To say these things to you
The bad boy part of him desperately wants to tell her to piss off and not even show up. But the inner angel in him (if there even is one) wants to stay around and see. He's searched the folder, read every word, seen every picture, and still has no clue what it has to do with him. She's obviously been in some kind of car crash and has been diagnosed with amnesia, but he is puzzled to the fact of how that has anything to do with him. When he wakes up that morning to open shop, he finds his answering machine is blinking. He listens to the message, as he fixes his own cup of coffee.
"Hi – Jess. Uh, this is Luke. I – Well I think you've heard about Rory. That detective lady came here and asked for your name and address. So I gave it to them. I know this is kinda – ya know – hard for you. But we all – the whole town – would really appreciate it if you would help out. Uh – I know that doesn't mean a lot to you now, but this is really important to not only me but ya know – Lorelai too. Anyway maybe you could give me a call back – sometime. Ok, by the way this is Luke. Ok, well, bye." Click.
It stops and he sits there in stunned silence, finally feeling the full effects of his future decisions. He's never been one to be counted on, almost everyone who's met him can account for that, but something inside of him wants to be dependable. He could be dependable, he thinks, if he tried.
He hates riding buses, but finds that there is no other way to get to the hospital. He finds a seat next to a battered old lady, who wants nothing to do with him. And frankly he is relieved because he can't stand talking to anyone right now. When they arrive he sulks off the bus. The hospital is towering compared to him and he once again feels extremely small. When he walks in there a few dozen kids in wheelchairs doing wheelies and a few extremely ignorant adults talking amongst themselves. He reaches the reception desk and thinks to himself, that he can just walk away now and save a lifetime of torment and pain. He doesn't need any more on his plate than he already has.
"Honey, can I help ya?" the receptionist asks him.
He turns to stare at her, and is about to say no, when someone comes up out of the corner of his eye.
"Aha, Mr. Mariano. Didn't think you would show up. I had security guards already headed over to your apartment to escort you here. Thank goodness they didn't have to take their guns with them," she tells him smiling.
He thinks she's just joking. Somehow her smiles have turned into something rather wicked to him.
"Right, so. If you'll just follow me."
She leads the way through the halls of sick patients and finally after two left turns he finds himself in an emptied out hospital bedroom. There are two chairs placed against the far wall and a desk placed in between them.
"Have a seat," she says to him, motioning to the farthest chair. He does as he's told, and takes a seat. He hates hospitals, more than any other place in the world, he despises them.
"So I bet you're wondering why you're here?" she asks him, once again smiling.
He doesn't think this is the least bit funny.
"Well," she she says as she pulls out a sheet of paper from her briefcase and reads, "Ms. Lorelai Leigh Gilmore was driving in a black Mercedes-Benz with a Mr. Clark Ranaldo Harvey, on July 21st 2005. At approximately 10:00 PM on the cross streets of Ashford and Lumington, in New Haven, Connecticut, a Mr. Lyle Lucas Covington driving in a red Volvo, made contact with the Mercedes. The only injury sustained was a severe concussion from Ms. Gilmore. She woke up four days later and was diagnosed by Dr. Markus Ramsey to have a mild case of amnesia."
He looks at her, but he doesn't really hear her. He can almost see it happening. It doesn't bother him at first, seeing her in his dreams. But he imagines her lying there, bleeding and suddenly his fists start to clench and an amazing feeling of worrying comes over him, for the first in time in practically years.
"Mr. Mariano, Ms Gilmore's memory is very thin. The only things she remembers are her name and where she lives. She barely even knows who her mother is. You've been called in here, because we need help piecing her life together."
He sits there stunned for a moment. Because he wonders really how they could possibly imagine bringing him in there. The only thing he caused in her life was pain.
"Look I don't really think you understand," he tells her. "I don't know a lot about her, I mean even ask her mom."
She clasps her hands together before continuing on.
"Well, Ms. Lorelia Victoria Gilmore was actually the one who suggested you," she tells him.
He leans back in his chair, adapting to the situation. He can't formulate words at this point and doesn't even want to.
"Look everything I know about her, everyone else knows," he complains.
She leans closer in to him, not exactly believing him.
"Mr. Mariano, I don't know how hard this is for you, but there are certain things in that period of time you were friends that I'm sure only you two knew."
He just shakes his head, wanting her to believe that he knows nothing. Wanting right now to be in his apartment with a beer and some unknown girl lying in his bed, anything at all, but this. He's sick of it, at this point, not wanting to bring her into his life again. He stands up to leave but she eyes him closely.
"If you leave you'll be walking out on her. You could be the key to her remembering. Listen, Mr. Mariano, her memory fades in and out at times. Sometimes she remembers people other times they're total strangers. One face might be all it takes to restore her memory. You could be that face."
He drops back down into the seat, his conscience is cursing at him right now, for even standing up, and his bad part is cussing at him for not walking out right then and there.
"What do I have to do?" he asks her quietly, feeling defeated.
She smiles at him and it takes every part of his body not to rip that stupid smirk right off her face.
"Well first there are a few questions I'm going to ask you about your memories of her."
He just nods his head at her.
"Ok, are there any certain memories you have of her?"
"No," he tells her, lying of course.
She scribbles something onto her notepad.
"Right, are there any nicknames you called each other?"
"No," he tells her again, lying once again.
She scribbles something else onto her notepad and this time he can read the word, difficult.
"Are you going to answer any of these questions truthfully?"
He almost lets a 'no' slip out, but catches himself just in time.
"I'm answering your questions."
She eyes him carefully, no longer a smile present on her face. Her notebook slams shut with the power of her hand and she stares at him long and hard.
"Did you love her?" she asks.
The bluntness of her question catches him off guard. He doesn't know whether or not to answer it, so he decides to let it sit in the air.
"Well from the consultation I had with her mother, you dated her daughter and left her broken-hearted, but she did tell me you loved her immensely. Or at least she thought you did. And from what Mr. Luke Danes has told me, I believe it too. So if the answer to my question is yes, I think you need to cut the smart-ass act, because Rory is depending on you, whether or not you realize it."
He feels belittled, but he knows it's for good reason. He knows he's being difficult and naïve and stupid, among other things. But doesn't she realize this is who he is, who he was and who he'll always be. He decides now is the day to grow up, be the better person. After all this is for her, everything else already has been…
She takes her notebook and flips it back open, putting on that smile he hates once again.
"Right so where were we?" she chirps at him.