Previously…
– All hell broke loose at the Fishers’ Christmas celebration after Rosie and Travis overheard Molly and Brent’s plans to sue them for custody of Gabrielle.
– Before leaving King’s Bay with Kelsey, Brian encouraged Diane not to stand in the way of her own happiness any longer.
– Sonja and TJ grew increasingly frustrated at being confined to the safehouse, but Tim feared what Loretta might do if she became aware they are in King’s Bay.

With each moment that passes, Diane Bishop feels a bit more foolish. She stands by the reception desk on the ground floor of King’s Bay Memorial Hospital, holding a small ceramic pot with a bold turquoise band painted on it; in the pot is a green succulent plant with thick, smooth leaves.

“Can I just leave this here?” she asks the receptionist stationed behind the large, command center-style desk.

“If you’d like,” the receptionist tells her. “We can’t be responsible for it once you leave it, though.”

“I doubt someone’s going to steal a plant. Do you have a card I could put Dr. Banks‘s name on?”

The receptionist opens a drawer and is still fishing around when Diane sees Isaac Banks approaching from the elevator bay, wearing his scrubs and white coat.

“Now this is a surprise,” he says.

“They paged you almost ten minutes ago,” Diane says with exasperation. “What were you doing — saving lives?”

Isaac grins. “Always. What brings you by?”

Diane picks up the plant from the top of the reception desk and thrusts it toward him. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

The phone behind the reception desk rings loudly. Diane and Isaac shuffle a few steps away to give the receptionist some space.

“It’s a thank-you from Samantha and me,” Diane explains. “We’ve been meaning to send you something.”

“A thank-you? What for?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Saving Samantha’s life? Actually keeping Tim and me in the loop when we couldn’t track down the actual doctors assigned to her?”

“It was no problem. Really,” he says.

“You went above and beyond.”

He shrugs. “I just acted the way I’d want a doctor to act if — well, I don’t have a kid, but if it were Tempest or Chase in that bed. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Oh my god. Just take the damn plant, will you? It’s heavy.”

“Fine. Fine.” He accepts the pot. “This is kinda heavy.”

“I told you. Anyway… thank you.”

“You’re welcome. How’s Samantha doing?”

“Good. Really well. She’s even going back to work full-time next week. They’ve been giving her some assignments that she could do remotely, but she’s only now getting her energy back.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says.

“Yep. Definitely improving and getting back to normal.” She turns her body partly toward the exit. “I guess I’ll…”

“Okay. You didn’t have to come all the way down here to give me this.”

“I told you, I’ve been meaning to bring it for weeks.”

“You could’ve had it delivered.”

“I’m cheap. What can I tell you?” She hitches her jacquard Tory Burch purse up on her shoulder. “Anyway. Take care.”

“Okay.” Isaac stands there, holding the plant, as she begins to walk away — but then says, “Diane. Hold up.”

She stops and turns back over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“You’re just gonna leave like that?”

“I gave you the plant, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. Which you came all the way here to bring me.”

“Christ. If you don’t want it–“

“I do want it!”

“Then what’s with all the hemming and hawing?” she snaps.

He cocks his head to the left. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I think,” he says with a hint of a smirk, “that you didn’t just come down here to give me a plant. So what is it? What do you want to know?”

“That kitchenware rep isn’t here yet, is he?” Travis Fisher asks as he finds his uncle at the host stand just inside the entry of Bill’s on the Pier. The restaurant has not yet opened its doors for lunch and is therefore rather quiet, at least in the front of the house.

Matt Gray looks up from the computer, where he has been checking up on the day’s reservations. “Don’t think so, no. And I think it’s a she.”

“Oh. Yeah. Guess I shouldn’t assume,” Travis says.

Matt presses a few buttons to navigate back to the home screen of the reservation system. “Sure you don’t mind taking the meetings?”

“Not at all. Best thing I can do is keep myself as busy as possible lately.”

With a sympathetic expression, Matt asks, “How are you and Rosie holding up?”

“Does the fact that I’m volunteering to take a meeting with a pushy sales rep not answer that question?”

