sorry. Yeah, some sort of four-legged mammal thing. It was fast, I didn't get a good look at it."
"So you are like the pied piper, summoning animals to cars."
"No. Well, I guess twice. . . but I will try to use my powers only for good from now on."
"You are fired," he declares handing back her drivers license unexamined.
"You can't fire me. I'm free."
"I'm sorry but I believe I have a right to participate in this conversation," says Kirk, walking up next to Rory.
"What rude intrusion!" Michel states. "This does not concern you."
"As the principal doer of odd jobs in Stars Hollow, I feel I should receive the right of first refusal on all errands that need running. Rory," he addresses her, "if you are going to go into competition with me, I'll need to see your articles of incorporation and insist that you be bonded, insured, and licensed to operate by the town council."
"I am not starting an errand service, Kirk," she informs him. "Mom asked me to help Michel and I'm not getting paid."
"Yes, that is also troubling," Kirk continues. "A glut of free labor in this economy will only drive prices down. I must demand that you charge him."
"What!?" Michel sputters. "You cannot demand such a thing."
"Your price quote should be in writing, if possible," Kirk says to Rory. Turning to Michel he continues, "Then, I'd like to be granted a reasonable amount of time to respond with a counteroffer of my own. Three days should be enough time for me to put together a proposal for you."
"You are a crazy man. Get out of my Inn." Michel orders.
"My rates are really very reasonable." Kirk replies calmly. "I also have excellent references."
"Here," Michel says, handing Rory his car keys. "You are not to leave my car unattended for any reason. If you must park it, ensure that there is at least one open parking place on each side. If that is not possible, park only next to 4-door sedans of the same color. I know exactly how much gas is in the tank and how many miles are on the odometer. If you take it for a 'joy ride' I will know. You are not to eat, drink, smoke, or chew gum while driving my car. Do not change the radio station preset buttons. This will make me very unhappy. I expect servicing to take no more than two hours. If you do not have my car back in that time, I will call the police and report it stolen. Is this clear?"
"I am so going to kill my mother," Rory says as she takes his keys and heads to the parking lot.
"By the way, you have some dirt on your forehead," Kirk calls after her. To Michel, he asks, "Do you have any dry cleaning you need picked up?"
Michel eyes him imperiously and resumes working.
"I also walk dogs, except Chihuahuas. I've developed some sort of allergy to them that causes my throat to swell shut. I have the same reaction to certain types of mold." Kirk informs Michel.
An hour and forty-five uneventful minutes later, Rory is back at the Inn. This time, Sookie is behind the front desk. Smiling, Rory approaches her.
"Are you forsaking cooking to pursue a career in hotel reception?" Rory asks.
"Hi Honey!" Sookie trills in greeting to Rory. "No, I'm just holding down the fort while your mom and Michel haggle with the insulation people. They are a cranky bunch. Go figure. Are you here to see your mom?"
"Yep," Rory replies. "Or Michel. How long do you think they'll be?"
"Probably not much longer. The yelling has died down so they must be finishing up."
"I'll just wait in the lobby then."
"Ok, sugar. Stop by the kitchen before you leave and I'll brew you some fresh coffee."
"Thanks Sookie," Rory replies smiling broadly.
Rory wanders into the lobby and sinks into an overstuffed armchair. Partially hidden behind a large potted palm, she exhales deeply and reaches into her book bag to retrieve The Lovely Bones. Opening the book to the marked page, she begins to read. The words, thick and lush, draw her into their world and Rory becomes captured in the thoughts of the dead, the actions of the living.
"Are you hiding from me or the insulation people?" Lorelei asks. "At this point, I'd understand if it was either one of us, although I hope it's the insulation guys. I mean, it's not like they're the Hells Angels, but I swear, they're close."
"It's neither," Rory assures her as she stands to stretch. Walking over to Lorelei, she hugs her.
"Definitely them, huh? Good!" Lorelei deduces, returning the hug. Pulling away, she looks at Rory, "Was it terrible?"
"Ugh. You owe me."
"You can have my first born child. Oh wait. . . you are my first born child. Lucky you. Name your price, except for my first born which we've already covered why you can't have, and it's yours."
"Well," Rory stalls. "I'm going to hold this promise until I need it."
"Hmmm. . ." Lorelei states, narrowing her eyes. "What are you up to?"
"Nothing specific," Rory grins. "Sometime in the future when I ask you for something, I am simply going to remind you that you owe me."
"Oh, no. You are not getting a pony. We've been all through this."
"I haven't wanted a pony since I was 12."
"Don't try that reverse psychology on me. It won't work. No pony. That's final."
"Did I mention that Sookie's making coffee."
"No, and that should have been the first thing out of your mouth. Bad daughter! Bad!"
The two women walk towards the kitchen together.
"After all I've done for you today, you'd call me a bad daughter?"
"Apparently, yes. Wait. . . I thought you were going to get Dean to take care of Michel's car."
"That reminds me," Rory says, pulling Michel's keys out of her pocket and handing them to her mother. "Give these to him for me."
"Oohh. . . did you leave something good in his car?"
"I hung fuzzy dice on his rearview mirror," Rory answers grinning mischievously.
"That's my girl!"
