Previously…
– Helen overheard Tori offer to pick up some items from Spencer’s house for him, and she invited herself along in hopes of finding something to bolster her suspicions about his fall down the stairs.
– Danielle performed a song she wrote for her late husband, Ryan, at the grand opening of the new restaurant, Bill’s on the Pier.
– Bree told Christian, Caleb, and Marcus about her upcoming Sectional competition.
– Travis observed Rosie in close conversation with Jesse, a busboy at the restaurant, even though she had insisted she didn’t know him.

 

“Oh, I just love this color!” Helen Chase declares.

She sits in the passenger seat of Tori Gray’s sedan, admiring the bubblegum pink polish on her newly manicured nails.

“It’s fun,” Tori says as she steers the car through the streets. She holds up her own right hand; the nails are a matching shade. “The weather is so gloomy now. You need a little bit of fun, right?”

“Right. I know Don will say it’s too girly…”

“No such thing.” Tori laughs. “Here, it’s only a few more blocks.” She turns her attention to her iPhone, which is propped up in one of the cupholders, displaying directions to Spencer Ragan’s house.  “I think there’s a left coming up soon…” She squints at the map on the phone. “Dammit.”

“Patience, darling. I can navigate for you,” Helen offers, a tinge of nervousness in her voice as she watches the young woman’s attention move back and forth between the road and the phone.

“Oh, thanks, but I’ve got it.” Tori refocuses on the turn ahead, and Helen grits her teeth and holds onto the sides of her seat. It isn’t often that she thinks back on her late daughter’s life with anything but love and nostalgia these days, but right now, she is reminded of the panic-inducing process of teaching a 16-year-old Courtney to drive, and she thinks that is one thing she’ll be happy to let Jason handle once Sophie is of age to learn.

Helen finally lets out a breath when Tori pulls up to the house. It is strikingly modern, all 90-degree angles and white, with large panes of glass throughout that make it seem more like a showroom than a residence.

“This is Spencer’s house?” Helen asks. “It’s stunning.”

“Yeah, it’s wild.”

They step out of the car, and it beeps as Tori uses the remote to lock the doors.

“You really didn’t have to come with me,” Tori says as they walk up the driveway. “I mean, it’s really nice of you…”

“I’m only along for moral support. I know it probably isn’t easy for you to come here and see the place where Spencer had his accident — especially after what you went through with Philip–”

Tori’s eyes drop for a moment. “It’s a little weird, yeah.”

“Then I don’t want to hear another word about it,” Helen says, adding a more chipper tone to her voice. “I’m happy to help. If there’s anything I can do…”

As she uses a spare key to unlock the imposing front door, Tori hesitates in responding.

“The thing is,” she finally says, “Spencer asked me to pick up a few things for him that are… private stuff. Nothing crazy, but he didn’t feel like asking his dad to get them, so I’m not sure…”

“I’ll keep my nose out of it. Just know that I’m here, dear.”

“Thanks.”

They step inside the foyer, which opens to the main living area. Helen marvels at the sleek design. She scans the space, wondering where she could even begin searching for what she is trying to find — which, she realizes, could be anything at all. Or nothing.

“This is really something,” she says. “It isn’t really my taste, but it’s lovely. I can’t believe someone as young as Spencer was living here all on his own.”

“I know. He has a lot of money from his mom, and then what he inherited from Philip. I’m almost scared to know how much.”

Helen observes the staircase up to the second floor. Each step is pressed into the wall, looking almost more like an art installation than a functional part of the house.

“And I can see how he got hurt on those stairs! There’s no railing at all. They’re an absolute death trap.”

“Yeah,” Tori agrees. “It’s bad.”

“Well, it’s fortunate that he’s recovering. Now why don’t you go on and do what you have to do? I’ll keep myself busy. Holler if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

Tori ascends the stairs, and Helen waits in the living area, idly looking at the art on the wall until she is certain that she is out of Tori’s sightline. She strolls through a pristine dining area that appears to have come directly from the pages of a magazine, and then she enters a kitchen that shows much more evidence of a life being lived. She recalls Tim and Claire saying that they cleaned things up when they initially came to pick up clothes for Spencer, but even without dirty dishes or open containers of food lying around, the kitchen has the distinct appearance of a space where a life was abruptly interrupted: a phone charger sticking out of one of the sockets on the island; a stray dish towel beside the sink; a stack of unopened mail on the countertop.

Helen moves toward the mail. She flips through it quickly but with laser focus. However, nothing in the pile of standard bills and catalogs leaps out at her as having anything to do with Spencer’s fall — or, more importantly, whatever Sabrina Gage might be hiding.

