The Maine Event

Chapter 2

During the next week Rory had discovered the very best place for writing, having dragged the heavy oak desk to the middle of the upstairs study, away from the large window that was slightly drafty. She'd had to rearrange also the armchair and the coffee table in the process. But in the end she was toasty and the desk still overlooked the ocean.

 There were still moments when her emotions caught up with her, but writing really helped draw her mind off of the recent events. Focusing on writing about her teen years was the safest bet, that was if she avoided the topic of her mother getting pregnant at the age of 16.

On most days she began around 11 AM, making herself a large pot of coffee and grabbing whatever Catherine had left in the fridge, pastries on the days she visited, poptarts on those she didn't. Once she got into the flow of writing she could forget herself for hours. 

It was usually the audible growl of her stomach that made her head back down to the kitchen to see what she would heat up for dinner, skipping lunch altogether. In the evenings she browsed the channels on the television, hoping to watch something distracting - avoiding romances and family dramas. More than anything she was appreciative of the cheap wine Cathrine brought her, so she wouldn't have to go into the family's wine fridge and accidently drink something worth more than her laptop. The wine just number her mind enough so perhaps she wouldn't cry herself to sleep every night.

It was just like Richard's death in a sense. It had just happened, without much warning, and in a way she tried to compare the miscarriage and Richard's not so recent passing to each other. Surely Richard's death ought to have been more painful, having known him for a much longer time, but to her surprise, perhaps due to the timing and the linkage to Logan, the recent loss actually stung more. It was more intimate, and therefore sharper - not like something inevitable like the passing of someone who'd already had numerous heart attacks and other scares, someone who was older, realistically thinking, was. 

She kept waking from dreams where she was a mother - snuggling up in the morning with a toddler, only really recalling his or her toes and fingers. The dream were surprisingly vivid, almost sensing the child's warmth on her skin. The dreams themselves weren't unpleasant, even hopeful. The agony came in the morning, waking up and realizing she wasn't pregnant nor even anywhere near a possibility of that life. It was like getting punched in the face by faith all over again.

Several days had passed since she had arrived at the house, and she knew today was the day when Lorelai was arriving from her honeymoon in Cuba, hence the incoming call really wasn't a surprise. Lorelai must've found the note she left.

"Rory, what exactly do you mean when you write 'I'll be staying in Maine for a while'?" Lorelai asked, reading out her note, without further introduction.

"Mom, how was your honeymoon?" Rory asked, trying to steer the topic to more pleasant conversations, realizing all too well Lorelai was not going to answer her question.

"Rory...," Lorelai began in a scolding tone, not buying her evasive manouvers.

"I just needed a quiet place to write," Rory tried to explain. She hoped to avoid going into the longer version. This was on her, and her alone... almost. She didn't want her mother rushing over and throwing her a pity party. She didn't even want to tell her.

"You suddenly win the lottery or something? Because the last time you checked you were pretty broke," Lorelai noted the painful fact, pondering where she was staying.

"I just couldn't focus properly in Stars Hollow. A friend told me she had this house nobody was using this time of year and I could stay there if I needed a place to write," she fibbed.

"Paris doesn't have a house in Maine, as far as I know," Lorelai tried to figure out who this mysterious friend might have been.

"It's not Paris'. You haven't met her actually," Rory replied truthfully. She was so thankful for actually being able to tell at least half-truth to her mother.