Previously…
– Tempest was trapped at Cassie’s Coffee House during the earthquake. She made it out safely, but the establishment suffered major damage.
– After being pinned under rubble during the earthquake, Lucy realized that she couldn’t feel her legs.
– Spencer enlisted Elly to represent him in his divorce from Natalie. During the earthquake, Sonja confessed to him that Loretta had been paying her to undercut his recovery when Sonja was his nurse.

Samantha Fisher and Tempest Banks sit at a small table near the window at Windmills, a notebook and several pages of wedding plans spread between them as they share a plate of pasta and a salad. Samantha studies a list while Tempest peers finishes a bite.

“Cake, flowers, seating chart, music,” Samantha reads. “I feel like we’re forgetting something.”

“Getting married?”

She looks up at Tempest. “I knew there was something.”

Tempest grins. “I’ll put it on the list.”

“You’re so funny.”

“Lots and lots of people think so.”

Samantha taps her pen against the page. “I did have a thought. I know my mom is dealing with the wedding cake…”

“But?”

“But I thought it might be nice to do, like, little pastries. Something people can grab without needing a plate and a fork.”

“I’m down.”

“What I was really thinking was… what if we asked Cassie’s to do a dessert bar for us? I bet they could use the business, since they’re going to be closed for a while.”

“They do have all those little cakes and stuff,” Tempest muses.

Samantha closes the notebook. “I’ll call.” But as she begins to Google the coffee house’s number, she stops. “Except they’re closed for repairs.”

“So no one’s gonna be there to pick up. You know you can leave a message.”

“Ohhhh. You’re funny and a genius,” Samantha teases back as she pulls up the number and dials.

—–

Spencer Ragan sits at the dining table in his new penthouse, a stack of papers arranged in front of him. Across from him, Elly Vanderbilt reviews a copy of the mediation agreement, making a few notes in the margins.

“You’ve signed everything I asked you to sign,” she says. “You’ve gathered the financial records, you’ve reviewed the proposed division of assets, and you’ve resisted the urge to write anything inflammatory in the margins.”

“I considered it.”

“I know. I checked.”

Spencer smiles faintly. “So we’re ready?”

“Almost. I want to go through a couple of things before we walk into that room. Mediation works best if you know what you’re willing to compromise on and what you aren’t.”

“I’m not interested in dragging this out.”

“Good. That doesn’t mean you have to agree to everything just to get it over with.”

“I know.”

Elly looks up from the papers. “Do you?”

Spencer leans back in his chair. “Is there a reason you’re asking?”

“Because I’ve been talking for ten minutes, and you’ve been staring at the same page for most of it.”

He glances down. The document in front of him is, indeed, the same one he has been looking at since she arrived. “Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Clearly.” Elly closes the folder. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on, or should I keep pretending we’re having a productive meeting?”

He lets out a breath. “It’s Sonja.”

“Sonja?”

“She told me something when I visited her in prison the day of the earthquake. Something about my mother.”

Elly waits for him to continue.

“She said Loretta paid her to work as my nurse after I fell down the stairs. Only she wasn’t trying to help me recover. She was trying to keep me from remembering what happened.”

Elly’s expression changes. “She was deliberately interfering with your recovery?”

“Apparently. The idea was to keep me confused. My mother didn’t want me remembering that Peter was my son. She didn’t want me tied to Natalie through him.”

“That’s quite an accusation.”

“I know.”

“And you believe her?”

Spencer rubs a hand across his jaw. “I don’t know what else to do with it. Sonja had nothing to gain by telling me. She was in prison, she’d been separated from TJ, and she seemed to think she might never get out. I think she wanted to clear her conscience.”

“Or she wanted to hurt you.”

“Maybe.” He considers that. “But the more I think about it, the more it fits. My mother had a talent for deciding what was best for everybody, whether they agreed with her or not.”

Elly studies him. “And now you’re wondering what else she did that you don’t know about.”

“Something like that.”

“Spencer, your mother is dead. And no offense, but thank god. You can’t go back and make her explain herself. And you can’t let every new thing you learn about her keep you from dealing with what’s in front of you.”

He looks at her. “You make it sound very simple.”

“It’s not simple. It’s just the situation you’re in.”

He gives a small nod. She reopens the folder and slides it toward him.

“Then let’s focus on what we can do something about. You want this divorce settled. You want to protect your interests, and you want to make sure Peter’s needs are taken care of. Those are the things we can address.”

Spencer looks over the paperwork again. “Right.”

“Are you with me now?” She waits for his nod. “Good. Because I would hate to have to charge you for the same conversation twice.”

That earns a more genuine laugh from him. He picks up the pen and starts making a note beside one of the proposed terms.

After a moment, he says, “Are you going to Samantha and Tempest’s wedding?”

Elly looks up, momentarily surprised by the change of subject. “Of course. Samantha and I were roommates.”

He sets the pen down. “We could go together, if you want.”

