- Chapter Two -
Rory, to this day, could not understand how she had managed to keep her job at Stars Hollow's one and only bookstore for almost four years. Better yet, who in their right mind would give her a job that involved books?
The world truly was coming to an end.
Playing with this crazy notion, she stopped shelving and picked out a random book. It was one of Walt Whitman's.
She knew a lot about the poet but had never actually read any of his poems. Seeing as the store was practically empty, Rory figured now was as good a time as any to start, and headed for a windowsill.
Getting comfortable, she turned to a random page and began reading.
From all the rest I single out you, having a message for you, You are to die-let others tell you what they please, I cannot prevaricate,
I am exact and merciless, but I love you-there is no escape for you.
"He was an interesting man, to say the least," called a voice.
At this sudden intrusion, Rory sprang to her feet and in her haste, dropped the book.
Without glancing at the stranger, she bent down to pick up the book. But as her hand clasped over the book, a hand belonging to the stranger, clasped around hers.
She looked up and instantly froze, recognizing the eyes staring back at her. They were the eyes that belonged to the same person who had taught her how to pump her self higher and higher on the swings.
They were the eyes that had laughed with her during a winter carnival while watching Kirk try to figure skate.
They were the eyes of a friend.
They were the eyes of a stranger.
Emotions locked away for so long struggled for release within her. But in the almost indifferent way she responded, one would have assumed that they had no prior connection at all.
"Tristan," she replied before pulling her hand free from his grasp and shelving the book.
"I can see how glad you are to see me," he smiled and responded sarcastically, hoping to lift the awkward veil.
The gesture was not returned.
"Can I help you with something," she inquired, putting aside her feelings and taking on the role her job required of her.
"Yeah, I actu…" he began but halted as she moved away from him, picking up a few books off a nearby table and heading off to put them away. Not knowing what else to do, he followed her.
"So what did you want," she asked, almost as a second thought.
"Well I…I…" he mumbled, no longer sure why he had come here. "I just came by to..."
"Trissy, what's taking so long," an impatient voice called from somewhere between the rows of bookshelves. Seconds later Summer, Tristan's girlfriend, if you could call her that, materialized at his side.
A pang of annoyance erupted at her temple as Rory's eyes fell on Summer. To say she hated Summer would have been an understatement. After all, for the most part, it was she who had torn Rory's best friend from her.
"Where's Oscar Wilde," Summer inquired, sickeningly fake smile in place, one hand tangling and untangling a curl of hair while the other wound its way into Tristan's hand.
"The last time I saw him, he was sipping a mocha latte at the Starbucks down the street," Rory retorted, her own smile in place.
A soft chuckle irrupted and both girls turned, eyes falling on Tristan.
"Funny," Summer spat back, turning once again to Rory.
"I thought so," Rory responded, before reaching up and plucking a few books from a near by shelf. Thrusting them at Summer, she smiled at the two before, more books in hand, disappearing behind a shelving unit.
Irritated, Summer shrugged off Tristan's hand and moved towards the register, impatient to leave.
Tristan looked back at where Rory had disappeared to before exiting the bookstore, and heading for his car. Summer was right behind him. After casting one last glance at the bookstore that had been one of his and Rory's favorite haunts, he gunned the engine and sped off.
---
When she walked into her house, no one was home so she decided to go straight to the bathroom and stand under the shower for the next half hour. The day's events had left her feeling tired and tense.
After her shower, enveloped in a baggy sweater and sweat pants, she climbed into her bed and delved into a book. But her mind drifting to him every few seconds, the words made no sense and in no time, she was irritated. She hated that he still got to her.
Putting the book back on the shelf, she sighed and fell backwards onto her bed. How did he still have this power over her? How could he consume her thoughts even when he was miles away?
As if in response, her gaze shifted to a picture on her bookshelf: a picture of an 8-year-old boy…a picture of Tristan. She rose from her bed and reached for the picture, taking it in both hands and examining it. Oddly enough, it was taken in the cemetery with Tristan standing in front of a statue of an angel so that the wings on the statue looked as if it belonged to him. It was crooked so that he was standing at a slant but somehow that added character to the picture.
Running a thumb across the picture, she recalled exactly when this had been taken.
---
"Stop fidgeting around Tristan," she wailed, holding the camera with both hands and peeking through the lens. "This picture has to be perfect."
Instantly, he froze, standing on one leg with both arms stretched to the left, striking his best Super Man pose.
"What are you doing?" she questioned, still peeking through the camera lens.
He wavered but managed to hold the pose.
"Doing my Super Man pose," he said matter-of-factly. "Don't you like it?"
