The town retains its simple beauty. Decades have passed, modes and styles of transportation have changed, but there is still just the one traffic light.
He laughs, recalling the story of the first day that particular structure was installed, and what it means to him. He recalls what she was planning to do just a few days later, what she called off mere hours later. He looks up, and sees that the trees still shade with their canopies, lessening the heat of summer.
He holds the note in his hand, trembling, and realizes he has to go back inside. Back up the porch, back into the house that sits so quietly, the house once so full of life. He casts a final glance at the children in the yard, one quietly reading, another rummaging through the grass looking for tiny blossoms to add to the daisy chain she's forming, and the two behind the house, playing ball.
Gathering his courage, he passes the porch swing. Oh if that swing could talk! It sways slightly in the summer breeze, as if acknowledging its role in the history of this house, this family, these families. He goes in to face them, slowly ascending the stairs to the bedroom upstairs.
It's just a note, really. Something she often wrote. A note, from a hatbox stored deep in the downstairs hall closet. A note from Lorelai. This one's a little different, however; it comes with the instruction: "Open Only in the Event of My Death." That admonition is scribbled boldly and large; beneath it, he has to chuckle at the "And I really mean it" that follows, double underlined.
Open only in the event of my death. Well now, that moment has come and gone. The Reigning Lorelai, Lorelai the Second, has just been laid to rest, a rest she richly deserves. Yet it's hard to think of her as resting. Instead, he thinks of her in Heaven now, with all her loved ones, happy, gamboling about, talking a mile a minute, happy, happy, happy.
The smile and peace this thought brings to him doesn't stop him from trembling as he oh-so-carefully opens the envelope. He stares at the folded page, peach-pink, still slightly scented. So...Lorelai.
He sighs, opens the letter, and reads, capturing the attention of the others in the room...
To My Friend, Luke Danes:
I'm writing this letter to you on the night of my engagement party, to Max. I want to let you know how I feel, even though you'll never see this letter. (Because, hah! I'm going to live forever!)
Luke, I think it will be difficult for me to be with Max. I like him, a lot, but I have feelings for you, feelings I can't ever tell you about, because I saw what was between you and Rachel.
I look at you and respect you. You've always been sort of like a partner to me. Your coffee, your feeding us, your helping around the house--all are appreciated. More than you'll ever know.
I've gotten to know you as a very good man, though you probably would never think of yourself that way. But I see it. I see it in the thousands of little kindnesses you share with my little girl (Hey, don't mock that, she'll always be my little girl!)
And what I see is someone who is always willing to help me, no matter how much I screw up. Knowing you, I can't help but think that it (knowing you) made me stronger.
Luke, I have feelings for you. I always feel close to you, and think I always will. But I saw Rachel too and I know she'll eventually come back. And I want, no need, your friendship and caring. Besides, Max isn't exactly a Mr. Fix-it.
Thank you for never asking me why I married someone I don't love. I hope you're never faced with that situation. It's just that I got lonely, and he treats me well, and cares for Rory.
If you are reading this, it means I have died. Maybe I had the guts to face my feelings, and tell you about them, before I died. If so, you'll have a good laugh. Above all, keep an eye out for Rory--I know you will, but it can't hurt to ask.
Oh! I also hope you won't have to read this letter for many years.
Love ya,
Lorelai
Tears fell as he read the letter. Lorelai. So kind, so loving, so brave.
Someone in the room taps him on the shoulder.
"April," he responds, turning into her heartfelt hug.
April, hugely pregnant, shares a lopsided, teary grin with him. "What else did you find in the box?"
"Note. Lots of notes," he answers.
He silently hands April the letter, and waits while she silently reads it; she then hands it to her sister.
"Mom and Luke sure loved each other," Rory finally says. "Now that I'm a mom myself, I so admire them for making such a wonderful family."
A beautiful young woman pokes her head in the room.
"May I interrupt? I found this little scrap of paper on the landing…"
"Sure, Geege," Rory says, accepting the rag-tag torn ear of paper.
She reads: "Gwen/Gavin. 2 months."
"Huh?" Georgia Hayden answers.
"Tell ya later, kid," Rory replies.
"Are the kids still OK?" April, mother of two and another on the way, asks.
"They're doing great," he responds.
"Maybe we should send our better halves out there," Rory replies.
He smiles at her through his tears.
Georgia volunteers to go ahead and check.
Rory responds with "Come on little brother, let's go back down to the living room, the guests are waiting for us."
The trio: a young man, flanked on one side by his pregnant sister and on the other by the 'old lady', as he affectionately calls his much older sister, slowly makes its way back downstairs.
Will Danes and his two sisters, Three Musketeers facing a nightmare they'd never hoped to experience: their parents' wake. As they enter the room, snippets of conversation waft by them on summer's breezes.
"So sad...drunk driver...killed them both...after all they had been through," a guest murmurs.
"Harder on the boy, I would think…he was THEIR baby, after all…"
"At least they were pretty old…and went together."
"Together, in death as in life…"
" I'm really going to miss them..."
"He was such a good dad to Rory even before they got together…"
"She cared for her like she was her own, even though it was a shock…"
"I hear he's going to move back here and take over the diner…"
The front door opens, and the bedlam of cousins, Rory and April's children, breaks the quiet sea of murmurs. They join other children, the children of friends, the children of a Martha and a David…and enjoy snacks, oblivious to the sadness of this day. Nana and Gramps will come in the house any moment now, right?
Rory, April and Will stop in front of the two gaily decorated urns, surrounded by spouses and children and family and friends.
Friends who turn to offer comfort to the children of Lorelai and Luke.