Lost and Found

Rory and Emily spent their first day in Florence cramming in as much sight-seeing as possible. They made all the obligatory stops: the Uffizi, the Duomo, the Accademia, Dante's house, and Ponte Vecchio among them. Even more than she had in Rome, standing in the Sistine Chapel and staring up at the Creation of Adam, Rory felt thrills up her spine as she approached the David, when she stood before Botticelli's Birth of Venus and Spring. The art, the architecture—she felt it was returning the curiosity that had always kept her moving forward before. Her head felt slightly clearer every day; she felt less weighed down, and when she woke each morning she was aware of having slept better than the night before. As she and Emily walked the Ponte Vecchio, fanning themselves, she was embarrassed to think that the humid stickiness of the Italian summer was sweating out the confusion and self-pitying anger she'd taken with her when she boarded the plane to Europe—it felt so cliché. In spite of that, she just wished she could see the same change in her grandmother.

Emily went to bed immediately after dinner that evening, complaining of a slight headache. She seemed pale, drawn. Rory curled up in an armchair in her own room, the copy of I Capture the Castle she picked up in London open on her knee. She read: "I write this sitting in the kitchen sink... I have found that sitting in a place where you have never sat before can be inspiring." Rory smiled—though the pages were stiff and new the words themselves were old friends of hers. She had not yet begun to tire of re-reading her favorites on this trip, but she looked forward to returning home and digging out her old booklist of "to read before I die" that each month grew exponentially, walking to the Stars Hollow book store and picking up a new paperback. As she ran her fingers over the print in the book, she was startled to find that going home was no longer exactly an inevitable but necessary evil. She fell asleep in her chair, the last words she could remember "THE CAT SAT ON THE MAT."

Emily knocked on Rory's door that morning and receiving no answer, let herself in. "Rory!" she cried. "What on earth are you doing? Did you sleep there all night?"

Rory lifted her head, inhaling slowly, blinking herself awake. "Grandma?" she said, and stuck her tongue out several times, making a face. "Did I swallow a cotton ball?" She sat forward and grabbed her neck. "Oh, geez," she groaned.

"Are you all right?" Emily asked, rushing to help her granddaughter out of her chair.

Rory nodded. "Just stiff. I must have—I was reading, I think I nodded off. What time is it?"

"Quarter to nine," Emily said. "I thought we'd get some breakfast downstairs, but it's a bit late now. We can stop at a café on our way to the marketplace. Why don't you go get ready?"

"Sure, Grandma," Rory said, sticking out her tongue again. "But is there a reason for the big hurry, hurry?"

Emily slipped her arm in Rory's and led her towards the bathroom, patting her hand. "We're going shopping," she said. "An early start allows us to make several passes and get the best deals."

"Grandma, are you—"

"Go on," Emily said, "a nice hot shower is just what you need after being in that chair all night."

Rory dressed in her lightest, coolest clothes and tied her hair back after her shower—a cool one, despite Emily's suggestion, because the air would be offensively hot today—and was rooting through her suitcase for sandals and a purse when Emily re-entered.

"There you are!" she said. "Shall we go?"

Rory raised her shoes triumphantly in her hand, declaring, "we shall!"

Emily allowed Rory to swallow a cup of espresso and bolt a croissant at a café across the street from the hotel before firmly placing her hand under her granddaughter's elbow and leading her into the early morning heat.

"I have a list, here, of things we should look out for," Emily said. "Florence has lovely leather products—do you think your mother would like a briefcase? I'm sure she has some tatty thing that she absolutely loves, but I think we can find something quite suitable for her here. I'd also like to get you a decent school bag, perhaps a wallet, and of course, a good pair of boots—"

"Grandma, I don't really need another pair of new boots," Rory said.

"Nonsense!" Emily said. "You can never have too many pairs of nice shoes."

Shopping in the market was an elaborate dance at which Emily was an expert. They made one slow revolution in their first target area, touching nothing, and another where they picked things up, considering them, but replaced them nonchalantly. At the third pass, they talked about the relative merits of this over that, what possible use a bag or a scarf or a filigree bracelet might have, but again, walked away, chatting idly. At this point, Emily insisted they stop and wait a while to return. They went to another café and stood at the bar, sipping espresso and sharing another pastry. Rory studied her grandmother, who still appeared pale and wan.