Setting the mail aside, she looks around for her next target. She opens a few drawers and finds cutlery and other kitchen items. But when she opens one on the side of the island, she sees potential in the assortment of random things inside — the junk drawer, as she and Don have always called it. And one item near the front of the drawer immediately jumps out at her: an appointment card for a lab at the hospital, headed by a Dr. Edgar Liu.

At first, it only catches her attention because she wonders if it might have something to do with his current care, and why an appointment reminder would be in this house if Spencer hasn’t been back since his hospitalization. But then she notices the date. The appointment was months ago — just before Spencer’s fall.

Her interest piqued, Helen lifts the card from the drawer.

—-

In the lobby of the ice arena in Spokane, Washington, Natalie Bishop is uncharacteristically fidgety. She stands with her ex-husband, who has turned around his walker so that he can use it as a seat.

“Those judges had better give her full credit for the triple loop,” Natalie says through gritted teeth. “She held onto it.”

“Fingers crossed,” Conrad Halston says, sounding much more even-keeled than his ex. “All she needs is to be top four, and she makes Nationals.”

“She deserves a medal, dammit.”

Natalie stares suspiciously at the other skaters and their families swirling all around. As happens at all competitions, the skaters below Senior level do not have their results read aloud at the conclusion of their programs; once an event has been skated in full, the judges and referee compile the scores and then post the event results in a designated spot in the arena. Now that Bree’s Novice Ladies free skate has finished, most of the competitors have already made their way up to the lobby to watch the results board like hawks.

“There she is,” Conrad says. Natalie’s attention goes to the doors that separate the comfortable lobby from the frigid main section of the arena, where the stands overlook the ice. Jason Fisher is holding open the door as Bree, still in the yellow dress from her La La Land program, walks through it. She spots her parents and hurries over with surprising grace, considering that she is still wearing her skates with plastic guards to protect the blades.

“You were amazing,” Natalie says as she sweeps her daughter into a hug. “That final combo spin was perfect — and the way you nailed that ending.”

“It was a really solid program,” Jason agrees before giving his fiancé a kiss.

“It felt pretty good,” the teenager says nervously. She still sports her performance makeup, which looks garish up close, and her blonde hair is pulled incredibly tight to form a playful ponytail. “The triple loop was a little funny.”

“Oh, you had it,” Natalie says.

“There might be a deduction there,” Jason says calmly, “but like I said, you should feel great about that skate.”

Bree gives Conrad a hug as he tells her, “I’m so proud of you. You looked so in-command out there.”

“I’m glad you could come,” Bree says.

“Me, too. Good thing they decided to have Sectionals someplace I could drive rather than making me get on a plane.”

Bree laughs. “I bet they did that all for you, Dad.”

Suddenly Natalie elbows Jason. “Referee. Inbound.”

They all turn to watch the tall woman, with her short, jet-black hair and black parka, crossing the lobby with a printed sheet in her hand. Her presence triggers a buzz through the rest of the waiting Novice Ladies and their entourages, as if someone has sprinkled magical dust over the entire lobby.

Bree draws a deep, nervous breath.

“Come on,” Natalie says as she grasps her daughter’s hand and pulls her toward the results board. Jason moves behind them as a crowd converges upon the target.

Conrad watches anxiously from a distance as Natalie, still holding onto Bree, pushes her way through the fray. They both scan the sheet frantically and then turn back.

“What does it say?” Jason calls, his heart rate soaring. “Where’d you finish?”

—–

“I hate these things,” Rosie Jimenez mutters as she pushes down on the sides of the wine opener. With excruciating slowness, the cork rises up until it slips out of the bottle with a pop.

Travis Fisher looks up from the oven, where he is checking on dinner. “You just have to practice.”

“Or buy screw-top wine.” She pours two glasses of pinot noir and hands him one.

They stand in the small kitchen of the apartment that Travis shares with Landon Esco. A pot of mashed potatoes simmers on the stovetop beside a pan of gravy.

“Thanks for doing this,” Rosie says as they clink glasses. “Happy early Thanksgiving.”

“Happy early Thanksgiving.”

She breathes in deeply, inhaling the delicious holiday smells. “You really didn’t have to do all this. You spend all day busting your ass in a kitchen as it is.”

“Because I love doing it. Especially for you.” He leans forward and kisses her on the lips; what begins as a peck steadily intensifies into something deeper, until Rosie puts a hand on his chest.

“If we don’t stop, all this food is going to be forgotten and go to waste,” she says with a devilish grin.

“Might be worth it. Although I do want to make sure I get a Thanksgiving meal with you…”

Rosie lets out a groan. “I can’t believe I have to work on the actual day.”