Elly considers him for a moment. “We’re both invited, Spencer. I don’t think we need to arrive as a unit.”

“Right. Of course.” He gives a small, self-conscious shrug. “It was just a thought.”

“Mm-hmm.” She turns back to the paperwork, leaving the matter there. Spencer studies her for a moment before looking down at the agreement again.

The hospital room is quiet except for the steady hum of equipment and the occasional sound of activity from the hallway. Lucy Champlain lies propped up in bed, a blanket tucked around her waist. Her phone rests in her hand, the screen dark.

Tori Gray sits in the chair beside the bed, peeling the lid off a cup of hospital pudding.

“Chocolate,” she announces. “I figured it was the least they could do for you.”

Lucy glances over. “You know I’m not six, right?”

“I know. But I also know hospital food, and I’m not taking any chances.”

“Good thinking. I’ve had my fill.”

Tori sets the pudding on the bedside table. She has brought a small bag of things from Landon and Lucy’s apartment: clean clothes, some treats, a book Lucy had been reading before the earthquake. The ordinary things seem almost ridiculous in this room.

“What I wouldn’t give for a meal from Bill’s,” Lucy says.

“We can arrange that,” Tori promises her. “Plus, you’ll be out of here soon.”

Lucy looks down at her phone, turning it over in her hands. “I hope so. I’m so bored. I’m tired of being here.”

“Understandable.”

Lucy looks at her, apparently prepared for an argument that never comes. “You’re not going to tell me to be patient?”

“I could. But I’m pretty sure you’ve heard it from everyone else.”

“Several times.”

“And has it helped?”

“Not even a little.”

“Then I’ll spare you.”

For the first time since Tori arrived, Lucy’s smile looks genuine. It fades quickly, though, as her gaze drifts toward the window.

“Did you talk to the doctor today?” Tori asks.

“This morning. They’re still running tests. They want to see how things progress.”

“Shouldn’t they know something more by now?”

“You would think.” Lucy shifts against the pillows, trying to find a more comfortable position. “Every day it’s the same thing. They come in, they ask me questions, they check things, and then they tell me they need more time. And I’m supposed to be grateful that they’re being thorough.”

“They want to give you answers they can stand behind.”

“Funny choice of words, considering…” Lucy gestures at her legs, which have not had feeling since she was buried underneath the rubble during the earthquake.

“Oh god. I’m sorry.”

Lucy exhales, managing a grin. “You’re fine. I just want one of them to tell me something useful. And I want to walk.”

Tori reaches for the pudding and hands it to her. Lucy accepts it but leaves the spoon untouched.

“When my family was here,” Lucy continues, “everybody kept talking about what we’d do when I got out. My mother wanted to get me on a plane back home. My brother was looking up all these things online. Everybody had a plan.”

“They were trying to help.”

“I know.” Lucy looks at the cup in her hands. “And I loved that they came. I did. But they had to go home eventually. They have jobs and responsibilities and their own lives. They can’t just sit here waiting with me.”

“No,” Tori says gently. “They can’t.”

“And I don’t want them to feel guilty about that. I don’t want anybody putting their life on hold because of me.”

She stops, pressing her lips together. Tori waits.

“I just thought that by now, something would have changed. It’s been weeks.”

The admission hangs in the room between them. Lucy looks away, blinking quickly.

Tori puts a hand over hers. “I’m sorry.”

“And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Lucy’s voice begins to waver. “I can’t make anything happen. I can’t make my body do what I want it to do. I can’t even get out of this bed without somebody helping me.”

Tori’s grip tightens slightly.

“I keep thinking I should be doing something,” Lucy says. “Anything. But there’s nothing to do. I just lie here and wait for somebody to come in and tell me whether my life is going to look different from now on.” Her eyes fill. She tries to blink the tears away, but they spill over before she can stop them.

“And I’m scared,” she whispers. “I’m really scared.”

Tori moves from the chair to the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the blanket or the equipment around her.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Lucy turns toward her, and the words come out more sharply than she intends. “You can go home. You can go to work. You can make plans for next week. You can hang out with Landon. You can get up in the morning and not have to wonder if this is the day somebody finally tells you what’s wrong with you.”

Tori takes the rebuke without pulling away. “You’re right,” she says after a moment. “I can do those things. And I’m sorry that you can’t right now.”

Lucy wipes at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.

“You don’t have to apologize for being upset.”

“Will you stay a little while longer?”

“Of course.”

For a while, neither of them says anything. Lucy’s breathing gradually steadies, though her eyes remain open. The pudding sits untouched on the bedside table. Her phone is still dark in her hand.

Outside the room, the hospital continues its ordinary business — nurses checking charts, carts rolling down the hall, visitors coming and going. Lucy closes her eyes, grateful for the company and embarrassed by how badly she needs it.

—–

“What are you doing?” Tempest asks, as Samantha puts on her blinker and quickly makes a right-hand turn. “Our place is the other direction.”

