Previously…
– The Fishers began to get tested to see if any of them might be a match to donate bone marrow to TJ.
– Spencer accused Travis of having somehow been involved in Loretta’s murder, since he overheard Travis and Elly talking about a secret they were keeping about a particular night.
– Privately, Travis recalled having run into Elly at the Ragan house on the night Loretta died.

Travis Fisher sets the stack of dirty plates in the sink with a quick series of jangly clinks. His wife waits for him to step out of the way, then deposits four wine glasses safely beside the sink.

“Thanks for dinner,” Rosie says to Tim and Claire Fisher, who are carrying the serving dishes from the dining room into the kitchen of their home.

“Yeah, that was delicious,” Travis adds. “Next time, we’re hosting.”

“We’ll happily take you up on that,” Claire says with a smile. “I hate to admit it, Travis, but you run laps around me in the kitchen these days.”

The sandy-haired man shrugs. “I don’t know about that. But it is kind of what I do every day, so I’ve got to be on top of my game.”

“You’re decent,” Tim teases as he opens the dishwasher.

“Should we box up the leftovers for Sonja?” Rosie asks, with a hint of uncharacteristic hesitance, as she isn’t quite aware of the dynamics in the household among Tim, Claire, and the mother of Tim’s youngest child. The former nurse is currently upstairs with the little boy, getting him settled for bed.

“I think she’d appreciate that,” Claire says compassionately. “I know she’s completely consumed with caring for TJ right now.”

Travis flips on the faucet and begins rinsing off the dishes. “Is there any timeline on when they’ll know if any of us could be his donor?”

“We should know in the next few days,” Claire answers. “I have faith we’ll find a match.”

“I hope so,” Tim says, though both his expression and his voice betray his weariness and fear over his son’s case of aplastic anemia.

Rosie leans one hip against the counter as Travis efficiently clears the residue off the dishes and sets them aside. “I seriously can’t imagine how stressful it must be for all of you. Every time Gabrielle got even a little bit sick…”

The mention of the girl whom Rosie and Travis raised for several years casts a mournful air over the room.

“Have you seen her lately?” Claire asks, with an overly cheerful note in her voice.

“Not for a few weeks,” Travis says, a little stiffly.

“I go through phases of desperately wanting to see her and then not being able to bear it,” Rosie admits. Almost immediately, Travis sets aside the plate he has been cleaning, turns off the water, and moves to wrap a comforting arm around his wife.

“She’ll always have a piece of your hearts,” Tim tells them. “And that’s a good thing, even though it still feels painful.”

“We just hope it feels less painful sometime soon,” Travis says.

“And on that note,” Tim counters, “you two stop cleaning up. We hosted. We’ve got it.”

“We don’t mind,” Rosie says.

Tim shakes his head vigorously. “We insist.” Claire swoops in behind Travis to get to the sink.

“If you insist,” Travis says. “And I guess we should get going. Rosie has an early shift tomorrow morning.”

“I’m doing a freelance gig,” Rosie explains, anticipating his parents’ questions. “Private security.”

“It’s good that you have the work,” Claire says. “Thank you both for coming over.”

“Thanks for having us,” Rosie says, as Travis pats the pockets of his khaki shorts with increasing urgency. He then darts back toward the dining room, returning a moment later with an even more frazzled air about him.

“What’s wrong?” Rosie asks him, as Tim and Claire look on in confusion.

—–

The incessant ringing of the doorbell slices through the quiet of the house. Spencer Ragan, who is parked at the kitchen table with his laptop clearing out his personal e-mail inbox, pushes back his chair with a sigh. That ringing is not just someone stopping by. It’s a demand.

His annoyance growing with each step, he finally reaches the front door and pulls it open. There stands Elly Vanderbilt, her expression carved from fury and her eyes blazing.

“What’s wrong with you? Other people live here,” he snaps.

“I saw Natalie leave with Peter,” Elly fires back. “I’ve been waiting for them to leave–“

“So you could come terrorize my doorbell?”