One side of Matt’s mouth lifts in a wry half-smile. “Gotcha. I’m sorry you guys are going through this stuff.”

“Thanks.” Travis sighs as he leans one shoulder against the wall. “We’re just on-edge all the time, you know? We’re trying to keep things as normal as we can for Gabrielle — and actually enjoy our time with her — but it’s like, we know this huge thing is looming right around the corner.”

“What do you mean?”

“We expected Aunt Molly and Uncle Brent to serve us with custody papers weeks ago,” Travis says. “But still nothing. It makes me think they’re up to something.”

“Up to something? You don’t think they’d try something sneaky or shady, do you?”

“I don’t know. More like they’re working on a strategy of some sort. But we’re so tense waiting for the other shoe to drop–“

The men go quiet as the restaurant’s front door swings open. A middle-aged man in pleated khakis and a tucked-in plaid shirt, with a messenger bag slung across his body, steps inside.

“Mr. Fisher? Travis?” the man asks.

“Hi,” Travis says, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. “You must be from Steele’s–“

But instead of shaking his hand, the man quickly reaches into his bag and pulls out an envelope, which he slaps into Travis’s palm.

“You’ve been served,” the man tells him.

—–

The numbers above the elevator door light up with excruciating slowness, the muted pink hue lingering on each numeral for what feels like forever before finishing relinquishing it to the next floor’s marker. Tim Fisher stands in the small, square elevator car anxiously jiggling his right leg and wondering if he should have taken the stairs. Even when the elevator reaches its intended floor, it settles with a thump and what feels like a sigh, again taking a veritable eternity before the doors part.

As soon as they do, Tim pushes through the opening and hurries down the hallway. Despite the boldly printed carpet and the brushed-metal wall sconces, there is something aggressively anonymous and bland about the apartment building. He knows that that is the point, but he also hates the idea of his young son living almost his entire life inside these walls rather than in a warm, loving family home.

The mere thought of TJ ignites a fresh spark of worry in Tim, and he quickens his pace even more as he turns a corner and reaches his destination. The plainclothes officer stationed outside the apartment waves him by, and Tim finds the door unlocked.

“How is he?” he asks breathlessly.

“He’s asleep in the bedroom,” Sonja Kahele tells him. She wears navy blue yoga pants and a large black sweatshirt that do not match, and her dark hair is piled into a messy approximation of a bun on top of her head. Tim can tell from her face that she hasn’t slept much.

“It’s good that he’s resting. How does he seem?”

“It’s strep throat. I managed to get enough of a look into his mouth, and I could see white spots back there.”

“Dammit. Poor kid.” Tim swipes a hand over his eyes. “How dangerous is it?”

“It needs to be treated,” Sonja says. “We can’t just let this play out. Especially not in a small child. It could damage his kidneys, or cause rheumatic fever–“

“It’s strep throat. We’ll make sure he’s okay.”

“Then we have to take him to a doctor. Now. He needs antibiotics.”

Tim’s mind races as he tries to puzzle this out. Going to the local hospital feels like too much of a risk, and the Urgent Care centers are even more exposed. If they are followed or somehow spotted, it could compromise Sonja and TJ’s safety in a way that antibiotics could not fix.

“Can we do a telehealth call?” he asks.

“Do you have access to one? I don’t.” When he hesitates in responding, she presses, “Tim. We need to go. I’ll carry TJ down to the car. Come on.”

She moves toward the bedroom.

“Wait,” he says. As much as he hates making the mental calculation, he can’t help but wonder if this could be a ruse on Sonja’s part to get out of this safehouse, which she has been desperate to do for some time.

“I know what to do,” Tim tells her as he pulls out his iPhone. He quickly scrolls to a contact. Sonja eyes him uneasily as he places the call.

“Hey,” he says into the phone. “I need your help. It’s urgent.”

—–

“What are you talking about?” Diane hisses at Isaac.

He casts a wary glance at the receptionist, who is still on the phone, and then closes the gap between himself and Diane.

“Why’d you bring this yourself instead of having it delivered?” he asks.

Diane rolls her eyes. “This is what I get for being a decent human being, huh?”

“I appreciate the plant, Diane. Really.”

