CHAPTER SEVEN

This chapter had been ready for nearly a week now, but the website has refused to let me up load anything until today! Thanks, as always, to Cira.

Rory turned the key and heard the lock click. As she pushed the door open, an odd feeling washed over her. The house was totally silent. There was no one inside. The maid was gone. The cook wasn't needed this week. The gardener had apparently already come and gone. She stood in the foyer listening to the silence. It felt strange and unfamiliar.

She suddenly turned around, thinking that she'd heard her grandmother calling out to her. Rory closed her eyes, realizing that it was only her mind playing games with her in the empty house. It was only a figment of her imagination. She stood in place, taking a deep breath. There was no odor in the air. The house usually smelled of fresh flowers or some other light scent. Yet today there was no sound, no smell, and no sign of activity. The house felt as empty as Rory did herself. There was so much that she didn't yet know about her grandmother. Eight years simply wasn't enough time to get to know and understand a woman like Emily Gilmore.

Rory found herself wandering into the living room. As she looked at her grandmother's usual place on the couch, she couldn't help but think about the past. They had spent countless evenings in this room, talking, laughing, and especially arguing. Yet it was in the dining room where the real action occurred. The living room was just the precursor.

She moved to the dining room, standing behind her usual Friday night seat. Rory could still see the look on Emily's face when she had told her grandparents that she was going to Yale and that it was okay for them to be happy about it. It had never crossed her mind that her grandmother might not be there to see her graduate from Yale. She and Richard both had been there for so much of her life at Yale. Part of her also thought that maybe it made her grandmother happy to know that they'd both fallen in love with Yale men.

There were just so many memories that she didn't have of her grandmother. Yet Rory didn't blame her mother for that. She knew that Lorelai had done what was best for them. There was no doubt about that. She just hated that it meant there were so many years they hadn't been part of each other's lives. Maybe it was for the best. She didn't know either way.

Rory pushed on the kitchen door, looking inside. The countertops were spotless. It looked like they hadn't been touched in ages. She felt an odd sense of peace in this room, the kitchen of all places. It was here that she had made her grandparents a frozen pizza one night during an ice storm. It was here that she had fled to when Straub and Francine had insulted her very being. And it was in here that Emily had specifically made sure that her granddaughter knew neither she nor Richard had ever regretted Rory's existence for even a second. Neither of her father's parents had ever shown an interest in her. Yet Emily had always been there, even forcing her way into Rory's life at times. She might not have always made the right choices, but she was always there.

No, Emily Gilmore wasn't perfect. Rory would be the first to admit that. Yet there was no one else she'd rather have for a grandmother. There was just no one quite like Emily.

"Her brain activity appears to be normal." Dr. Hart looked up from the chart he was holding in his hands. He shifted his gaze between the husband and the daughter, trying to make them both feel involved. "That's a good sign. It means that she doesn't seem to have any permanent brain damage."

"So why isn't she awake yet?" Lorelai asked. They were standing in the hallway outside her mother's room.

"We don't have all the answers in medicine. The brain is an organ that we have only begun to understand. Some people wake up immediately. Others take a little while longer."

Lorelai stood with her arms wrapped around herself, alternating between looking down at her shoes and up at the doctor when he spoke to her. "So, how long do you think?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Gilmore, but I can't give you an answer. It could be today or two weeks from today. It could also be two months from now. We don't have timeframes in neurology."

"Thank you, Dr. Hart," Richard interjected, reaching out to shake the doctor's hand. He could tell that his daughter wanted more solid answers. She was going to hassle the man until he gave her an answer, which he didn't have. Dr. Hart nodded, heading back down the hallway to continue his rounds.

"The man probably has degrees from Harvard and Columbia on his wall, yet he can't figure out what is wrong with Mom. How hard can it be, Dad?"

Richard took a deep breath, trying to find the patience to reassure his daughter. "I don't know, Lorelai. We're not doctors."

Lorelai sighed, letting the door to her mother's room swing shut behind them. She took what was becoming her regular seat, a rather uncomfortable chair by the window. It positioned her directly across from her mother. Her gaze circled the room, almost as if something might have changed while they were out in the hallway. It wasn't a very large room, but it was big enough for them to not feel cramped. They were still in the ICU, but Emily had been moved to a more private room this morning. It had a window, which she knew her mother would like. If she were awake, Emily could look out the window and complain about the view of the highway. There was also a small bathroom in the far corner. They no longer had to go down the hallway like they did when they were in the CICU.