She scoffs. “Why are you running around telling people that I murdered Loretta?”

Spencer stares at her for a beat. “Because that witness confirmed that she saw you skulking around here that night. It doesn’t take an overblown Stanford Law degree to put those pieces together.”

“I already explained to the police–“

“Who, your uncle?”

She ignores his interruption. “I already explained that I was coming here to see you. Because of Anatoli.”

“That doesn’t preclude you having done something to Loretta,” Spencer snipes back. “Especially since you and Travis are keeping some kind of mysterious secret about that night.”

“Just because you eavesdropped on one conversation doesn’t mean you know what happened. Like, at all.”

“It doesn’t take a genius. Either the two of you hooked up–“

“We didn’t.”

“I don’t know if I believe that,” he says. “I’m realizing I don’t know you at all.”

“Says the guy who slept with me even though he’s married.”

“You’re well aware of the deal with my marriage. You’re the one with questionable activities.”

“Shut up, Spencer,” Elly says. “I thought maybe I could reason with you, or God forbid, appeal to whatever shriveled-up piece of coal is standing in for your heart these days.”

“Then tell me the truth,” Spencer replies. “Tell me what really happened here the night Loretta died.”

—–

Steam still curls faintly in the bathroom as Molly Taylor leads Gabrielle down the hallway, the little girl’s hair damp hair smelling of lavender shampoo. Gabrielle clutches her stuffed bunny against her chest, her bare feet padding softly over the carpet.

“Do you want the purple princess storybook tonight or the one with the forest animals?” Molly asks as they arrive at Gabrielle’s room. The dim nightlight casts a warm glow over the pristinely decorated bedroom, with Gabrielle’s “big girl bed” and the same white rocking chair that Molly had in the twins’ nursery when they were young.

“I want Daddy to read it!” Gabrielle declares.

Molly smiles, ready to respond cheerfully, until something in Gabrielle’s tone gives her pause. She looks to the small child, who is scrambling up onto her bed, the bunny tucked under her arm. “Daddy’s working late tonight, remember? So I can read it tonight, and Daddy can read it tomorrow.”

Gabrielle frowns and hugs her bunny tighter. “No, not that Daddy.”

Molly stills. “You mean Travis.”

Completely guileless, Gabrielle nods. “He does the voices good.”

“I know he does,” Molly replies as stoically as she can. “Remember what we talked about? About Travis and Rosie?”

Gabrielle stares back at her with big, brown eyes.

“Travis is your bonus daddy, and Rosie is your bonus mommy,” Molly reminds her. “They took very good care of you for a while. Your Daddy and I are so grateful to them for caring for you like they did.”

“Am I going to live with them again?” Gabrielle asks in her small, squeaky voice.

Molly’s dark hair shakes softly as she wags her head. “No, you’re going to stay right here, remember? But we’ll invite Travis and Rosie over for a visit soon. I’ll make sure Travis reads you whatever bedtime story you want.”

“Yay!” Gabrielle shouts, tossing her bunny into the air.

“Now which storybook do you want?” Molly asks, doing everything she can to maintain her outward cool, despite the emotional storm raging within her.

—–

“My keys,” Travis declares. “I can’t find my keys.”

“I’m sure they’re around here somewhere,” Rosie tells him.

“I had them,” he insists. “I drove here–“

“I know,” Rosie says, suddenly feeling helpless.

Claire moves toward her son. “Travis, you probably set them down someplace. Let’s look.”

Travis draws in a deep breath. “Yeah. I don’t know. I feel like I’m losing it.”

Now Tim approaches his son, too, and tries placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find them.”

“I’m just stressing out,” Travis says, though he does not sound like he has any control of said stress.

“Why? About what?” Claire asks.

Rosie watches her husband carefully but doesn’t say anything; the accusations that Spencer made at The Wild Lady run through her head once again as she does so.