“Then why can’t you just thank me and stop badgering me?!”

“I did thank you!” he shoots back. “I’m only asking what other reason you had to come all the way here.”

Diane glowers back at him. “What are you implying?”

“What are you not saying?”

“What do you think I’m not saying?”

A maddening smirk plays upon his lips. “I think you came here because you wanted to see me.”

“Oh, please.”

“You miss seeing me like you did every day when Sam was here.”

“Yeah, Isaac,” she says dryly. “I’m just longing for the days when my daughter was in a coma.”

“That’s not what I said.” He sets the plant down at this feet. “Am I right, though? You wanted to see me?”

Diane feels her heart thudding inside her chest. It takes her a moment to respond, “Someone’s gotten pretty cocky.”

“You wanna know something?”

“No,” she says, yet she makes no move to depart.

“I miss seeing you. As infuriating as you can be — like right now — I miss knowing I’d see you most days when I came to work. There.”

Diane draws in a deep breath through both nostrils.

“So?” he says.

“So what?”

“Are you gonna say it back?”

“No,” she snaps.

“Oh, come on, Diane. I can see it all over your face–“

“You cannot.”

“I can!” Isaac says, his voice rising a little too much, which earns them a sharp glare from the receptionist. More quietly, he adds, “Go on. Ask me.”

“Ask you what? If you have a severe brain injury?”

“Oooh. Spicy joke for a hospital.”

“I’m leaving,” she says, unsure if she is more irritated with him or herself. But even as she turns away, she feels some strange gravitational force trying to stop her from going.

“Thank you for the plant,” he calls after her.

“You’re welcome,” she says without looking back, but then she pauses and spins on her heels. “Do you want to have dinner?”

Isaac reacts with surprise. “Really?”

“Yes! It’s a simple question. Do you want to have dinner this weekend?”

“So you did want to ask me something,” he says as the smirk reemerges.

She lets out an exaggerated groan.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Isaac says.

“Good. I’ll call you. I really am leaving now.”

“Mm-hmm. Sure you are.”

“I am.” She steals one final look at him, tall and handsome with a closely cropped beard. “I’m going.”

“Sure looks like it,” he teases, and she sticks out her tongue at him before forcing her legs to direct her to the exit.

Only once she is back outside, being nipped at by the cold Pacific Northwest air, does she allow herself to smile.

—–

Confused, Travis closes his fingers around the edge of the envelope. “Served? You mean…?”

“With a lawsuit,” the process server explains helpfully.

Travis looks to Matt, who is just as thrown as he is.

“Do I need to sign something?” Travis asks.

“Nope. Just… consider yourself served. Bye.” The man retreats through the restaurant’s entrance as swiftly as he appeared.

“This must be…” Travis’s shaky fingers tear at the flap on the envelope and finally gain enough traction on one corner that he is able to tear it open. He pulls out the sheaf of papers and studies the front page.

“Is that…?” Matt asks.

“Yeah. I know I just said that we knew this was coming, but…” He continues to stare at the document, a petition on behalf of Brent and Molly Taylor for custody of “the child known as Gabrielle Fisher,” as it reads.

“I’m sorry, man,” Matt says.

“I, um — I need to call Rosie.”

“I’ve got the sales rep. Don’t give it another thought.”

With a limp nod, Travis says, “Thanks, Uncle Matt.”

“Hey, and Trav?”

“Yeah?”

“You and Rosie are great parents to that kid,” Matt tells him. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“We’re lucky to have her.”

“I get it. I feel the same way about Tori and Billy. You guys are gonna get through this all right.”

“I hope so,” Travis says before releasing an overwhelmed sigh.

Matt claps a hand on his nephew’s shoulder and then heads back toward the kitchen. Dazed, Travis braces himself against the host stand as this inescapable new reality penetrates his consciousness. Finally he takes out his phone and makes a call.

“Rosie,” he says the moment she answers. “It looks like we’ve got a fight on our hands.”

END OF EPISODE 1169

Will the custody case make it in front of a judge?
Why couldn’t Diane simply ask Isaac out?
Can Tim and Sonja help TJ before things get worse?
Talk about all this and more in the comments below!

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