"No."
He wavered and fell off the stump he was standing on. Instantly, she was at his side. Camera slung across her neck, she fell to her knees and examined the bruise on his arm. It was getting darker by the minute.
"Is it bad," he inquired, lip slightly trembling. He had a thing about blood.
She kissed the spot above the bruise before pulling him to his feet. "Stop being a baby," she added before pulling him along further down the winding road. It was a spring afternoon so the sun was bright and the wind was just perfect.
She, hand firmly clasped around his, ran down the length of the central square, waving a quick hello to Ms. Patty, before finally coming to a stop in front of the cemetery.
Without giving it a second thought, she dashed in, Tristan in tow.
---
"Lucy I'm home," came Lorelai's voice from the living room, pulling her away from her reminiscing.
"In here Ricky," Rory called out, putting the picture back on the shelf and moving towards the kitchen.
"You'll never guess who I ran into today," both women spoke at the same time.
"Who?" Again, they were in synch.
"Hugh Hefner," spoke up Lorelai while Rory answered "Tristan."
"Tristan?"
"Hugh Hefner?"
"Yeah, he was shopping for cereal at Dosie's." Lorelai walked around her daughter and poured herself a cup of coffee. "Lucky Charms I think."
Rory dropped down on a chair and listened, clearly amused.
"Well did you speak to him?"
"No," Lorelai sulked. "Ms. Patty was hogging him all to herself. I didn't even get to do my best smoldering temptress face for him."
"Now that's a shame."
"You're telling me…wait…did you say Tristan, as in my Tristan?" Rory had Lorelai's full attention now. She plopped down on a chair beside Rory.
"Yes," Rory mused, "your Tristan."
"Well, did you tell him off?"
"Mom," Rory groaned before grabbing her mother's cup of coffee and leaving for her room. Lorelai went in after her.
"Well did you?"
---
Spotting an empty table, Rory carried her lunch tray over and took a seat before pulling out a book from her backpack. With Tristan still on her mind, her morning had been plagued with questions. Pushing past it, she dove into the book, wanting to forget reality, if only for a moment. Someone slumped down heavily in the seat next to her. Rory paid no attention to them.
"Lost in a book again?" She recognized the voice but did not show any indication that she had.
"Real life's a lot more interesting than your books…"
"And how exactly would you know, seeing as the last book you were interested in was probably the latest issue of Maxim?" Her eyes remained fixated on her book.
"Hey! Maxim has had just as big an impact on literary culture as…as" he took her book from her and scanned the title. " Madame Bovary."
"Oh yes, where would we be without '101 ways to score on a first date'," she countered, snatching back her book from him.
From beside her, Tristan laughed and despite herself, a smile crept to her own features.
"I can't remember the last time I saw you smile," he spoke up after a moment's pause, eyes and fingers sliding over a pair of initials that had been carved into the wooden desk.
At a loss for words, she merely stared at him.
"Or the last time we had an actual conversation. I mean I know it's my fault…"
"Don't Tristan…there's no point…"
"Tris," Summer interrupted, sauntering over and taking a seat in his lap, her back to Rory cutting her off from any further dialogue. "Jason's parents are going away for the weekend so he's throwing a party Friday night. We have to go."
Summer always reminded Rory of a Harpy in the way she sounded; tempting and seductive with malice hiding just below the surface.
He sighed, as if just hearing her voice plagued his body with exhaustion.
"Not now Summer," he ran a hand through his hair and locked eyes with her. "I don't want to talk to you right now."
If she was hurt or shocked, Summer hid it extremely well.
"But Trissy," she threw her arms around his neck and pouted up at him. "This is important. We have to go." Her voice was deep and almost lulling.
"You go if you want to, but I'm not in the mood Summer," Tristan responded, removing her hands from around his neck, sliding her off his lap and setting her back on her feet.
With that, he too rose from his seat.
"I'll look for you after school," he turned to Rory and spoke before exiting the cafeteria.
After a second's pause, in which she stood in stunned silence, Summer threw Rory a glare before also exiting the cafeteria.
Madame Bovary lay face down on the table. Her mind was no longer enthralled by it. Instead, she sat in bewildered silence. Rory wasn't sure if she had just seen what had just taken place.
Lately, she, along with the rest of the school, had been witnessing the way Tristan, with a blank expression, would simply give in to Summer's demands. It had bothered her to see her childhood friend like that, allowing indifference to rule his actions. And now it surprised her to see him adamant about something. Anything.
---
It wasn't until he had come up right beside her and had adjusted his pace to hers' that Rory realized Tristan was even near her. She pulled down her headphones around her neck and turned to him.