“When do you stop getting the rookie shifts?” As he says it, an all-too-familiar anxiety rises in Travis’s stomach.

“I wish I knew. Are you sure you don’t want to spend your Thanksgiving doing a ride-along with me? I got to see you do your job during the grand opening…”

As if catching a gust of wind, the embers burning inside him roar suddenly into a full-out flame. He remembers peeking down the back hallway of the restaurant and seeing her engaged in tense, intimate conversation with that busboy, Jesse, even though she had claimed earlier simply to be asking him for a water refill. Travis hasn’t shared many shifts with Jesse since that night, and they don’t really have to interact when they are both on the clock, but he has had to bite his tongue several times.

“Hey, question,” he says, before taking a gulp of his wine for courage to plow ahead.

She looks up from sniffing the mashed potatoes. “Yeah?”

“That guy at the grand opening — the busboy. Jesse. You said you were just asking him for water…”

He swears that he sees her stiffen as she takes in the statement.

“Okay… I was.”

“Then why were you talking to him later? Like, secretly?”

Her eyebrows yank up, and her head pulls back. “Secretly?”

“I saw you guys in the hallway by the bathrooms, talking again.”

“Huh?” She shrugs, and he gets the distinct sense that she is stalling for time. “We passed each other. I made a joke about the water or something. It was just a second. You were watching me?”

“I work there! I walked by and saw you. It seemed weird.” He throws back another swig of the wine. “It didn’t look like you were joking.”

“Are you jealous of me talking to your coworker?”

“No. This isn’t jealousy. It’s…” With thoughts and words shooting through his mind like bullets in a gun fight, he has to take a few seconds to figure out how to continue. When he does, it just bursts out: “Do you even have to work on Thanksgiving?”

Rosie recoils. “What the hell are you talking about? Why would I lie about that?”

“The other times,” he says, growing breathless. “You left brunch that time because you said you got called in, but Uncle Brent told me you never showed up. And then I saw you downtown one day when you had told me you were working.”

“What?” Again, however, the reaction between her verbal response is unmistakable. She seems shaken.

“I just want to know why. What is this? Why are you doing this?” He sets down his wine glass. “Rosie, just be honest: do you even want to be with me, or are you playing me?”

—–

Natalie and Bree trade a look before they finally face Jason. Then, in unison, they shout out, “Third place!”

“Oh my god.” Jason’s lungs expel more air than he knew was possible to hold in; the wild emotions of the moment take him back to his own competition days, when he, Courtney, and Sandy were in the exact same position. He always wondered what it would be like to be in the coach’s shoes — or skates — in the equation, and now he knows: not one iota less stressful.

“You’re going to Nationals!” Natalie exclaims as she helps Bree back through the melee. The teen shares an excited hug with her coach and almost-stepfather.

“Third place? That’s incredible,” Conrad says as the trio rejoins him. “You deserve it, Bree. You’ve worked so hard.”

“And now we get to work on kicking ass at Nationals,” Natalie says.

“One thing at a time,” Jason tells them. “We can all relax for a night.”

Natalie quickly appraises her daughter. “Why don’t I take you back to fix up your hair and make-up before the medal ceremony?”

“We’ll wait here,” Jason says. Mother and daughter disappear back into the recesses of the arena, as various shrieks, groans, and sobs continue to fill the lobby.

Conrad quickly types something on his phone and then looks up. “I texted Molly to let her know.”

“Oh, good. Thanks.” A thought occurs to Jason, and it comes to perch indecisively on his tongue.

“What is it?” Conrad asks.

“What?”

“You looked concerned.”

“Concerned? No.” Jason stuffs his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants. “I hope I’m not overstepping here, but you and Molly… what’s going on there?”

“She’s been a great friend to me,” Conrad says in his usual, lawyerly manner. “Her generosity in letting me stay at her home while I recover–”

“I know. But you guys have gotten close, right? I saw you dancing at the wedding…”

Conrad responds with a genteel smile. “Your sister and I aren’t involved.”

“Do you want to be? I mean–” Jason cuts himself off. “Sorry. I know that sounds a little high school. But Molly has been through a hell of a time the past few years.”

“I’m very aware of that, and very conscious of how that will affect her going forward. We’ve gotten to know each other very well, through her trial and now my recovery. I consider her a close friend.” Conrad pauses in thought before adding, “And, yes, I’d be lucky if she were interested in more. But I don’t think it’s appropriate to broach that while I’m staying rent-free in her house.”

Jason nods as he processes this. “I know you and I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye on things–”

“Natalie is a very specific topic,” Conrad says. “I’m nothing but grateful for how good you’ve been to Bree, both on and off the ice. She adores you, and that means a lot to me.”

