CHAPTER 2 – Great Hera!
As the first shimmer of sunshine emerged over the horizon, barely sweeping the heavenly canvas with wispy bands of pinks and oranges, Luke stood behind the counter, his face painted with a faint smile. With practiced ease, he mechanically funneled black pepper into the glass shakers, all while keeping a subtle eye on Lorelai and Rory seated at the table near the entrance.
Despite the minimal rest he had gotten over the previous two days, Luke felt good this morning. Great even. He roused himself from sleep well before his four-thirty alarm, feeling invigorated and refreshed. He felt freer, lighter. As if the weight of the whole world had been lifted off his flannel covered shoulders.
Lorelai's presence alone had a noticeable effect. Like a breath of fresh air in the greasy confines of the diner, she filled his lungs with an airy lightness like a cool spring breeze with every deep inhale.
Suddenly, a grimace contorted Luke's face as the sharp, spicy aroma of the pepper shot up his nose, instantly assaulting his senses. Barely turning his head in time, Luke covered his mouth just as an explosive, "Ah choo!" burst from his lungs like a geyser.
"Gazuntite!" a duet of feminine voices sang out in unison.
Luke wiped his nose on the sleeve of his maroon plaid shirt as his eyes swept across the table occupied by the girls in the otherwise empty diner. Bathed in the warm glow of the miniature table lamp, they carried on their conversation as if there had been no interruption. So lost in their own little mother-daughter world, Luke felt like Casper the Friendly Ghost in his very own place of business.
Since The Gilmores' pre-dawn arrival, Luke did his best to be nothing more than a glorified fly on the wall. Meandering over to their table only when needed to take their order, or to top off their coffee, or to deliver their second servings of hash browns. After some brief, back and forth banter, he'd promptly return to the counter, picking back up where he left off with his well-oiled morning routine. Providing the girls with an uninterrupted space in which to fully immerse themselves in only each other's presence.
Salt and pepper shakers at the ready, Luke turned his attention to preparing the old brass register for a busy day. Neatly situating a stack of fives into their proper compartment, his gaze was captured by Lorelai's face faintly reflecting in the window. Her image, enveloped in the luminescence of the fairy lights draping the pane, flickered with a delicate glow. A portrait resembling that of a classic movie star, checking her reflection in a light-bulb lined vanity, before taking the main stage by storm.
The necklace he'd surprised her with only a few hours ago, mirrored in the window's glass with dazzling brilliance. Against her porcelain skin, the icy blue pendant delicately hovered just above the dip of her blue, low-cut blouse. Its glimmer beckoned Luke homeward, like a lighthouse in the open water.
On the sea of her skin, his gaze drifted to the image of her ocean eyes. Nearly matching the brilliance of the crystal suspended from her neck, her irises sparkled like polished gems caught in the window's gleam. Entirely captivated in her flawless reflection, Luke remained a prisoner in her mirage until the eye of her reflection fluttered in an awkward, teasing wink.
"Ah geez," he mumbled, dropping his chin to his chest to shield his eyes from embarrassment.
Picking up where he'd been before getting distracted, Luke stuffed a thick pile of single dollar bills into their designated slot and slammed the register shut. Then, checking his wristwatch, Luke let out a subtle sigh.
It was time.
Luke took care filling two to-go cups with steaming hot coffee, securely fastening the lids on each one. Cradling a cup in each hand, he circled the counter and leaned against the stool closest to the girls' table.
"Come on Princess, your turbine chariot awaits," Lorelai said, a thin, unconvincing smile stretched across her features, as Rory gathered up her belongings.
"I need to hit up the restroom first."
Lorelai's attention shifted to the clock above the counter. "We're cutting it close, Kid."
"This from the woman whose motto is, 'If you're already late, take your time. You can't be late twice'," Rory replied, raising a skeptical eyebrow at her mother.
"Glad you took notes. Those, right there, are words to live by except when you're late and need to interact with tired and cranky TSA agents who have the power to perform a cavity search."
"I'll be quick …faster than Madonna can reinvent herself."
"I don't know …" Lorelai called out. "The Kabbalah thing seems like it's really working for her."
The moment Rory disappeared, a heavy veil of grief clouded Lorelai's expression as her eyes clung to the curtain swaying in Rory's wake, a silent reminder of her daughter's impending departure.
Without a word, Lorelai hugged her arms around her midriff just as Luke's fingers grazed her elbow. Pressing her shoulder against Luke's chest, Lorelai allowed him to momentarily bear her weight as her eyes remained glued to the curtain.
Luke's arm encircled her shoulder. "You can do this," he told her with unwavering certainty in his voice as he pulled her closer.
As if the slightest word would unleash a torrent of tears, Lorelai remained mute, her lips pressed firmly as she shook her head in dissent.
