"So," Emily said, turning to Rory as she sat down, "where were we?"
Rory's wan smile was wide and flat and gone the moment Emily squinted down at the video remote.
The fussy comforter rustled in the dark when she turned over again to stare dry-eyed towards the ceiling. Once more it receded under her scrutiny and the word oubliette sounded so clear in her mind she wondered if she'd actually said it aloud.
Intensely dark under the weight of expensive drapes. She imagined pupils open like sliced tennis balls and shuddered, blinking. Last time she'd made the final quarter-turn onto her back, it had been cathedrals and whether Raymond Carver was right.
Three minutes for the full revolution.
The cocoa would be tepid by now, but if she looked yet again at the old-fashioned, round-faced alarm clock, she'd see that it hadn't even been an hour since her grandmother asked if she was feeling alright, you look tired, do you want to go to bed?
Yes, I'm fine, No, it's okay, But -
But the rest of the movie would keep until next time and no buts, because Emily didn't like how pale she looked - -These schools and the way they worked young people nowadays. It was too much.
So Rory promised, unasked. Before graduation and Europe and, Yes, she was sure she'd find time because it was important. Emily tutted indulgently, but Rory was insistent.
I mean it.
So. Greta would - Greta! - would make cocoa and Rory really must get some sleep because you never know, perhaps she was coming down with something. And at the very least she was overworked and overwrought, go kiss your grandfather goodnight.
Something made it hard to say, so she didn't.
That the kindly old lady who fed her cookies before she was weaned would be buried tomorrow.
She turned onto her side. Again.
From the steps of the church Lorelai looked back towards the square and risked one hand off Patty's elbow for an arrested wave at Rory crossing the street, a flash of red coat under her arm.
I'm sorry.
The note on the phone pad had caught Rory's eye as she dumped her keys in the rush through the living room, mentally cursing Sunday bus schedules.
Pink ink. Large and looping and unmistakably Lorelai.
Talk later?
Smaller except for the dot. Disproportionate to overlay the others underneath.
In her room, the three black dresses hung from where they had been hooked over the wardrobe doors. Like Wendy had mended her own shadow and had two spares.
Four pairs of shoes. Three of them Lorelai's.
Rory waved back, shoulder-high.
Then Patty folded, heaving forward, and it was Luke who steadied them both.
The man on the bench wrapped his newspaper around the paperback inside when he saw Luke go into the church with his hand between the brunette's shoulder blades.
But then the girl appeared and was opening the door, and it was too late.
"Late," she said breathlessly, kissing him before he could speak. Jess had made it only a step out from behind the register when she flung through the empty diner's door, but he circled her waist at short notice and turned her next word into "Mmph." Turned her abbreviated kiss into another, longer, until she pulled back and said, "Funeral, I have to -"
His forearm released her, and then, more reluctantly, his mouth. Except she responded with a kiss like a postscript before saying, "I'll see you later."
He nodded only to be cut short by the last briefest pressure of her lips, appending no question mark.
She whirled out, coat under her arm sweeping against every chair in her path.
Too late to sit back down though too. That would look weird. Weirder.
He'd missed the window and if he stood there any longer he'd get asked if he was lost for the fourth time. So he was almost relieved when he realized he could see the street that took him back to the motel. And anyway, all the funerals he'd been to lasted less than thirty-five, forty minutes, so who knew. Some less than that. Longer than some of the weddings, but still.
Of course the ring of the door hitting the bell again meant he knew he could just turn around and go back. People did that all the time. Forget stuff. Remember stuff. That there was this thing they meant to do back there.
Because she had been in black, it was obvious.
But the uncanny sound of something that, seriously, couldn't be anything other than a marching band, told him he'd made the right decision.
Liar.
Rory stood a few feet from the door with the other late arrivals, and the Reverend was already speaking at the podium when Lorelai looked round from a pew's end. There was a significant gap between her mother and Sookie, and suddenly Lorelai was sliding across - like the seat had become a conveyor belt - not as unobtrusively as she thought. And it was far too close to the front.
Soon though there was a shuffle of people behind the dais and some feedback over the loudspeaker, and Rory took her chance.
"I suck," Lorelai whispered out of the corner of her mouth.
"True."
"I snapped. I thought -"
Rory's long, low "Shh-hh" hushed her without impatience as Reverend Skinner and Marjorie struggled with the mic.
But the hushing didn't take, like it never takes.
"I'm sorry."
Palm up, Rory put her hand on the cool wood beside her, looking straight ahead as the eulogy started, and Lorelai sniffed when her daughter closed her fingers tightly on her own. A tissue from Sookie arrived into Lorelai's right.
Going down the steps, Rory found it was Luke who patted her shoulder and gripped it gently before he descended and headed for the diner. She smiled back.
Reassuring and something more.
She wondered if Jess ever saw it. Felt it. Whether he'd even recognise it if he did. How many seats did she need for graduation?
