Chapter 6: Ding Ding!
It rained the next afternoon, and even though the storm blew over quickly, the dank weather made the foursome logy. Emily popped her favorite movie from the fifties into the VCR, Luke claimed the newspaper, and Lorelai went back up to her and Rory's shared bedroom complaining of a headache.
Rory took the opportunity to finish her notes for the Gazette downstairs so Lorelai could have the room, but had to take her laptop upstairs to the Ethernet connection to email the files.
Lorelai was asleep when Rory came into the room. A few clicks won't bother her, Rory thought. She crawled under the desk to plug in the Ethernet cable, and accidentally knocked the chair.
Lorelai rolled over sleepily. "Rory, could you take that somewhere else? My head is pounding. The damn pollen is seeking me out, I swear."
"All my files are organized already," Rory explained. "I'll be quick, I promise."
"Rory, please," Lorelai said sharply. "The clacking from the keyboard is like Jiffy Pop in my head."
"Someone's getting her rag," Rory muttered, too quiet for Lorelai to hear.
"Excuse me?"
Or not. "Sorry if you won't be getting jiggy with Luke for five to seven days, but I have a deadline."
And with that, one month of repressed anger came out to play.
Lorelai sat up. "You have got to be kidding me, kid," Lorelai said with restrained, white fury.
"I'm not a kid!" Rory snapped.
"Then stop acting like a brat and find another room!"
Rory slammed her computer shut, shoved in her chair, and stormed out of the room, letting the door bang satisfyingly.
Lorelai dropped back onto the bed and flopped her arm over her eyes. She shouldn't have yelled. She'd talk to Rory later.
Rory thudded down the stars and, with stony silence, passed her grandmother in the living room and Luke on the back porch. If only she could take the motorboat down the coast, across the Panama Canal, into the mountains in Chile, and live with some native mountain people, then she'd never have to think about Dean or Lindsay or their ridiculous marriage again.
"Are you going down to the lake?" Luke asked.
Rory stopped short, scuffing the grass. With her back to Luke, she said, "I'm taking the boat to the island. Because it is quiet, and secluded, and because it's the farthest place I can get from – from here." She started walking.
"'Kay." Luke put down his sports page and followed her.
"What are you doing?" Rory asked.
"Coming with you."
"I'd prefer to be alone, please," she said in a tone designed to curtail argument.
"Well, that's a problem, because that's not gonna happen."
She turned and faced him, arms crossed. "Luke –"
"Look. You fight with your mom, fine, that's what family does. I'm not getting involved. But it's not safe to take a boat out and go wandering all over an island by yourself." Before Rory could argue again, he ticked off on his fingers, "You have all of one day's boat experience, you're not the most woodsy girl in the world, and even if you were a character in a Rick Bass short story, it still wouldn't be safe."
Rory turned and started walking. "Fine," she said, and didn't say another word until they reached the docks.