"Yes, you can." His grip on her shoulder tightened.
The soft touch of his lips brushing against her temple bolstered her confidence.
With a faint nod, she silently echoed his sentiment.
"You call me before you leave the airport," he whispered in her ear. "I don't want you getting back on the highway until you're ready."
Just then, a vivid flash of red and white tore through the curtain.
Rory stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of her Mom and Luke nestled close together. A secret smile played on her lips as she brushed her cascading bangs to one side. "I can't leave you kids alone for two minutes."
In an instant, Lorelai's face transformed, her sadness vanishing as a guarded smile played on her lips. "Yea, yea, what are ya gonna do? Ground us? Take away the car keys? Make us watch The Passion of the Christ?" She snatched her brown satchel from the table and slung it over her shoulder. "Grab your pearls and granny bag, Ethel. Let's blow this popsicle stand."
"Hey Mom, can you, uh …maybe give me a minute with Luke?" Rory asked with a hesitant tone, her eyes flitting to the man in the backwards baseball cap.
With a loving smile, Lorelai responded, "You got it, Kid," as she secured her take out cup from the counter and focused her attention on the diner owner. Avoiding his gaze, Lorelai rested her free hand to Luke's chest and leaned in to plant a delicate peck on his cheek. "I'll call you," she murmured close to his ear before executing a graceful pirouette in her brown leather sandals and vanishing through the exit.
Without a word, Luke and Rory stood transfixed in the diner, watching as Lorelai made her way out the door, over the rain-slick sidewalk, and took the wheel of her beloved Jeep.
Suddenly feeling awkward, Luke stuffed his hands down his jeans pockets. With a nervous flutter, he directed his attention towards the young woman in the red button-down, watching him intently with a teasing grin.
Luke's eyes instantly narrowed. "Don't even start."
"She told me a couple days ago that she thought the two of you were done."
"Yea, well …"
"She also told me, last night, that it was you who organized the party."
"If your Mom could talk underwater, the whales would be complaining about noise pollution."
"I just wanted to thank you," she told him, placing her hand over her heart. "It was amazing, Luke."
"That …" Luke shrugged dismissively. "Really wasn't a big deal. The whole town pitched in."
"It meant a lot to me …" Her gaze darted to the Jeep outside before settling back on the diner proprietor. "And to Mom." Rory then dove into her black leather handbag, pulling out an envelope, ivory in color, with Luke's name handwritten on the front. A twinkle of affection in her eyes, she extended it towards the somewhat bewildered diner owner. "As you are well aware, Mom does the talking and I do the writing. This is just a little something for you to pursue later. My two cents, if you will."
Luke fished his hand out of his pocket. "I plan to pursue a lot of your stuff. You know, editorials and op-eds," he replied, hesitantly grasping the envelope and casually placing it on the counter.
"I realize that you've done so much already, but I wonder if I may ask a parting favor from you?"
"Sure. Anything."
Rory's gaze, heavy with a blend of anxiety and sadness, flickered momentarily to her black ballet shoes. After a long breath, she raised her eyes, now brimming with tears, to look directly at the man whom she'd always see as a father-figure. "Keep an eye on her." She wiped at a single tear trickling down her cheek with the back of her fingers. "This isn't going to be easy for her …for either of us, really."
Instantly, Luke's steely heart broke for the young woman whom he'd always see as the eleven year old bookworm that invited him to her caterpillar's funeral. "C'mere." He spread his arms wide, allowing Rory to walk right into his warm embrace. "She'll be okay. I'll make sure of it," he promised, hugging her just a little tighter. "You don't worry about things here. You just go show the world what this town already knows you can do."
"Thank you," she told him, her voice barely a whisper as she pulled back from his comforting, flannel covered arms. Wiping away her tears with a napkin from the counter, Rory reached for the takeout coffee and made her way to the exit. Door handle in her grasp, she faced Luke once more with a kind and inviting smile. "The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again."
"Is that some movie quote that your Mom would be disappointed that I don't remember?"
A playful little chuckle escaping her. "Charles Dickens," she said as she pulled the handle and proceeded through the doorway.
"Hey Rory!" Luke shouted, just before the door clicked shut.
The young journalist popped her head back inside, catching the soft glow of affection in the diner proprietor's bright blue eyes.
"You need anything at all …you know where to find me."
With a gentle nod, Rory slipped away. Descending the steps, she proceeded to the Jeep where Lorelai was patiently standing by, watching while the two people she loved most in this world said their goodbyes.
At the window, Luke faintly waved a final goodbye as Lorelai's Jeep rolled out of its parking space and rumbled east on Main Street. He remained rooted to the spot. His vigilant gaze firmly planted on the Wrangler until its glowing tail lights were swallowed up by the sun's vibrant orange petals blooming just over the horizon.