"So what exactly was that back in the cafeteria?"
His only response was to take her by the elbow and guide her towards the school parking lot.
"Tristan?"
"I want to show you something," he spoke up, leading her to his BMW.
"Show me what?" she questioned, jerking his hand away with more force than she had intended to.
Sighing, he turned to her and locked eyes, taking in the friend from whom he had grown so distant.
"Everything," he responded honestly, turning away and walking towards his car.
Taking a second to contemplate the word, she followed after him, sliding into the car as he held open the door.
---
She stared out the window, noting the speed at which the scenery flashed past, one blur mixing with the next. They'd been driving for almost fifteen minutes now and in that whole time, not a single word had been exchanged between the two.
What am I doing, she wondered, taking note of not only the tense atmosphere but also the yellow light he sped through.
Beside her, he fumbled with something in his pocket. Left hand steady on the steering wheel, he used the right to pull out a pack of cigarettes.
"Since when do you smoke," she finally cut through the silence, a slight irritation picking up at her temple.
With the practice of years, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it and bought it to his mouth, all with one hand. He didn't seem to have heard her.
"Tristan?" This time, her voice was stronger.
"Hmm…what…did you say something?" He turned to her and smiled. She was surprised to see the sincerity in his eyes.
"I didn't realize you smoked," she put in weakly, stuck between perplexity and anger, watching as he rolled down the window and a puff of wispy white was lost to the afternoon air.
"I don't," came his reply. "Well not really. Just when things…you know…" he trailed off, using both hands to swerve between a slow moving pick-up. The cigarette lay curled between his index and middle fingers, slowly disintegrating as he took in steady puffs.
She didn't know what to say and a second hush fell over the vehicle.
He swerved between another car and this time, the vehicle jolted to the side before returning to normal.
"You think maybe you should slow down?"
The only response came in the form of a small trail of smoke, swirling about his head before being snatched by the wind.
He cut in front of another vehicle, this time a semi and the truck driver was quick to retaliate, the heavy horn slicing through the air like a scythe.
"Slow down Tristan," Rory chimed in, arm shooting out to tug slightly at his sleeve. He was scaring her, especially that distant look in his eyes.
No response, just the car slowly picking up more speed.
"Slow down Tristan," she tried again, barely able to keep the quiver out of her voice. He was moving so fast and jerking between so many vehicles that their bodies kept banging into the sides of the car as well as against each other. But he seemed oblivious to it all, as if not even aware of her presence.
"Slow down the car or let me off Tris…" she began but trailed off as the BMW came to a screeching halt, fender just clipping the bumper of a stalled car. His arm shot out in front of her protectively just as her body lunged forward, straining against her seatbelt. With the aftermath of the momentum, her body slammed back against the leather seat, and a dull ache was quick to shoot up her spine.
Beside her, Tristan looked perfectly at ease, except for the trembling arm that still stood in front of her. Slowly, she reached out and took it in her own hands, bringing it to a rest at his side, all the while willing her racing pulse to slow down.
The squealing of tires seemed to echo on forever and was only drowned out minutes later by the honking of horns around them. Pulled back to reality, he moved his foot off the break pedal, returned both hands to the wheel, maneuvered around the stalled vehicle and drove off.
Ten minutes later, in total silence, he brought the car to a rest alongside a small dirt road overlooking the Connecticut River.
For a few seconds, the two sat in silence, simply staring out the windows as the sky around them deepened to a pale orange. Her pulse slowly returned to normal, no longer a roaring in her ears.
Angry? Afraid? Concerned? She wasn't sure what to feel.
Beside her, she could see that his hands still gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white from the strain.
"Tristan…"
"I'm so sorry Rory…" he cut her off, eyes still focused on a spot outside the window. "I…I almost…"
"Tristan, it's okay…"
"I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you," he interrupted, his voice low and husky, heavy with emotion.
Those were not the words she had been expecting.
"I didn't mean to scare you Rore…I'm so sorry" he carried on, the words coming out in a jumble. "I just get like that sometimes…and I don't know why. The rush takes over and for the moment, nothing else even crosses my mind."
"Tristan," she tried, removing her seatbelt and sliding closer. It terrified her to see him so vulnerable, so different from the Tristan that sauntered through the hallways at school.
"For a while there, I wasn't even sure I wanted to stop the car…"
At his words, realizing just how severe the situation was, she felt her whole body cringe. How could she have not seen this?
"…but then I realized you were in the car and…" feeling her hand on his, he stopped and turned to lock eyes with her.