"Grandma? Are you okay? You seem sort of… quiet," she said.

Emily paused, her coffee cup halfway to her lips. "I'm fine," she said brusquely. "It's only the heat."

"If you're not feeling well, we can always go back to the hotel—I don't mind. I could use a nap myself," Rory said.

"Rory, we are in the middle of very delicate negotiations. There will be plenty of time for resting later. You needn't worry about me—you just tell me if you'd like to rest, we can stop for lunch early if we must," Emily replied, finishing her coffee and wiping her hands delicately on a napkin. "Shall we continue?"

An hour and a half later, Rory and Emily, laden with bags, met a bellboy from their hotel and put their new belongings on the back of his motor scooter, giving him a healthy tip to ensure that everything would indeed make it back to their room. Emily put her arm around Rory as they watched him ride away and they walked slowly away from the marketplace, searching for a place to lunch.

"Grandma, I don't speak Italian, but even I could tell that was some pretty fierce haggling. Nice job," Rory said. "And thanks so much—the wallet and the book bag, they're beautiful. And Mom's going to flip over that briefcase. It's amazing."

"It's not really a proper briefcase," Emily said with a sigh.

"That's why she'll love it. It's funky enough for Lorelai," Rory said.

They had a light lunch—Caprese salad and bruschetta—at a small restaurant on a narrow side street. The restaurant was cool and both women sipped their water, grateful for the respite from the humidity and heat of the market. Rory kept up a steady stream of talk as they waited for their food, talking of what was left to see, referencing the guide books she'd brought along, and finally returning to their purchases once more.

"I can't wait to see Mom's face when I show her those boots," Rory said. "I'm going to have to keep them under lock and key at the house."

Emily cut into a slice of tomato and mozzarella, spearing it with her fork. "Are you looking forward to going home?" she asked.

Rory shrugged. "I miss Mom, and I miss Lane. There are—there are things I'm not anxious to get back to, but I don't think I'm dreading it, or anything. I have been having a wonderful time, Grandma, really. It's been such a good trip."

"I was thinking, perhaps, of extending our stay. Another week?" Emily said, reaching for her water glass.

Rory's mouth fell open. "I—I don't know—Grandma, I still have—I mean, I'd love to stay another week, spend more time with you, but there's a lot to do at home before I go to school, and I'm—I need to make sure I give myself enough time to get ready for the fall when I get back, and I haven't hung out with Mom at all since school ended or helped out at the Inn, and—there's just—I think I need to go back when we planned. Is that—is that okay?"

"Of course," Emily said, smiling as she laid her fork down. "I was just thinking out loud."

"Grandma," Rory said hesitantly, "don't you want to go back?"

Emily motioned to the waiter to come over. "I don't know, Rory," she said. "Vorrei una bottiglia di vino rosa. Grazie."

"You don't know? Grandma—"

Emily sighed. "It's nothing, Rory, really. I'm just not sure what there is to go back to."

Rory felt tears sting her eyes. "There's everything, Grandma—there's me, and Mom, and your work, and Grandpa. He loves you, Grandma, he does."

She smiled sadly. "I know he does, Rory. But that's not always enough; I think you know that."

"But, Grandma—" she began again.

Emily accepted the jug of wine the waiter brought over and poured herself a glass. "I have spent this year realizing the many ways in which I am expendable, Rory." She took a sip of wine and lifted her eyes to look at her granddaughter. "It's quite an uncomfortable discovery to make, you know, the one that tells you you are irrelevant."

"Oh, Grandma," Rory whispered. "No. That's not true."

Emily covered Rory's hand with her own. "I think you probably know best—we should go home just as planned."

"And then?"

Emily picked up her fork again and helped herself to another slice of tomato. "And then, I suppose we'll have to see, won't we?"

Rory sat back in her chair, fighting tears for a moment. "Grandma—you're not irrelevant. Please don't think of yourself that way. I never do. I never would."

"Thank you, Rory. Now, come, eat up. We've still got quite a lot of shopping to do," Emily said.

Rory watched her grandmother, so composed, so cool, only a slight trace of pain behind her eyes, and wondered how much a person could hold back before her arms gave way and it all spilled down around her. As they left the restaurant, she slipped her hand in her grandmother's and gave her a kiss on the cheek, resting her head on Emily's shoulder a few seconds before they walked back into the oppressive sunshine of the Florentine streets.