Chadworth got in.

The car rolled down the long drive between the plane trees his wife had planted the year Lorelai was born.

He looked back once through the tinted glass.

The two girls were standing on the front steps in the gray March light, side by side, Gemma still in her nightgown, waving with the whole arm the way small children do.

Behind them in the lit doorway, Rosamund stood with the tray, and when she saw him turn to look, she lowered her eyes.