"I'm sorry Rore," he smiled weakly. Her knees almost gave way. "I didn't want to involve you in my problems…"
"I'm sorry too Tristan." She returned the smile, and fell into his arms as they came around her.
It felt warm and comforting to be in his arms…familiar. But she needed answers. Questions flooded the pit of her stomach and slowly she pulled back, uncertainty outweighing the happiness she felt.
She needed to ask him why but before the words could fall from her lips, he had exited the car and was at her door, opening it and ushering her out.
"I need to show you something."
---
It was nothing spectacular: just a weathered old bench overlooking the Connecticut River. Two great oaks sprang up on each side of the bench and framed the scene. Several more benches set about 20 feet apart ran the length of the area. Just ahead, a medium sized rail ran across the path, acting as a barrier between the road and the small cliff that gave way to the river. Along the opposite shore, barely distinguishable, was a line of buildings: fancy boutiques, antique shops, and various small office spaces.
She was surprised by his choice of locations.
"Umm?" she questioned.
"I've probably spent more time here than at home," Tristan put in before taking a seat on the bench. Rory followed suit, waiting for an explanation. But he did not offer one.
For the next few minutes, the two sat in silence, Tristan with his chin resting on steepled fingers and Rory, taking in her surroundings, the greenery burning to oranges and reds as the sun set around them.
The silence however, was less awkward than it had been in the car, a long forgotten familiarity picking up between the two.
"Remember how we used to sneak up to the Church tower and watch the sunsets?" he spoke up several minutes later.
She nodded. "Yeah…and that one time, Taylor caught us and made us clean his entire porch…"
"…with toothbrushes," he finished, both breaking out into smiles.
"I haven't seen him in years," Tristan put in after a moment's pause and Rory caught that heartbreaking note in his voice.
"Or Ms. Patty, or Lorelai or even Kirk…"
Despite herself, Rory let out a laugh and he turned to her and examined her quizzically.
"I'm sorry, it's just that…well…Kirk's Kirk…I don't think he's changed in the last four years," she laughed, picturing Kirk's latest project: a series of instructional Yoga DVD's that he had filmed right in the town square.
"Has it really been that long?" came his unexpected response and Rory immediately sobered up.
"…Almost."
He leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his hands, balled into fists.
"It all seems like it happened yesterday." He starred out over the water, thinking back to the last time he had been this content.
"You never did give me an explanation you know…" several minutes later she spoke up nonchalantly, sitting back against the bench. Despite the calm that was slowly overtaking her and the seeds of hope fluttering against her heart, questions began streaming through her head. It couldn't be this simple. Could she really have her friend back just like that?
"Hmm?" he questioned. His eyes were focused on the water but she could tell by his tone that she had his attention.
"As to why you stopped talking to me." At her words, he turned to her and locked eyes. There was a mixture of joy and pain in his eyes and it sent a pang of guilt through her.
"You just sort of…changed…and when I tried to talk to you…it was like you couldn't even see me," she trailed off, pulling her legs up under her and letting her eyes wander back across the water.
When no response came from him, she continued, needing to finally get it all out.
"And after the funeral…you just walked away…and I…and I thought you just needed time to grieve alone." It was all coming out in a flood now and despite herself, Rory felt a stinging at her eyes. She was recapping years of pain and she knew that it would come with a price. "But when I saw you hanging out with Summer and those other idiots…I didn't understand…"
"Rory…" he finally broke through, moving to take her hand in his.
"You never told me why," she pulled her hand away, holding in a sob. "You never told me why."
Eyes somber with regret, he tried to pull her into him. But she refused, locking eyes with him. They were blazing with pain now, the corners wet with tears.
"I must have hurt you," Tristan put in, leaning back and giving her space. "I never meant to."
She wiped at her eyes and moved her gaze away, surprised at how easily he had affected her. It all felt so surreal, as if at any moment, she would wake from a dream and Tristan would once again be a stranger.
"Rory?" he spoke up beside her, sliding closer but leaving enough space between them so as not to set her off again.
When she offered no response, he turned to stare out over the water. Across the river, lights from street lamps and store windows were coming on.
"See that building, the one to the left of the bank…the one with the blue lighting," he pointed, catching Rory's attention.
Despite herself, she nodded, gaze drifting to where he had pointed. It looked like an office building of sorts. It was small but two stories high and looked sterile and professional.
"When ever I'm not here, at school or at home, I'm in there."
"What is it?" she questioned, curiosity outweighing anger.
"My shrink's office," he grinned, letting his head fall against the back edge of the bench so that now, his eyes strained heavenwards and he had a view of the violet sky.
