Previously…
– Bree learned that Natalie was a suspect in Loretta’s murder. After Marcus made a comment about murder being a likely choice for Natalie, Bree lashed out at him.
– Tori was shocked when Lucy showed up at her office and admitted that she has been the victim of domestic violence. Tori promised to help her.
– Sonja and Tim took their toddler son, TJ, to the hospital to have him tested for aplastic anemia.

The cold of the rink barely registers as Bree Halston slices across the ice. The blades on the bottoms of her skates hiss with every movement, sending almost imperceptible flurries of snow skittering through the air. The scuffed-up boards echo the pushes and stops and landings of the handful of skaters currently practicing.

Bree takes a decisive push onto her left outside edge, sets her balance, and then lifts her right leg. The spiral pulls her body into a line of balance, arms extended at her sides, face focused. The sound of the arena door opening and then closing joins the echoes, but it otherwise doesn’t attract her attention until she concludes the spiral and notices the figure walking toward the ice.

Natalie Bishop wears an immaculate beige trench coat and has designer sunglasses perched atop her head, despite the early hour. Bree glides to a stop, slow and reluctant, breath fogging in front of her face. She hovers several feet from the barrier, hoping that the silent message is clear: Not now.

But Natalie waves, as breezily as if she’d been out to brunch and saw her daughter walking down the street. No acknowledgement of the fact that she has been brought in twice for questioning in the murder of her own mother-in-law. Bree tenses, but Natalie waves again, this time beckoning for Bree to come toward her. Bree feels as though she can see the other skaters and coaches’ eyes all watching them, and the last thing she wants is a scene. So she skates over to the door, where Natalie is already waiting for her.

“What is it?” she snaps in a half-whisper. “I’m practicing.”

“That spiral was gorgeous.”

Bree’s voice hitches before she can answer, “Thanks.”

“You didn’t answer any of my calls last night. Or my texts.”

“Usually people take that as a sign to leave the other person alone.”

“I know you’re upset,” Natalie says. The moment stretches out, and even the indistinct hum of the refrigeration unit beneath the ice feels louder than normal.

“Mom, I just can’t do the chaos anymore. You and Dad got divorced, and we moved, and then there was Julian, then there wasn’t, and then we came here, and it was you and Jason, and you had Peter, except then the wedding happened and we had to move again, and you randomly married Spencer, but then Loretta showed up and I had to move out of there–“

“I get it. Really.” Natalie’s tone and expression reveal a gravity that takes Bree by surprise. “I’m sorry. But that’s why I need to tell you something.”

Bree exhales sharply. “What now?”

“It’s a good thing. They had the line-up at the police station yesterday. And the witness didn’t pick me out. In fact, she identified someone else.”

“So that’s it? It’s done?”

“It’s done,” Natalie says with a smile that is less relieved than it is smug. “I know I’m not perfect. But I didn’t do anything to that old battle-axe, and now it’s over. Things are going to get a lot easier for all of us now that Loretta is gone.”

Bree wants to believe that, but she knows that there is always something else coming down the pike. Two decades as Natalie’s daughter have made that very clear. But still…

“You really didn’t have anything to do with it?” she asks.

“No! I swear. I booked the stylist. That’s it. Whatever happened to Loretta — and I have some ideas — had nothing to do with me.”

Bree feels herself softening, the tension of the past several days melting away. She hadn’t realized just how tightly coiled she’s been.

“Good,” she says.

“Now give me a hug,” Natalie tells her, and she doesn’t wait to wrap her arms around Bree, sealing the cracks in their relationship — at least until the next thing happens.

—–

Claire Fisher sits curled in the deep corner of the sectional sofa, laptop perched on her knees like a protective shield. The house is quiet but not peaceful. It’s the kind of quiet that hums with a sense of anticipation — possibly even dread. The cursor on the laptop screen blinks continuously, as if judging her for not just hitting enter.