“I know. I just want to see something,” Sam tells her, and soon enough, Tempest recognizes that they are headed to the stretch of businesses where Cassie’s Coffee House has stood for longer than she has been in King’s Bay.

When Samantha parks her car in the lot, the two of them sit there, staring through the windshield at the wildly familiar and yet utterly foreign sight of Cassie’s. The building is now roped off with yellow caution tape, but a pile of dust and dirt remains where the front of the shop once stood. The entry doors are still intact, but there is a sign posted on one of them. There are no signs of life within.

“I can’t believe you got trapped in there,” Samantha says breathlessly.

“Yeah, but I got out,” Tempest replies, sounding a little choked-up.

The two women get out of the car and approach the building. As they get closer, Tempest can read the sign on the front door, announcing that the business will be closed until further notice. Through the front windows, they can see chairs stacked on tables and a section of the counter cleared of its usual display. The place looks less like a coffee shop than a room waiting for permission to become one again.

“I thought maybe someone would…” Samantha trails off.

“Be here? Getting it ready to reopen?”

Sam nods.

“Looks like they’ve got a ways to go,” Tempest says.

Samantha peers through the glass again, looking for some sign of the place she remembers: the familiar mugs, the pastry case, the comfortable clutter that has always made Cassie’s feel lived in. Instead, there are boxes and tools and empty spaces.

“I guess it was a dumb idea,” she says. “The place isn’t even functional.”

Tempest slips an arm around her waist. “It was a sweet idea.”

Samantha cuts a sideways look at her. “Was that an intentional pun?”

“No. That’s some white people shit,” Tempest says, laughing despite herself. “We’ll come back when they reopen.”

“Yeah,” Samantha says, sounding faraway. “You know what’s weird? I don’t even know who Cassie is. Or who owns the place, anyway. I know some of the baristas and workers, but it’s just always been here. And now it’s not.”

“It’s still here.” Tempest looks at the yellow tape. “Mostly.”

“You’re right.” Samantha takes her hand. “And promise me you won’t mention the dessert bar thing to my mom. She’ll wind up flying some pastry chef in from Paris to do it or something.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Tempest remarks as they head back to the car.

—–

Spencer sits across from his aunt at the repurposed dining table in the Fisher basement, which has become the headquarters of Sarah’s private investigating firm.

“Did you get all that?” he asks.

Sarah looks at the notes she’s made. “I think so. Let me make sure I understand. Sonja told you that Loretta paid her to act as your nurse after your fall, but that the real purpose was to keep you from recovering certain memories.”

“That’s right.”

“And you want me to find out whether those payments actually happened.”

“I want to know where the money came from, how it changed hands, and whether there’s anything to support what Sonja told me.”

Sarah sets down her pen. “You realize a confession doesn’t necessarily make something true.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Especially when it comes from someone who’s currently in prison and may have her own reasons for telling you what you want to hear.”

“She didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear.” Spencer pauses. “I don’t think she even knew what I wanted to hear. She just told me. Besides, this could get her in more trouble. She wasn’t angling for an immunity deal.”

Sarah studies him for a moment. Their family connection doesn’t make this any less of a business conversation, and neither seems inclined to pretend otherwise.

“Did she give you dates? Amounts? Any details about how she was paid?”

“No. She said Loretta paid her, but she didn’t offer much more than that. I was still trying to process what she’d told me. And there was an earthquake, so…”

“Understandable.” Sarah makes another note. “Do you have any records from the period when Sonja was working as your nurse? Bank statements, invoices, anything that might help establish a timeline?”

“I can look. I don’t know what I still have. My dad probably does.”

“Start there. I’ll see what I can find independently.”

Spencer nods. “I think she was trying to clear her conscience.”

“Maybe she was.” Sarah doesn’t sound convinced or dismissive. “But my job isn’t to decide why she told you. It’s to find out whether what she said can be substantiated.”

“Exactly.”

“And if I can’t substantiate it?”

“Then I’ll have to live with not knowing.”

Sarah gives him a measured look. “That’s a different answer from the one I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Something along the lines of wanting to know what Loretta did, no matter what it takes to find out.”

He looks down at the table. “I do want to know. But I can’t change what she did. I can at least find out whether Sonja was telling the truth.”

Sarah closes her notebook. “All right. I’ll take the assignment. I’ll need whatever records you can find, and I’ll let you know what I turn up.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Investigations have a way of getting more complicated the further you go.”

“I’m beginning to understand that.”

“Good.” Sarah resumes making notes on her pad. Spencer stares at the scratched surface of the table. He has no idea what she’ll find, if anything. But for the first time since Sonja told him about Loretta, he feels as though he’s done something besides turn the story over and over in his head.

END OF EPISODE 1317

Will Sarah uncover Natalie’s secret?
How should Tori support Lucy?
Are Samantha and Tempest going to get married?
Talk about it all in the comments below!