"What?" she asked incredulously, clearly more affected by the words than he was.
"It was my father's idea…said I needed someone to talk to…someone other than himself." The words spilled out bitterly and mechanically as if his father's actions no longer affected him.
"Tristan…"
"Twice a week every week."
"I didn't know," she put in softly, his statements once again engulfing her flames.
"My father thought it would help me adjust better after…" he trailed off, his attention caught by the sudden wind that had picked up. The sun had sunk below the horizon and taken all remaining heat with it. For a September night, it was extremely cold.
"And did it help?" she questioned meekly, bringing her arms around herself as the chill rushed through her body.
"Well it helped me avoid your furry," he laughed and slipped off his blazer, sliding it around her shoulders. "For now at least."
Again, a smile rushed to her features and she found her anger slowly abating. Even as children, he'd had that affect on her.
"It's one of the reasons," after another silence Tristan spoke up, inching closer to Rory and this time she did nothing to object.
"One of the reasons?" she questioned, unsure of his cryptic statement.
"One of the reasons why everything changed."
"How do you mean?"
But he did not answer. Instead, his attention seemed to be held by the stars that now sparkled across the sky.
"Tristan?"
"Tristan?" she tried again, this time pulling his chin down to face her.
"I'm sorry…what was I saying?" he grinned at her and she wasn't sure whether he was serious or joking.
"…Um, you said it's one of the reasons…" she trailed off, confused. She watched the expression on his face change from one of joy to pain and instinctively, her hand slipped out to entwine with his.
As if gaining strength from her touch, he continued.
"The day after the funeral, my father shipped me off to a shrink but when she complained that I wasn't cooperating, he sent me to another one." As he talked, his thumb swept in circles across her wrist, almost absentmindedly. "And then another one. Finally, I wound up here. But this one was different. He started me on this treatment and I actually started to feel better…" he trailed off, eyes drifting towards the river.
"What kind of treatment Tristan," she questioned and waited for him to respond.
"At first, he tried Prozac…but when that had no affect he tried something stronger. For a while nothing worked…until he put me on this experimental drug." He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, masking it with a soft chuckle. "Something with Lithium." His head was back resting against the edge of the bench, eyes taking in the now almost pitch black sky.
Unsure of what to say, she opted on resting her head against him, hoping he'd find comfort in the gesture. Sliding closer, he put an arm around her shoulder and brought her closer.
"I know it's no excuse but they sort of changed me…"
"So why did you take them?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper."
"Because they helped," he spoke against her hair, breathing in the sweet smell of vanilla and lilacs. "They sort of numbed everything."
Feeling her go rigid in his arms, he pulled her closer. "I know they changed me and I can never get back those four years without you but…"
"You don't have to apologize, Tristan," she breathed, slowly pulling away to lock eyes with him. "I can't even begin to imagine what you must have been going through…"
"…Still…" he smiled at her…one of those incredibly beautiful smiles and she felt her heart ache for him.
"Are you still taking them?" she asked after several seconds to which he slowly nodded.
She let several minutes pass before speaking again. She knew if she stopped now, there would be no going back.
"There were other reasons…why you drifted away." She wasn't sure whether it was a question or a matter of fact statement.
He nodded softly. "When I moved back to Hartford with my father, everything was different. He expected me to be…to be just like him. He wanted me to be a part of his world and change according to it. And…and…"
"…I didn't fit into that world," she finished, with more composure than she felt.
"Stars Hollow didn't fit into that world," he offered, hand coming up to cup the side of her face.
"I thought it would get better over time…that if I made other friends, joined a school team…stayed away long enough I could just forget my life back in Stars Hollow…but," he brought her hands to his lips and kissed it, "my life is back in Stars Hollow."
It was all she could do to fall into him and stay there forever. Joy and warmth flooded through her but they couldn't completely drown out the little voice that warned of danger. She knew it would take more than one night to mend almost four years of pain.
"I know I can't ask you to just forgive me like that," sensing her thoughts, Tristan pulled her in and whispered against her ear. "But I'm hoping you'll try."
The feint, barely audible "okay" that escaped her lips, could have been a rustle of the leaves. But he seemed to have heard it, and that was enough.
They stayed that way for several more minutes, clinging to the moment, afraid to let it crumble. But as the wind picked up once more, carrying with it an autumn chill, the two rose from the bench and headed for the car, his arm across her shoulders and her head resting against the crook of his neck.
When he dropped her off, walking her to her doorstep, he placed a soft, chaste kiss on her lips, before once again taking to the road.
She watched him drive off before walking in, a kind of happiness she hadn't felt in years surging through her entire being.
---