The creaking of floorboards announces an entrance, and Claire looks to the doorway that joins the living room to the hallway to see Sonja Kahele, sans makeup, wearing a zip-up sweatshirt with a faux-fur hood.

“Is it up yet?” Sonja asks with pained urgency.

Claire shakes her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to look without you and Tim.”

Sonja pulls her phone from her hoodie’s pocket to check the time. “They said it would be up by now.”

“You know how hospitals are,” Claire says, more gently than she feels. “It’s an estimate. It doesn’t mean results always appear right on the hour.”

Sonja sighs. She hovers by the coffee table like she’s ready to bolt — yet again — at the first sign of bad news. Claire finds her to be a stressful presence, agitated and opaque, especially now that Sonja and TJ are staying at the house with her and Tim. But she also knows that Tim deserves this time with his son, and even more than that, she sees the deep worry in Sonja at TJ’s ongoing health troubles.

“He was so pale last night,” Sonja says out of the blue. “Did you see that? And he seemed cold.”

“We’re going to figure this out and get him treated,” Claire offers.

Sonja nods, but it doesn’t look like confidence — more like desperation disguised as motion. Then she moves back to the doorway.

“Tim!” she calls out. “It’s time to check.”

Moments later, the sound of rumbling on the stairs precedes Tim’s arrival in the room.

“The results are ready?” he asks, swiftly joining Claire on the sofa.

“I should be able to get them through the employee portal already,” Claire says, and then she types in her password and finally presses the button: enter.

All three of them hold their breath as the portal begins to load.

—–

Morning light spills in through the sliding glass doors at the back of Paula Fisher‘s home, painting pale gold patterns on the tile floor. The scent of coffee curls through the air. Paula stands at the stove, scrambling eggs in a skillet, while her granddaughter, Tori Gray, sits cross-legged at the table focused on her work laptop with a worn mug filled with coffee sits beside it.

Lucy Champlain steps into the kitchen in her socks, a pair of pajama pants borrowed from Tori, and the t-shirt she was wearing under her sweater yesterday when she showed up at Objection Designs to see Tori. Her strawberry blonde hair sits in a loose ponytail that falls over one shoulder. She looks like someone who hasn’t slept well in a long time, but this morning, there’s a hint of softness around her eyes.

“Hey, good morning,” Tori says upon noticing her former coworker. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a rock… once I finally fell asleep,” Lucy says. “Mrs. Fisher, I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay in your guest room.”

Paula sets down the silicone spatula and turns. “You’re more than welcome, Lucy. We have quite an open-door policy here.”

Tori smirks, lifting her eyebrows. “It’s very ‘the more, the merrier’ around here.”

“Well, I really appreciate it,” Lucy replies.

“There’s coffee if you’d like some,” Paula tells her. “The mugs are in the cabinet right above the machine. And I’m making some eggs, bacon, and toast, if you’d like some.”

“That would be great, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I love having a full house,” Paula says.

As Lucy finds a mug from the appointed cupboard, Tori comments, “She really does love it.”

Lucy pours herself some coffee and then joins Tori at the table. The chair, which dates back several decades, creaks as she lowers herself onto it. Lucy folds her hands in her lap, then unfolds them, then places them flat on the table.

“I don’t know how to say this–” She cuts herself off before trying again. “I just want to say thank you. For giving me a place to stay last night and being so nice.”

“I told you, we have an open-door policy,” Paula says with a smile. “Everyone needs a place to land once in a while.”

Nodding gratefully, Lucy picks up her coffee and sips it.

“I know what it’s like,” Tori says softly. “When I was with Zane… my family offered me so many escape routes. And I ignored all of them.”

“Was he…” Lucy looks down into her coffee. “Was he hurting you?”

“He didn’t get physically violent until the end,” Tori says, “but he was trying to control everything I did. Timing when I left work and got home… then having a job at all…”

Lucy brushes away a strand of loose hair from her eyes. “Bryce does all of that. I kept trying to make myself think it was okay.”