“You know I adore her, too. And my whole family appreciates all the hard work you put into Molly’s trial and to making things as comfortable as possible for my mom this year.”

“That was all my job. As for Molly, I promise you that whatever happens, I have the utmost respect for her. But I’d appreciate if you didn’t go back home and tell her that I might be interested. If things are going to go in that direction, I’d like it to come from the two of us.”

“I won’t tell her anything,” Jason says. “But I’ll be honest: I was a little nervous about her opening up her house to someone she didn’t know that well, especially after what happened with Philip.”

“I’m not Philip Ragan.”

“I didn’t say you were. Molly can be too trusting, though. She has a warm feeling, and she lets people in, and then she gets hurt. If you care about her, you’ll keep that in mind before this goes anywhere. And if it does: I’ve got my eye on you.”

“I’m not going to hurt her,” Conrad says. “If your sister is open to it, I’d want to be with her. End of story. If not, I’ll go back to my old life, and that’s that.”

“Good. I just thought we should get some of that out in the open.”

“I don’t blame you. You’re a good brother.”

“I try.” Jason folds his arms and looks around. “Now why don’t we go stake out a spot for you guys to watch the medal ceremony before it gets too crazy?”

—–

“This is nuts!” Christian Taylor declares as he stares at his iPad. He sits on the deep, cushy sofa in his mother’s living room, his feet propped up on the coffee table. “You have over a million views.”

“No way,” his aunt says as she hurries over to the sofa. “How?”

“It got retweeted a bunch of times,” Christian explains.

“Let me see.”

Christian scoots over to allow Danielle to have a seat beside him.

“Wow!” she says. “That’s incredible. All from singing at a restaurant opening? Molly, did you hear that?”

Molly pokes her head out of the kitchen, where she is preparing dinner. “Hear what?”

“My video is going viral. The performance from the grand opening!”

“Really?” Molly quickly wipes her hands on a dishtowel and comes into the family room. “What are people saying?”

Christian scrolls through the comments. “That it’s so emotional… Look, this one says, ‘Sarah McLachlan is shook!’”

“What’s shook?” Danielle asks.

“It’s another way of saying she’s shaken,” Molly says. “Like you were so good that she feels like you’re going to take her place.”

Christian looks at her with confusion. “How did you know that?”

Molly shrugs. “I hear people talking at the office. I don’t spend all day in a nursing home, you know.”

“I’m impressed.” Christian uses his finger to flick through the page and reads: “‘Danielle Taylor did THAT!’”

“Did what?” Molly asks.

“See, you don’t know all the vocab,” Danielle says teasingly.

“Did something good,” Christian says, “or something cool.” He continues scanning the comments. “There’s this group that calls themselves the Fanielles.”

Molly lets out a laugh. “Fanielles!”

“I’ve heard of them,” Danielle says. “On Twitter. I had no idea anyone would even notice this, though.”

“You made good music,” Molly says. “You should be proud of it. And of course people are noticing.”

An electronic beep sounds from the kitchen. As Christian and Danielle continue reviewing the reactions to her performance, Molly returns with her phone in hand.

“Bree got third place,” she says.

“That means she’s going to Nationals, right?” Christian asks excitedly.

“Yep.”

“That’s great,” Danielle says. “Jason must be elated.”

Molly finishes typing out a response on her phone. “I’m sure he is. That was actually Conrad, though. I need to text Jason.”

“Ah.”

“Christian, would you go get your brother for dinner? It’ll be ready in a minute,” Molly says.

The teenager sets his iPad on the coffee table. “Sure. But then you have to make him set the table.”

“We can negotiate when you produce a body.”

Christian laughs and dashes out of the room.

“That’s really exciting about your video,” Molly tells her former sister-in-law. “It’s a great album. I’m glad people are hearing it.”

“Thanks.” Danielle stands from the sofa. “So… Conrad texted you the results even before Jason could, huh?”

“Yeah. He’s excited.”

Danielle gives her a knowing look.

“What?” Molly asks.

“I’ve noticed how close you guys are getting. That’s all. Staying up chatting… dancing at the wedding…”

A rush of pink fills Molly’s cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know how exactly what I’m talking about. And I think it’s great. If you and Conrad have feelings for one another, I’d be really happy for you guys. You deserve someone like him.”

Molly stammers for a few seconds. “I– Honestly, I have no idea what it is. He might just see it as a friendship. And I don’t want to make it seem like I expect anything just because I’ve let him stay here. It’s so complicated.”

“Take it one step at a time,” Danielle says. “But if you do have feelings, I think you should let him know sooner rather than later. Don’t let a good thing slip away.”