Lorelai still couldn't get over watching her mother lying in a hospital bed. It just looked so unnatural. In her mind, Emily Gilmore didn't lie down; she barely even slept!

Richard took his seat next to Emily's bed. There was a bit of glare from the mid-day sun shining through the blinds on the window. It fell on his shoulder, casting across his wife's body. The light only made her red hair look vibrant and full of life. If you didn't know she had been unconscious for days, you'd just think that she was taking a nap. When he leaned back, Richard couldn't really see his wife that clearly, yet it was comforting to just be next to her.

Both Lorelai and Richard watched her for a few moments, as if she might wake up in that instance. She had a piece of medical tape around her left hand that held her IV line in place. The nurse would come in every few hours and place her on a drip so that she could get fluids and nourishment. Her bruising was also less pronounced today.

It had been a full seventy-two hours since they'd brought her in to the hospital. She showed no signs of internal damage or any major trauma. The orthopedist had determined that her wrist wasn't injured enough to need immediate attention and her ankle seemed to be healing nicely. No one knew why she wasn't waking up. The doctors and nurses tried to reassure the family, but they seemed to be getting nowhere with them.

The room was silent except for the constant beep of Emily's heart monitor recording the beat of her heart. It was strong and that at least gave Richard one less thing to worry about.

Lorelai picked up a magazine off the table next to her chair. She tried to flip through it, but nothing in it seemed interesting. None of the articles were worth reading. As she glanced up at her father, he seemed to be staring blankly ahead. Lorelai didn't know where his thoughts were in that moment.

They were silent for quite a while until Richard finally spoke. "I took her to an art gallery on our first date." Richard leaned back in his chair. It wasn't really that comfortable, but he was getting used to it now.

Lorelai looked up at her father. She was surprised by his random comment. "Yeah, Mom told us about it that day we toured Yale with Rory. She said you used to take all the ladies there to impress them with your knowledge of art. I also seem to remember something about you using Titian to score…"

Richard laughed. "It didn't impress all of them – not your mother, at least. She spent the whole date debating with me. If I said the artist was inspired by nature, she thought he had been inspired by religion. If I thought the exhibit captured one thing, she thought it was another. I know she claims that I was the master of the step-back-wrinkle-whatever, but she didn't let me get away with anything. She would wave her hand in the air to silence me." He made a motion with his hand, like Emily had done. "Then she'd tell me what the artist was trying to convey." Richard smiled. "She never once backed down or let me get the last word. It was wonderful."

Lorelai looked at her father. He seemed to love the exact opposite things about her mother than she. He loved her faults and her shortcomings. She, instead, found annoyance in them.

"Do you remember that play I was in when I was in kindergarten?" Lorelai asked. "I think I was four or five. My role was the butterfly. I was supposed to come out from behind the curtain and dance across the stage."

"Yes, you started singing 'I'm A Little Teapot' instead." They both laughed at the memory.

"I think that was the last time that Mom ever told me she was proud of me." Her tone wasn't angry or upset, but sad. Sad about the relationship that they didn't share.

"Your mother is not a master of her emotions, Lorelai. She is very talented at hiding behind a mask. She has been that way since before we met. When she is hurt, she bites back without thinking. When she is sad, she doesn't let anyone know. If she's in pain, she grins and bears it by herself." He shrugged his shoulders. "I think it is how she was raised. She and her mother were not very close either. Her mother was a cold and unappreciative woman. She just wanted Emily to get married and start a family. And I think your mother was caught between her own mother and you. She wanted so desperately to be a perfect mother, yet she had no clue how to do it or how to act around you. So she hid behind herself and pretended that she was okay when she wasn't. She made mistakes, Lorelai. We all made mistakes." He looked over at his daughter. "Your mother's biggest mistake was that she waited to change until it was too late and you were already gone."

"I think that maybe I'm starting to understand what it must have been like for her … after I left." Richard nodded, looking away from his daughter.

Neither of them spoke. They just sat in silence, listening to the beeping of the heart monitor.

"Why are we back here again?" Emily asked as she and Sweetie walked into the living room of their dorm.

Sweetie turned around and looked straight at Emily. "Just shut up and wait." Emily had complained the whole morning.

Emily huffed. "You are still as infuriating dead as you were alive."

"This is your imagination, Emily. If you didn't want me here, then I wouldn't be." Sweetie missed her best friend. There was no one in the world quite like Emily.