Paula again places the spatula down on the trivet and turns. “I had a gentleman like that once as well — although he wasn’t really such a gentleman. His name was Stanley.”

Lucy lifts her eyes in surprise. “Really?”

“He was a horrible man,” Paula explains. “He became very violent later on. The thrill was so… so interesting at the time, because he seemed dangerous. And then I thought, why would I do this to myself?”

“I’ve thought that every night,” Lucy admits, “but I didn’t know how to stop it. Until now.”

Tori looks over at her with a reassuring smile. “You’re safe now. Bryce doesn’t know where you are.”

“I feel really bad that I was so mean to you when you asked if I needed help,” Lucy says.

“I understand why you were like that,” Tori says. “I promise. Getting away from someone like that is really hard. And it messes with your brain.”

Lucy nods while taking another sip of coffee. “It really does.”

“But you’re safe now,” Paula says. “We won’t let anything else happen to you.”

—–

The campus of King’s Bay University is already buzzing as students head to morning classes. Though it is chilly out, the sun is glimmering in the sky, and Bree squints against it, realizing that her mother’s sunglasses weren’t quite as ridiculous as she had assumed. She uses her ID card to swipe into Marcus’s dorm building and takes the stairs to the second floor; the activity makes her acutely aware of what a good workout her legs and her lungs got on the ice this morning.

The hallway has the same, slightly sickening mixture of body sprays and colognes that is always lingering. When she reaches Marcus and Christian‘s door, she hesitates for a split-second, then lifts her hand and knocks. It takes a moment; then comes the soft shuffling, the click of the lock being undone, and then the slow opening of the door.

Marcus maintains a frustratingly neutral expression. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Can I come in?”

Wordlessly he steps aside. She is relieved to see that Christian is not here. Normally she’d be thrilled to see her best friend, but this morning, this needs to be about her and Marcus.

“I just want to say I’m sorry,” she says, her mouth feeling loose as the words rush out. “For cutting you out. I know you were just–“

“I shoulda kept your mom’s name outta my mouth.”

Bree shrugs. “You said what I was thinking. That’s probably what annoyed me so much. She is always getting into stuff like this.”

“And I know that’s rough on you.”

“Yeah. But you’re not the enemy here.” She cautiously reaches out and is relieved when she allows her hand to take his. “I shouldn’t have gotten all, like, bratty with you.”

“I get you.” Marcus’s face relaxes into a warm smile. “I just don’t like seeing you get all twisted up every time something happens at home.”

“Well, I have some good news. She’s off the hook.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, the witness at the police station said it wasn’t her and picked someone else. So she’s in the clear.”

“That’s good. For her and you. And Peter.”

“Yeah, it is.” She stretches up on her tip-toes to give him a kiss. “Let’s not fight again, okay?”

He returns the kiss with one of his one. “Deal.”

—–

Tim, Sonja, and Claire all stare at the laptop screen. The test results are displayed in a black-and-white table with more boxes and columns than Tim had imagined.

“What does it say?” he finally asks, grateful that both women have the medical backgrounds to decode this document.

Claire turns her head, deferring to Sonja. The solemnity of the look that passes between them causes Tim’s stomach to drop.

“It’s positive.” Sonja looks back at the screen in disbelief, or perhaps prayer that she might be reading it wrong. “TJ has aplastic anemia.”

“It’s good that we know,” Claire offers. “Now we can figure out a treatment plan. He might need a bone marrow transplant…”

“And what if we can’t find a donor?” Sonja begins pacing back and forth. “My baby…”

“Claire’s right. We’ll meet with the doctor again and figure out how to proceed,” Tim says, though on the inside, he feels as panicked as Sonja appears right now. Claire reaches over and places her hand on Tim’s arm, wanting to offer whatever comfort she can as the reality of this diagnosis settles over all of them.

END OF EPISODE 1257

Will TJ need a bone marrow transplant to live?
Is Lucy’s life about to change for the better?
Can Natalie really stay out of trouble this time?
Talk about it all in the comments below!