Luke lifted his trademark blue cap. A weary sigh escaped him as he raked his fingers through his thinning hair. Desperate for a distraction, he went to work, immersing himself in his daily morning routine.
As a gentle wash of morning sunlight bathed the dining room in warm hues, Luke methodically flipped the table chairs upright, sliding them into place at their designated spots. Finally, he reached the table that The Gilmores had just vacated. A gentle laugh slipped from his lips as he spotted the maple syrup smiley-face drawn beside a half eaten stack of pancakes. Piling the plates together, Luke then dropped the used silverware into the empty coffee mugs and carried the entire collection of dirty dishes to the counter.
The unwashed plates clanged loudly, landing on the counter beside the slender white envelope Rory had handed him. As if a chill ran through him, Luke brushed his flannel-clad arms, his eyes fixated on the envelope as though it held a spectral communication.
Luke finally plucked the letter from the counter, pulled out a table chair, whirled it around, and sat down backwards. Leaning on the back of the chair, he anxiously eyed the sealed envelope, unsure if he even wanted to read Rory's perspective on his failed relationship with her mother. After a few moments of mentally rocking back and forth, curiosity got the better of him. He lifted the seal and pulled out two embossed sheets of stationery. Taking a deep, deliberate breath, he began to read.
Dear Luke,
In lieu of sleep, Mom and I stayed up late rehashing all of the wonderful events at the party that you so fantastically organized for me. It was all so incredible. I don't think I could ever express my gratitude to you sufficiently. So, please accept my very humble thank you for the party as well as for everything that you have done for both me and mom over the years.
You will always hold a special place in my heart, Luke Danes.
Just before ending our late-night discussion, somewhere around two-o'clock, Mom told me what transpired between the two of you in front of the diner during the party. I was told that it was the type of kiss that would, and I quote, "invoke a symphony of harp wielding cherubs."
I can't believe I missed that kiss.
I'm not exactly sure if she had intended to tell me or rather it was pure exhaustion combined with the emotional overload that caused her to spill. Either way, I'm simultaneously overjoyed and nervous for you both. So, I'm writing you this letter at three-thirty in the morning to express my thoughts.
I'm sure you know that Mom likes to think of herself as Wonder Woman. And, in a way, I've always seen her as such - as my protector, as my biggest champion. She's my hero. She's who I look up to and hope that, one day, I can emulate her.
But, you see Luke, the problem with superheroes is that they are unable to show their insecurities to others. They won't allow others to see their weaknesses and their fragility because the key to defeat a superhero is knowing their vulnerabilities.
There are a scant few people that Mom allows herself to be vulnerable with, and only a few "chosen ones" that have seen her completely defenseless. And honestly, Luke, the only people coming to my mind who have consistently been included in that group are you and me.
Another thing about superheroes is that we tend to place them on a pedestal. A pedestal of perfection. A pedestal of faultlessness. I've been guilty, myself, of placing her on a superhero pedestal. And I know for a fact that you've put her very high up on your own Lorelai pedestal as well. And whenever she has teetered or fallen off of that pedestal we've both metaphorically kicked her to hell and back while she was down because she forces us to recognize our own failures. We both want her to view us as flawless and when we do disappoint her, we both punish her for it.
You know, you and me, we're a lot alike, Luke. I think sometimes you and I both forget that Mom can hurt too. She's not a superhero. She's not impermeable. She's flawed. She's human. She makes mistakes. She feels pain just like everyone else - probably more so than others because of how deeply and wholly she loves and protects and cares for those most important to her.
Over the last two years, we've both failed her, damaged her, broke her. We've both ignored how much she was suffering. How much pain and anguish we were putting her through. How much hurt that us, her chosen ones, inflicted on her. But like a superhero, she suffered in silence while we continued, both knowingly and unintentionally, to use her vulnerabilities to our advantage.
We did a hell of a number on her, Luke.
Grandma loves a good cliche, and she once told me that they're called cliches because there is always some element of truth behind them. And the one that comes to mind is 'you always hurt the ones you love the most'. And it's so true because they are the easiest targets. You know exactly where to hit the hardest - the spot that hurts the most. And I know all three of us are guilty of that. I hurt her. You hurt her. She hurt you.
We're quite the bunch, huh?
I've always kinda seen the three of us as this strange, dysfunctional, quasi-family. It's been like that for over a decade. Me and Mom and you. You are family, Luke. No matter what, you were always there for us. And we'll always be there for you - unwaveringly. Even throughout this last year, we were always there when we needed each other. That's never going to change and I'm fairly certain that's what constitutes a family - love and dependability.
There's room in this weird little family for more. April has always been welcome to join us, Luke. You just need to allow it to happen.