Emily let herself fall onto the couch, not bothering to notice how uncomfortable it was to sit there. She sighed heavily. "I'd forgotten how much you make me feel like I'm twenty years old again. I miss that feeling."

Sweetie smiled. "You know the best part about being dead?" Emily shook her head. "I get to remember every feeling, every moment, every smile, every bit of happiness from the life that I had. It's wonderful."

Emily smiled. "A lot has happened in my life since you died. I really could have used my best friend."

"Hey … I was there." Sweetie sat down beside her. "That day you got drunk in the living room after Trix died… I was there. When you went to Europe with your granddaughter … I was there, too. As long as you don't forget about me, I'm never far away."

Emily was about to reply when the doorbell rang. She started to stand up. "Don't," Sweetie warned.

"Why not?" Emily asked.

"You'll see…"

Just as Sweetie had said, Emily watched as her younger self walked past them. Her hair was perfect, but her face told another story. It looked as if she had been crying.

"Has she been here the whole time?" Emily asked.

"Shh… Just watch," Sweetie instructed.

Emily sighed, watching as the young woman looked out the window. She shook her head, taking a deep breath when she saw who was outside. It was as if she turned herself into another person. She wiped her eyes and her face became stoic and cold. Opening the door, she held herself high. Her posture was perfect and she didn't allow any emotion to crack her face.

"Richard, I don't want to hear anything that you have to say. Please just leave me alone." She tried to close the door, but he was too strong and managed to stop her. "Please, Richard. I don't want you here."

"Just let me explain, Emily."

"There is nothing to be explained, Richard. Are you or are you not engaged?" He was silent. She shook her head. "I can't believe I bought into anything you've ever told me. I was such a fool. You … you, Richard … you came after me! I was perfectly fine with the life that I was leading. Why couldn't you just leave me alone?"

"I never meant to hurt you."

Emily laughed coldly. "Then you should have told me you were planning a wedding with another woman."

"It's not that simple."

She couldn't take being around him. It hurt too much. "You really should go now."

"Emily, please …" He didn't want it to end like this.

"Are you engaged, Richard? It's a simple question. Yes or no?" She clutched the side of the door in her hand, ready to close it at any second.

"Yes," he finally admitted.

"Then just go." She was trying not to cry but he couldn't tell that by her voice. It was stern and uncaring, a tone he had never heard from her before.

"Emily, I don't want it to be like this between us."

"Are you going to marry her?" Emily asked, looking into his eyes, demanding an answer. He was silent again, diverting his eyes away from her. "Then there is nothing between us." It disgusted her to even look at him. "Just go, Richard," she whispered. He tried to speak, but she refused to let him. "I want you to go now."

"Emily…"

"I swear, Richard, I will scream so loud that everyone in this building will hear me," she warned.

"I'm sorry, Emily. I really do care about you. I'm starting to fall in lo-"

"Don't you dare," she seethed. "You have no right to say that to me! Don't you dare say that!"

"I'm sorry, Emily." He stood unmoving in the doorway. She looked away from him.

"So am I, Richard. So am I." He stepped back and she shut the door. Sliding to her knees, she put her hand over her mouth to stifle the wail that she emitted as her heart broke.

Emily watched her younger self intently. She could still feel the pain that she had felt that day. Never before had she felt such heartache. She had allowed herself to fall completely in love with Richard. Everything had seemed so perfect and then one day it all fell apart. She and Melinda had agreed to meet some friends for dinner. When they arrived, they were introduced to the college roommate of Melinda's boyfriend Preston Nelson, a Mr. Richard Gilmore, and his fiancée Pennilyn Lott.

As she watched herself trying to be strong and pretend that she wasn't hurt, Emily couldn't help but remember all the times that Richard had hurt her. There had been many times in their marriage. The things he said. When he would put his work before her. Yet none of it had hurt like finding out that he had been lying to her about Pennilyn. He'd broken her heart once before where Pennilyn was concerned. It was the kind of pain that she didn't want to experience for a second time.

"He stopped by to see you every day for two months until you finally let him in the apartment again," Sweetie commented, causing Emily to realize that the scene before her was only a memory.

"I think I'll just sit here for a while," she said quietly.

Melinda nodded, knowing Emily's cue to stop talking. She wanted to do something to ease the pain of reliving such tormenting memories for her best friend, but she knew that it was in these moments that Emily wanted to just be left alone. "Whatever you want, Emily."