“Gemma.” He set her down and crouched again for a second.

“Go with Rosamund.

I’m not going anywhere, I promise you.

I’ll be in there in ten minutes and I’m not leaving this house today.”

Gemma looked at him hard, checking.

Then she went and took Rosamund’s hand.

Lorelai stopped at the archway and looked back at her father, and there was something in that look — an appraisal, a nine-year-old deciding whether to believe an adult — that he would spend the next several years earning his way out of.

The kitchen door clicked shut.