Previously…
– Isaac acquired the late Yvette’s medical records and used the information inside to track down Tempest at home. He pleaded with her to hear him out.
– Sarah was excited but nervous that Tori would be attending the Fishers’ Thanksgiving celebration — with Zane accompanying her.
– Loretta spied Spencer slipping out of Natalie’s room after one of their trysts.

“They had you driving one of those Zamboni things?”

Isaac Banks gawks at his younger sister in disbelief. The siblings sit on a diagonal from one another, Tempest on the sofa and Isaac in an armchair, with the corner of the coffee table cutting between them. From the apartment’s kitchen, the sounds of Claire Fisher preparing Thanksgiving dinner can be heard. 

“I was good at it, too,” Tempest says proudly. “It was kinda fun, being out on the ice all alone, driving that big machine. And you’d go over this ripped-up ice and see it turn all smooth and slick again — it was pretty relaxing.”

“And now you’re up in the office helping run the place, huh?”

Tempest nods. “I don’t wanna brag, but I do a damn good job, too. Jason and I have that place running like clockwork. Plus I’m taking business classes at KBU.”

“I’m happy for you, sis,” Isaac tells her. “And proud of you. I always knew you were gonna be successful.” He falls quiet, his head lolling forward in despair. “I’m just sorry I left you to fend for yourself. You’ve got to know I did look for you — I even looked Mom up and realized you weren’t with her anymore.”

“Isaac. I get it.” 

Tempest leans back into the sofa’s plush cushions. Over the course of the last hour, since she agreed to let him stay and talk, she has found herself relaxing around him, falling back into rhythms that take her right back to her childhood self — yet also determined to show him all that she’s done for herself, on her own.

“I’ve been pissed at you for a long time,” she continues. “But I get that you had to get yourself out of there.”

“In a perfect world, I would’ve taken you with me. I swear. But you were a kid, and I knew if I kidnapped you…” He shakes his head sadly. “There was no winning there. I always wanted to come back for you, sis. I swear.”

Tempest finds herself nodding. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s a holiday, or the fact that Isaac seems so interested in her life and so impressed by the path she has carved out, but as the time has worn on, she has felt her initial hostility toward him melting. Part of her knew from the moment she saw him at KBAY that it was somewhat irrational, that Isaac was only a teenager when he left and there was only so much he could’ve done for her at the time. She has harbored so much anger toward him for so long, wanting to believe that if he’d only found a way to bring her with him, she’d have been spared years of misery at the hands of their mother and Hank Bassett. Hearing Isaac talk about his own life, however, she recognizes that things would have been hard, maybe impossible, in a different way — for him to support, to raise, her while finding a path for himself, for them to stay under the radar so that Yvette and the authorities wouldn’t have been able to locate them.

“I really do get it,” she says, “and I’m sorry for blaming you for stuff that isn’t your fault.”

She can see the emotion building in Isaac’s expression as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. 

“I’m glad you’re doing okay,” he says. “Better than okay. I missed you, Temp.”

She grins. “No one calls me that anymore.”

“Well, I do. You’re still my little sis.”

“Watch it,” she says playfully, holding up her index finger in mock-warning. 

“So it looks like you’ve got a good thing going with work, and you’ve got a nice setup here with Claire,” Isaac says. “How about the rest of it? You got good friends? A boyfriend?”

Tempest’s breath catches in her throat as the question and Isaac’s curious gaze hit her.

—–

“Happy Thanksgiving, dear,” Paula Fisher says warmly as she embraces her eldest daughter. 

Molly Taylor wraps her arms around Paula, grateful for the familiar comfort of her mother’s touch. Over the past few difficult months, she has found particular solace in being consoled by the woman who birthed and raised her.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom,” she says before taking a step back.

“Where are Brent and the boys?”

“They’re coming from Brent’s. He texted me that he’d be here in about half-an-hour.” Molly shimmies out of her cranberry-colored wool coat. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Before Paula can respond, Matt Gray‘s voice sounds from the kitchen: “Paula! Can you come give me a hand?”

“I can do it,” Molly says.

Paula sticks out an arm to stop her. “Stop that. I’ll go help. Hang your coat, make yourself a drink, and enjoy the appetizers in the dining room.”

Molly attempts to protest, but Paula simply bustles out of the room, cutting off any further discussion. Laughing to herself at her mother’s way of handling situations like this — a way that Molly recognizes in herself all too often, too — she is hanging her coat in the small closet in the entryway when the front door opens. Molly turns to see her sister entering with two pie boxes stacked awkwardly on her arm.

“Here, let me help,” Molly says as she reaches out to take the pies.

“I’ve got it,” Sarah says, but as she pushes her way through the open door awkwardly, Molly again sticks out her hands and takes the boxes.

“I said I had it!” Sarah snaps.

“I’m just trying to help. You could’ve dropped them.”

“I wasn’t going to drop them. Jeez, Molly.” 

“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”

Sarah lets out a loud huff. “Yeah, same.” 

She snatches the pies back from her sister.

“What’s with everyone around here trying to make me feel useless?” Molly asks as she turns to shut the closet door.