“Mom!” Caleb shouts as two sets of feet come rumbling down the stairs. “Christian says I have to set the table alone.”

Molly widens her eyes at Danielle. “And now we return to our regularly scheduled programming.”

—–

Helen stares at the appointment card from the hospital, trying to figure out her next move. It could very well be a dead-end, but something about it seems strange, especially since Spencer’s family keeps saying that he was perfectly healthy before his fall.

“Mrs. Chase?”

Tori’s voice snaps Helen out of her contemplative state. She hears footsteps hurrying through the house and stuffs the card into her pocket.

“Yes, dear?”

“Spencer said that one of the things he wanted were these magnesium supplements,” Tori says. “They’re in one of the kitchen cabinets. Could you look around and find those while I pack up some stuff in his room?”

Helen affixes a too-wide smile on her face. “Of course! Anything to help out. Magnesium, you said?”

“Yeah. Thank you. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

“Oh, take your time!” Helen calls after Tori as the young woman scurries back to her task. “And be careful on those stairs!”

After waiting several seconds, Helen fishes her cell phone from her purse and finds a powder room off the kitchen. She pulls out the card and mentally rehearses her plan before dialing the number for the lab.

“Hi,” she says when the receptionist greets her. “My son was recently hospitalized after an accident, and I’m trying to sort out some issues pertaining to his records. I know that he had an appointment with your office a few months ago. His name is Spencer Ragan.”

She hears typing on the other end, followed by a frustrating silence.

“Your son is a legal adult?”

“Yes,” Helen says. “But he’s living at home while he recovers, and he isn’t able–”

“I’m sorry, but we need authorization from Mr. Ragan before we release any information relating to his medical care.”

“He’s my son! All I want to know is what he was being treated for-”

“It’s the law. We’re only authorized to give out test results to the patient himself.”

“Test results?” Helen’s brain goes into overdrive. “See, this is information I need. It’s crucial to his care–”

“Then his doctor can request records,” the receptionist says curtly.

“You are very rude! And probably incompetent at your job!” Helen declares before ending the call. Her heart thumps rapidly.

She is still catching her breath as she opens the door to the powder room and returns to the empty kitchen.

“Test results,” she says under her breath. “What in the world was Spencer being tested for?”

She freezes as a thought strikes her. “That nasty hussy!”

—–

Rosie stares back at Travis in disbelief. “Playing you?”

“It’s not like we’ve been dating for three months or something,” he says. “This feels serious — or I thought it was. But it’s like you’re living this whole life apart from me.”

“Excuse me for my own life.”

“That’s now what I mean, and you know it.” Travis wraps his hand around the wine glass sitting on the counter. “It’s like you have this entire life I know nothing about.”

“That isn’t true,” she says, stone-faced. “I’m sorry it’s come across that way. I like you, Travis. A lot. I don’t want you to think otherwise.”

“Then tell me what’s going on.”

Rosie is silent, though he can see the movement behind her eyes, like she is trying to sort something out.

“Come on, Rosie.” He moves toward her. “I want to be here for you, if you’d let me. But the lying about Jesse, and working, and your dad’s grave–”

“What?”

Her tone changes so abruptly, so harshly, that it is as if someone fired a cannon in the middle of the kitchen.

Travis scrambles, knowing that he has said too much. “The day we saw you downtown — Landon decided to see where you were going. You went to the cemetery–”

“You’re having me followed?!”

“No! He decided to go on his own. I wasn’t with him. I didn’t even know–”

“But he reported back to you like a good lackey,” Rosie spits. “This is unbelievable. What about my privacy?”

“Privacy is one thing. Keeping secrets and telling lies is another.”

“Newsflash: you don’t have a right to know every single thing about my life. Especially not when it concerns my family.”

“But I want to know,” he says, his tone pleading. “I want you to feel like you can open up. I know there’s something going on.”

She throws up her hands. “You know what? I’m not doing this. That was such a violation, Travis.”

She pushes past him and grabs her purse from the small dining table.

“Rosie. Wait.”

“No.” She storms toward the front door. “Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you enjoy your dinner.”

“Rosie!” He sprints toward the door, but she closes it in his face as she darts out of the apartment.

“What the hell?” he says aloud, even though there is no one there to hear him. His anger and sadness melt together as he tries to figure out what in the world just happened, the smells of his now-pointless Thanksgiving meal a cruel reminder of how badly that went.

END OF EPISODE 900

What is Rosie hiding from Travis?
Will Helen’s investigation turn up anything solid?
Should Molly and Conrad give it a shot?
Talk about all this and more in the comments below!

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