“I– I dunno,” Travis sputters with a hint of sarcasm. “My little brother needs a bone marrow transplant. The little girl my wife and I adopted got taken away from us. What else?”

“Do these belong to someone?” a female voice asks, as the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs cuts through the tension. A moment later, Sonja Kahele arrives in the kitchen, holding a set of keys in one hand.

“Those are mine,” Travis says. Sonja hands them to him. “Where’d you find them?”

“TJ must have picked them up when we came in from our walk,” Sonja explains. “I was getting him ready for bed and found them in the pocket of his shorts.”

“See?” Claire says to Travis. “Crisis averted.”

Travis nods as if trying to convince himself. “Yeah. Thanks, Sonja. We, uh, we saved some food for you.”

“Thank you,” Sonja says. “TJ is finally in bed, so I can sit down and eat soon.”

“We’re all praying that they find a donor really soon,” Rosie says.

Sonja offers a grateful nod in response.

“We should get going,” Rosie then announces, partly to their hosts and partly to Travis. “Come on.”

The group says their goodbyes, and soon enough, Travis and Rosie are walking down the driveway toward the street, where Travis’s car is parked. It is not quite dark outside, as the summer sky has merely softened to a dark blue.

“What was that all about?” Rosie asks as they get into the car.

Travis drops into the driver’s seat. “What do you mean?”

“The way you freaked out back there over your keys.”

“I told you. I’m stressed out.” He presses the round button to start the engine, and Rosie closes the passenger-side door. “It’s fine.”

“Okay,” she says, but as he begins to drive them home, she is unable to think about anything but his over-the-top reaction and what might really be causing that stress.

—-

At the threshold of the Ragan home, Spencer and Elly stand locked in a terse face-off.

“I already told you,” Elly insists. “I came to see you because of Anatoli.”

“But that isn’t all,” Spencer says with a sneer.

She hesitates before responding, “I never went inside the house.”

“I don’t believe you.” He shakes his head in horror. “I can’t believe I let myself fall for you.”

The statement catches Elly by surprise, and when she speaks again, it is in a softer tone. “You did?”

Only now does Spencer fully realize what he has said. “Under false pretenses. If I had known you killed the woman who raised me–“

“I didn’t kill her!”

“Then what happened that night, Elly?”

“I swear, Spencer. I didn’t do anything to Loretta.”

“You say you didn’t come inside the house that night,” he says. “But why not? You came all this way and then just changed your mind?”

Again, there is an uncertain beat while she finds her words.

“You’re lying,” Spencer presses. “I knew it.”

“I’m not. I never went inside.”

“But why not? Because this isn’t making a whole lot of sense–“

“Because I ran into Travis!” she blurts out.

“What?” Spencer’s eyes slowly widen as he processes this information. “You ran into Travis? Here?”

As the gravity of her outburst hits her, Elly clams up.

“Travis was here the night Loretta died,” Spencer says, as if attempting to make sense of the information himself.

“It’s not what you think,” Elly says, almost pleading.

“It’s pretty clear that nothing is what I thought.”

“You said Travis was here. Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know what happened, Spencer. We ran into one another — then talked–“

“Why was Travis here to begin with?!”

Elly pulls back her shoulders and stands taller, determined not to crumble under his penetrating gaze. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing happened.”

“I find it hard to believe that nothing happened even though someone was murdered that night and you both just happened to be here,” Spencer says.

“Spencer, you have to believe me.”

“But I don’t. And if you’re not going to be honest, I don’t have anything else to say to you.” He grips the door with his hand.

“Spencer–“

But his sole response is to slam the door in his face.

“Dammit,” Elly mutters, panic rising inside her.

On the other side of the door, Spencer clenches his fists tightly.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” he says. “Either of you.”

END OF EPISODE 1264

What is Spencer going to do with this information?
Will Rosie figure out what Travis and Elly are hiding?
Is Molly handling Gabrielle’s confusion in the best way?
Talk about all this and more in the comments below!

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