The wonderful smell of fresh brewed coffee greets the pair as they enter the kitchen.
Several coffees later, tired and contemplative, Rory decides to take the shortcut home. The grassy lawns of the Inn, made dry and coarse by the fall weather, crunch under her feet. Rory inwardly congratulates herself over her deft change of subject away from Dean when her mother had asked about him. 'I am smooth,' she thinks grinning.
Nearing the bridge, she pauses, not entirely surprised to find a solitary figure sitting with his feet dangling off the side. He is smoking. She considers turning back but determines that her confident mood will sustain her through any potential encounter with Jess.
As she nears the bridge, he looks back at her. 'He knew I was coming. Wonder how,' she muses. Sitting next to him she says, "I thought you quit smoking."
"I'm a man of many vices," he replies.
Silence falls upon them as they both stare across the water.
"The Lovely Bones." Jess reads the title of the book in her hands.
She follows his gaze to her lap. She is surprised to see she still holds the book in her hand. After pulling it from her backpack at the Inn, she had not gotten around to tucking it away.
"It's good. Different. Have you read it?"
"It's not out in paperback yet," he offers without further comment.
Rory accepts his explanation.
"It's about a 14-year old girl who is raped and murdered by a neighbor. When the book opens, she's already in heaven."
"Sounds brutal."
"I guess in parts, it is," she muses. "It's really rather beautiful. Because she died suddenly and violently, she wasn't ready to give up her life on earth. She maintains a connection to her physical self by keeping watch over her family. The book tells the story of the family she left behind as they move through their grief, but it's all relayed from the perspective of the dead girl."
"Huh," is his only reply. He looks at her and wonders if she even remembers their earlier argument. 'If she was anyone else,' he thinks, 'I'd swear I was being played.' He concludes that Rory is incapable of intentionally keeping him off balance, confused. 'But does that make it any less wrong?' he questions silently.
"It's interesting. Her heaven is her high school, which she dreamed of attending but never got to. She takes only art classes and gets tested on the current issue of Seventeen because that's what she wants. The book contends that heaven is different for everyone. You know, you create your own heaven based on what your idea of heaven is."
Jess looks at her. Her heart beats faster. He looks at her neck studying her pulse. His gaze return to her face and he meets her eyes. He smirks. For some reason, this makes her blush.
"So what about you?" she asks.
"What about me?"
"What will your heaven be like?"
'This,' he thinks. He looks away from her to the water and instead says "I've never thought about it."
"You've never thought about dying?" she asks.
"I didn't say that."
"You've thought about dying but never thought about what happens afterwards?"
"Seemed like too much of a luxury. I've never let myself believe in things I can't see."
"C'mon," she entreats. "Pretend."
Growing uncomfortable, he asks more sharply than he means to, "What's your heaven like?"
"Hmm. . ." she replies thinking. She looks down for a moment then turns back to him, "there's definitely coffee in my heaven."
"I'm shocked."
"And my house, and my stuff, and my mom. . ."
"You heaven sounds a lot like here."
She smiles.
"I guess it does," she says. "My heaven is full of books. Not just the books I've read and loved but other books not found on earth. My heaven is full of authors who kept writing, even in death. Can you imagine A Confederacy of Dunces being simply the first book by John Kennedy Toole and not the only book by him? In the years since his suicide, he's been in heaven writing. His books are all there waiting for me. Not to mention new stuff by Ayn Rand, Jane Austen, C. S. Lewis, Alan Ginsberg. . ."
"John Kennedy Toole leaving the world having only written one book is tragic."
"Not to mention rude," she adds.
"Ignatius J. Reilly. Now there's another character that rivals Owen Meany in the originality department."
"Agreed," Rory smiles. "Ok, You've stalled long enough. I'd like your answer now please."
"My answer to what?"
"Jess, what's your heaven like?"
Jess pauses. 'How can I even begin to answer that question?' he thinks. 'The only heaven I've ever known, I've found on the pages of a book. Or with her.' He decides to risk it.
"Actually," he begins, making burning eye contact with Rory, "yours sounds pretty good. Mind if I share it?"
She inhales sharply. She feels the sensation of cold that she used to get as a kid making angels in the snow. Tingling, it passes and she feels herself blush. Not trusting her voice, she doesn't speak. Instead, she looks at him and nods her head.
He smiles.
"You and me hanging out in heaven's library?" she asks when her breathing permits it.
"I can think of worse things."
"There is no smoking in my heaven," she warns.
"I knew there'd be a catch."
"Well, it's my heaven you're borrowing."
"Will you at least allow Hemingway in the library?"
"If it will make you happy, yes," she whispers.
"Thanks," he whispers back.
She feels an unfamiliar sensation. 'This must be how parachutists feel,' she thinks. She looks back over the water briefly before standing on shaky legs.
"I have to go," she half explains, half apologizes.
He simply nods. She picks up her backpack and book and walks down the bridge towards her house. Reaching the bank, she glances back over her shoulder to find him regarding her thoughtfully. She smiles shyly before ducking her head and walking home.
Jess, too, feels an unfamiliar sensation. Absently, he thinks it might be love.
. . .
. . .
A/N: I live for reviews.