“Huh?”

“I offered to help Mom, and then you, and — nevermind.” 

Sarah is about to fire back a retort, but she notices the despondence in Molly’s face and thinks better of it.

“How are you doing?” she asks instead, careful to keep her tone soft.

“I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Sarah. What, do you want to tell me I look like crap, too?”

“No. Jeez.” Sarah rolls her eyes up into her head. “I’m asking how you’re doing because I know you’ve had a tough few months.”

“I have. But I’m getting by.”

“Good. Look, I know everyone on Earth is aware we aren’t close, but I really am sorry for what you’re going through. It isn’t the same as when Matt and I lost our baby, but it’s… it’s a pain that only women who have been through an experience like that can even begin to understand.”

Molly’s long, black eyelashes flutter. A heavy silence bears down on them.

“Thanks, Sarah. It’s…” She shakes her head, and somehow, it feels like the most connection the sisters have shared in years. “You know, Tori‘s been a big help, too. Not just as my assistant, but in talking about how she felt — how she feels — about the baby she lost.”

Sarah’s mouth flattens into a stern, flat line, a stoic expression holding back a torrent of emotions at the mere mention of the granddaughter she never got to meet.

“I’m glad she’s been there for you,” Sarah finally says, “and vice-versa. You giving her that job — I’m hoping it’ll be a lifeline for her.”

“She’s doing an excellent job.”

“Good. She has so much to offer. And for all our, uh, differences, I’m really thankful to you for giving her a chance to show what she can do.”

“Things are better between her and you guys, aren’t they?” Molly asks.

“Getting there. Slowly. She and Zane are coming today, which is a big step from where we all were a year ago.”

“That’s great to hear.”

“If it means a second chance with our daughter, Matt and I will do everything we can to get along with Zane,” Sarah says. “But if Tori can build a life separate from him — and a job like this one is a big part of that — then I can’t say I won’t be relieved.”

—–

Natalie Bishop stands at the vanity in her en suite bathroom, touching up her lipstick. She wears a pleated emerald green dress, with her wavy auburn hair falling over her shoulders. She takes a step back and nods approvingly at her reflection; she has to admit that she looks good.

And, she thinks, the glow in her skin probably owes something to the not-quite-regular — but still steady — sex that she and Spencer have been having. For the bulk of their arrangement of a marriage, they have been co-parents and roommates, occasionally alluding to some “agreement” permitting discreet sex with others, which Natalie has always been too busy or tired to take advantage of. 

She hears the door to the bedroom creak open and turns, though she cannot see who it is.

“Peter, I’ll be done in a minute,” she says, but her young son doesn’t respond. Footsteps draw nearer to the bathroom.

“Spencer, is that you?” she calls out. “If you’re thinking — we do not have time before dinner. I just got dressed.”

“Please stay that way,” Loretta Ragan says as she comes into view, stationing herself in the bathroom doorway.

Natalie reflexively takes a step backward, the way she often does when encountering Loretta despite having lived in the same house as the woman for all these months.

“I’ll be downstairs in a minute,” Natalie says. “Dinner is all taken care of–“

“I know it is,” Loretta says. “Which means you and I can use that minute to talk.”

“Talk? Why?”

Loretta narrows her eyes. “I saw Spencer leaving your bedroom this morning, Natalie.”

Natalie feels a stab of pain in her chest. The most she can manage to respond with is, “What?”

“Don’t try and play dumb with me, though I know it’s your natural state of being,” Loretta tells her. “I know what you and my son have been doing — and I won’t stand for it.”

—–

Tempest feels time slow to a crawl as Isaac’s question lands. In the back of her mind, she knew this moment was coming ever since she let Isaac step into the apartment. She swallows the lump that has suddenly formed in her throat.

“No boyfriend,” she says. “I, uh, I was with someone for a few years. Samantha. Her name was Samantha.”

“Oh.” Isaac’s eyebrows go up, and he sits back as he processes this news. “Guess I didn’t think–“

“It’s okay. But yeah. No boyfriends now or ever.” She waits, folding her hands in her lap. “You got something to say about that?”

“No. I mean– as long as you’re happy. No judgment or anything. Guess I just didn’t think…”

“That your little sister who wanted to shoot hoops instead of playing with dolls might be a lesbian?”

He laughs. “Okay. You got me there.”

“Glad you don’t have anything rude to say, ‘cuz I’d be pointing you right back at that door if you did.”

“It’s your life. I respect it.”

Claire rounds the breakfast nook and appears in the dining area, her red gingham apron soiled with various streaks of flour and gravy. 

“How are you two doing in here?” she asks.

“We’re good,” Tempest says with a reassuring look.

“Good.” Claire crooks a finger to summon Tempest. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

Tempest hops up from the couch and tells Isaac, “Be right back.”

She follows Claire back into the narrow kitchen, where the temperature must be at least ten degrees warmer, with all the heat that the oven and the gas stove’s burners are giving off.

“Dinner should be ready in about half an hour,” Claire says quietly. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Isaac.”