Take care of Mom. Watch over her. I need to know that she'll still be in one piece when I return home. Whether you both choose to pursue a romantic relationship or decide you're better off as just friends, she needs to remain intact. Remember that even though she may have the Wonder Woman Underoos stuffed in her top drawer, she is not a superhero. No matter what she tells you to the contrary.
C.S. Lewis once wrote 'There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind'. Keep that in mind as you and mom embark on the next chapter of the Tale of Luke and Lorelai. Leave the past in the past and move forward together. I can attest that every day with her is like a new magical adventure. Just remember to strap yourself in because, when you're riding shotgun in her invisible jet, it's always a wild ride.
Take care, Luke. Until we meet again…
My deepest gratitude and sincerest love,
Lorelai Leigh Gilmore
Luke's head snapped back as he gasped for air. Blinking rapidly at the stark white ceiling, he desperately attempted to fight back the rising tide of tears. "Oh, Rory," he sighed to himself as his racing heart slowly began to calm. After a brief pause to steady his emotions, Luke wiped away the moisture in his eyes, then neatly folded the stationary, slipping it securely back into its envelope .
Like a knife through the silence, the bell chimed, jolting Luke's attention towards the doorway.
"I don't know, Kirk," Caesar whined as he burst through the entrance with Kirk hot on his heels. "You gotta ask the Boss."
"Ask me what?" Luke sharply cut in as he tucked Rory's letter into his flannel pocket.
Caesar and Kirk abruptly stopped just short of rounding the counter. Their startled eyes instantly locked onto the diner owner sitting solitary at a table in the middle of the dining room.
A smirk spreading across his face, Caesar nodded his dimpled chin toward his employer and told the town odd-ball, "Ask him yourself," before quickly tying on a fresh apron from behind the counter and heading straight into the kitchen.
With a defeated sigh escaping his lips, Kirk shuffled toward Luke, a small bag of dog kibble tucked under the sleeve of his red sweater.
Luke scanned the bag under Kirk's arm with a skeptical eye. "Cat Kirk didn't tear you up enough, so you decided to get Fido to finish you off? Are you actively trying to be a statistic, Kirk?"
Kirk cocked his head inquisitively. "I don't have a dog."
"Then why the hell are you carrying around a bag of dog food?"
"Well Luke, I recently gained employment as a dog food tester."
With a grimace, Luke raised a hand to halt Kirk's explanation. "You know, on second thought …I take back my original question. I don't wanna know."
"But Luke …" Kirk slid into the chair beside the diner owner and dropped the bag onto the table. "Your assistance could be invaluable to me in my quest to ensure that each batch of kibble meets the quality standards of a premium brand."
"And how do you plan on ensuring the quality?"
"My responsibilities include checking for consistency in appearance, smelling the food, and of course consuming the food."
"You eat dog food?!"
"Yes. That is one of the requirements of the job," Kirk replied matter-of-factly, adding, "I was just asking Ceasar to sprinkle a handful of these brown babies in my cheddar cheese omelet this morning. I wanted to get a good mouthfeel for the texture when combined with a lighter, fluffy fare such as your omelets."
Luke's teeth gritted, his cheeks turning scarlet as a menacing growl escaped his lips. "Kirk, get out."
"But Luke, it's not -"
"Out!" Luke spat, his trembling index finger aimed at the exit.
Disheartened, Kirk slumped in his seat, listlessly gathering the kibble bag from the table. "Can I at least get a bagel to go?" he pleaded. "I'd like to try spreading the canned pate -"
"Kirk, this is your last chance to leave on your own accord before I physically pick you up and throw your scrawny ass from here to the gazebo."
"I thought that we proved in high school that throwing me from the hardware store to the gazebo was impossible. Remember? You couldn't even get me across the street. Now Luke, gotta face the reality of the present." He gave Luke a sympathetic pat on the back. "You've added a few inches to your waistline since then. So, the chances of you even throwing me across the sidewalk are slim to -" The sight of the bulging vein in Luke's neck brought Kirk to an abrupt stop. "Okay, okay," he muttered in resignation, holding a hand up in surrender while Luke's scowl remained locked on him. With an awkward lurch from his chair, Kirk inched himself backwards towards the exit, nearly tripping over a vacant chair. "Hey Luke, just one more question before I make my hasty departure." He pushed the door open and hovered at the doorway, with one foot outside. "Do the same sentiments apply towards cat food?"
In a flash, a butter knife catapulted across the dining room, tumbling end-over-end in the air before ricocheting off the door jam, narrowly missing Kirk's head.
"Wow! You're still throwing strikes with some zip!" Kirk exclaimed, mesmerized by the butter knife as it clanged against the floor tiles. The harsh scrape of a chair's legs dragging across the diner floor snapped him back to reality. Eyes bulging at the flash of maroon plaid charging across the diner, Kirk slammed the door behind him and quickly fled the scene.