Luke's heart constricted at the sight of her pink-rimmed eyes, and he would have produced his handkerchief if she hadn't then dabbed at her nose with a crumpled Kleenex.
She was going to be okay.
In his pocket the corner's monogram script read W. H. D.
He swallowed, quickening his steps back to the diner. Back to all the stuff he had to take care of.
It was a good thing he didn't see Dean approach her as she idled on a midway step, thinking of mashed potatoes.
"Hey, Rory."
"Hmm? Oh! Dean, hey. Sorry, I was miles away."
"I noticed. Have you got a sec?"
"Um, yeah, wh-?" But he'd started down the last few steps and was beckoning her to one side, standing beneath a tree.
"Rory?"
She had been watching for Luke re-entering the diner, and she saw him stop just inside the door and look around. But then he passed out of view heading towards the back, maybe the kitchen. Or to change. Unless Jess was -
"Rory."
Dean's voice roused her and she made her way onto the grass with her weight on her toes, mindful of her mother's heels. It gave her an odd, cautious gait, and when she looked up he had folded his arms in a way that irked her.
"The grass," she said. "These aren't my -"
"Rory, just listen, okay? It's really important."
"Oh. It's just, you looked kind of annoyed, so I -"
"I'm engaged, Rory."
"Oh." She took a deep breath in, but having let it go, the sound she made was, "Um -"
"So?"
"So ... Congratulations?"
It climbed until there was no doubt it was a question, and the furrows in her forehead matched it by moving steadily upwards and sticking.
He looked down at her like there was a bad taste on his palate that his tongue couldn't locate.
"You're really something, you know that, Rory? You couldn't even say it and mean it. I can't believe I was stupid enough to -"
"I do mean it, but ..."
She couldn't help it. The diner was just in view behind him and a movement inside made her peer. He looked round and saw Jess approach a table by the window with a cloth in his hand.
"God, Rory! I don't believe you. I'm standing here trying to tell you I'm getting married because I thought maybe you'd care or something, but clearly you -"
"Why?" she said quietly, looking at him with her head tilted like she was seeing him for the first time. "Why was it so important to tell me, Dean? And right after a funeral. Why couldn't it wait?"
"I don't know." Dismissive. "Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"I just ... I wanted - -I guess I thought ..."
"What, Dean? What was it you wanted to hear from me"? She was still speaking evenly. "That I'm happy for you?" Her eyes keen with curiosity, not anger. "I guess I will be if you think this will make you happy. But ... I mean," she hesitated, looking for the words. Her shoulders lifted. "I mean, okay, sure, I care if you're happy, but ... I just don't understand the rush. To tell me. Not to get married. Although ... - -You know what, it's none of my business," she said firmly. "Really. It isn't, is it?"
His mouth opened in her pause, but when he didn't reply she went on, "Why then? Why are we standing here?"
The stone in his throat moved but wasn't dislodged, and she counted 5 into the silence.
"I'm still going to college," he told her, looking up from her shoes. Weakly defensive, it wasn't much of an assurance. Even less of an answer.
"Good," she said simply. "I'm glad."
"Lindsay's coming with me."
"Dean, please -"
"It's going to be in the paper," he offered like a shrug.
"Makes sense."
"I just thought you should know, that's all." He didn't notice, but she was frowning again. Not listening. "I just -"
"Why did you do it?"
He thrust his hands into his pockets and took a swipe with his toe at the grass in front of him. "Rory, stop asking, I -"
"Why did you go after him?"
"Go after -? Oh." He shifted his weight, exploring re-emerged fingers across the first knuckle of a soft-closed fist. "You mean ..."
"Why, Dean? I know you hate each other. And I know it's my fault, even. But Jess and I are together, so I need to know that you won't -"
His upper body recoiled away slightly, as if disbelief had a scent that rankled his nostrils.
"Don't tell me you're still with that jackass after he -"
"This! This is what I'm talking about. Don't you see? Can't you hear how weird you sound, talking like that? It's none of your business, Dean. What happens with me and Jess, it's not your -"
Her voice had risen, but she checked herself, twisting a glance behind her self-consciously. His folded arms were cramped down hard, forcing the jacket proud off his shoulders and making him look like a long knot.
"We have our own lives, Dean," she began softly. "When I said we could be friends, I meant -"
"You know what," he said, throwing his arms wide before clapping them to his sides, "let's not. Because I just realized I don't have to stand here and listen to any more of your lectures, Rory. And you're right. You have your life, I have mine."
He made a large, theatrical gesture towards her then back at himself. Rory sighed and bit down behind her close-pressed lips. Then he shrugged, hunching hands back into his pockets. Tipped his chin at her.
"Hope you get what you want."
She rolled her eyes as he stalked away.
"Do I pay you to stare out the window?"
"You don't pay me enough not to."