They confer in hushed voices for another few seconds, and then Tempest emerges from the kitchen. She stands beside the breakfast nook as Claire comes up behind her. Isaac, still in the armchair, looks up from his phone.

“Hey, Isaac,” Tempest says. “We’re gonna be eating dinner soon–“

He quickly stands. “I’ll get out of our way. Maybe we could meet up again soon and catch up more–“

“How about over dinner?” Tempest asks. “You wanna stay and have Thanksgiving with us?”

—–

The Fisher home has begun to fill up with family and friends. The sideboard in the dining room has been turned into a makeshift bar, with wine, spirits, and mixers at one end and an assortment of hors d’oeuvres on the other side. A folding table has been added to the end of the already-large dining room table, and a pair of matching pumpkin-hued tablecloths turn the two tables into one big dining surface, with place settings and a grab bag of chairs — from the dining room, the kitchen, the den, and anywhere else in the house — set up in anticipation of the feast whose tantalizing aromas are already filling the house.

In the living room, Matt stands with a checked-pattern dishcloth slung over the shoulder of his polo shirt, which has a Pittsburgh Pirates emblem stitched over the heart, talking with his wife, brother, and sister-in-law.

“We’re so happy you guys are here this year,” Sarah is saying.

“We’re happy to be here,” Mia Davich Gray says with a smile. “None of us need to have a year like last year ever again.”

Standing beside his wife, Jake Gray nods keenly. “No more civil wars.”

“No more civil wars,” Matt agrees. “Just glad you’re doing so well, Jake.”

“I have your kidney to thank for that,” Jake says. “I can never thank you enough for that.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Matt tells him. 

“You saved his life,” Mia says.

Matt lifts his towel-covered shoulder in a shrug. “He’s my brother.”

“The point is, we’re all moving forward now,” Sarah says, “and that’s something to be thankful for.”

She is about to propose a toast when she sees her daughter step into the living room from the entryway, still wearing her faux-fur-trimmed trench coat, with Zane Tanaka by her side.

“Tori,” Sarah says, hearing the note of nervousness in her voice. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom. And Dad. And Uncle Jake and Aunt Mia.” There is a clear swell of emotion behind Tori’s words as she speaks.

“Happy Thanksgiving, everyone,” Zane says as he holds out a bottle of red wine. “Thanks for having us.”

“Thanks for coming,” Matt says after the slightest moment of hesitation. He sticks out his hand, and Zane shakes it amiably.

“It smells great in here,” Zane comments, his nose twitching as he lifts it into the air. “You guys must have been cooking all day.”

“The credit for that goes to Matt and my mother,” Sarah says. “I did my best sous-chef impression for a few hours and managed not to screw anything up.”

“I bet it’ll be amazing,” Zane says. “Tori, why don’t we go hang our coats and get a drink?”

“That sounds great,” Tori says as Zane takes her hand. “We’ll be right back.”

They move off, and the four older adults stand in awkward quiet until Tori and Zane are out of hearing range.

“That seemed… normal,” Mia says, a little tentatively.

“It did.” Sarah furrows her brow. “Which is kind of abnormal.”

“Maybe things are settling down,” Matt offers.

Sarah lifts her wine glass to her lips and takes a small sip. “I’d like to believe that. But until I’m fully convinced — if that’s even possible — I’m keeping one eye on Zane.”

—–

An unblinking Loretta stares down Natalie, who, despite the way her mind is racing, cannot come up with any kind of adequate rejoinder or rebuttal.

“I take your silence to mean that you understand me and will put a stop to this at once,” Loretta finally says.

“There– there’s nothing to put a stop to,” Natalie stammers.

“As much as I’d love to believe that to be true, I know it isn’t. Allow me to be perfectly clear, Natalie: I tolerate your marriage because it’s best for Peter and because it kept my son from being charged with kidnapping Peter after your lies and deception came out.”

Natalie draws in a deep breath. Her heart thuds heavily inside her chest.

“But I will not have him being caught in your web the way poor, stupid Jason Fisher was,” Loretta continues. 

“Spencer and I are adults. I promise–“

“I don’t need you to promise me anything other than that it will not happen again. And I know you’ll keep that promise, because you don’t have much of a choice, do you?”

Again Natalie, beaten into silence, stands there with her arms at her sides, a tube of lipstick still clutched in her hand.

“I think I’ve been rather generous in not sharing with anyone how you hired Sonja Kahele to brainwash Spencer into not remembering his fall down the stairs,” Loretta says. “But if it were to become necessary to do so…”

“You wouldn’t do that to Peter. I’m his mom. He loves me.”

“Peter has grown very attached to his Mimi over the past year. And Spencer has the resources to ensure his son is well cared for, whether you’re living in this house or, as they say, the big house.”

“Loretta,” Natalie says through gritted teeth.

“This isn’t a negotiation. It’s an order,” Loretta says as she whirls around to exit the bathroom. “Keep Spencer out of your bed, and stay away from his, or there will be hell to pay.”

END OF EPISODE 1052

Will Natalie do as Loretta has ordered?
Can Sarah and Matt get through a holiday with Zane?
Will Tempest and Isaac be able to grow close?
Talk about it all in the comments below!

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