Previously…
– After Travis and Landon spotted Rosie out and about on a day that she said she would be working, Landon decided to tail her. He followed her to the cemetery, where he saw her leaving flowers at a grave.
– Tempest, still furious with Diane for interfering with baby Chase’s custody case, learned from Claire that there had been a custody suit over Samantha when she was an infant.
– As Spencer lingered in a coma, no one was aware that he had been fighting with Natalie over Peter’s paternity at the time of his fall down the stairs.
– Molly went back to work at Objection Designs after receiving probation for covering up Paula’s shooting of Philip.

Landon Esco tries to focus on the episode of Rick and Morty playing on the flatscreen TV hanging on the wall opposite him, but every 20 or 30 seconds, his attention is pulled away to check the time or something on his phone. His brain has been spinning earlier since his mission to tail Rosie Jimenez, and now that he knows his roommate will be home any minute, Landon is filled with anxiety at the prospect of telling Travis what he did — and what he found out.

When the front door opens, Landon bolts upright on the IKEA couch and pauses the DVR. Travis sets down his keys, wallet, and phone on the two stacked cardboard boxes that they have yet to unpack since moving in. Only then does he notice Landon sitting there, staring straight ahead.

“Are you… watching a paused TV?” Travis asks with confusion.

“No. I was waiting for you. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Travis’s eyes flare. “Did you finish my Rocky Road again?”

“That was an accident! My blood sugar was dangerously low.”

“It’s not an accident to eat half-a-pint of ice cream!”

“Well, that’s not what happened this time.” Landon shifts on the couch, trying in vain to get more comfortable. “It’s more serious.”

“Oh. Dude, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. It’s not about me. Not really.”

“Okay…” Travis’s entire body grows visibly tenser. “What is it?”

“After you left with Samantha,” Landon explains, the words coming slowly, “I… decided to do something. I, uh, I did it for you, man.”

“Oh god. What did you do?”

“I kind of… followed Rosie.”

“What?” Travis grips the sides of his head. “What is wrong with you? Did she see you? She saw you, didn’t she? She saw you and she thinks I’m some psycho who sent his roommate–”

“She didn’t see me,” Landon interrupts. “I was really careful. I wanted to know what she was doing — why she’s been lying to you about going to work.”

“Because she doesn’t want to be serious with me. She doesn’t want to be around me. So she lies that she’s busy. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since we saw her before. I don’t really need to be reminded.”

“That’s the thing, dude.” Landon springs to his feet. “I don’t think this is about you at all.”

Travis regards him cautiously, uncertain if he wants to let himself go down this road. But he can’t resist. “What do you mean?”

“She went to the cemetery. Those flowers — she left them at a grave.”

“What? Whose grave?”

“Someone named Manuel Jimenez. He died on today’s date in 2013,” Landon says. “It only took me a few minutes on Google to figure out what’s up. It was her dad — and I think she’s being so weird because there’s something up with the way he died.”

With a skinny vanilla latte resting on the conference table in front of her, Molly Taylor reviews her latest sketches on her iPad as she awaits the start of a meeting. She smiles at several of the touches that she managed to incorporate, feeling a surge of confidence about what she is going to present to the Objection team shortly.

When members of the design team begin streaming into the room, Molly stands and greets them warmly. Still, she feels a nervous ache in the pit of her stomach at the prospect of putting herself out there so baldly after all her time away from the company.

“I’d like to thank everyone for being here on time,” Molly says. “We have a lot to get through today, and we’re already on a tight timeline for next summer’s collection.” She double-checks that her iPad is synced to the large projection screen that drops down from the ceiling and presses a button to display the first image for the room to see.

“As you can see,” she explains, gesturing at the sketch of a floral, off-the-shoulder top, “I’ve envisioned next summer as an extension of the current one. For 2017, we played around with looser silhouettes and bare shoulders, and I think we should push even further into those trends.”

“Hmm.” The noise comes from across the table, where Gia Vincent, the VP of Design, sits. Her long blonde hair, with layers of wavy extensions woven into it, is slung over one shoulder.

Molly waits, as do the others assembled around the table, for Gia to register whatever thought she has just had.

“We discussed in a meeting, a few weeks ago, how trends even for fall are shifting back toward cleaner, clearer lines,” Gia says.

“The fall and winter collections do reflect that, to a degree,” Molly admits. “But there’s also a lot of volume–”

“Volume tends to come with layers.”

Gia’s tone, which normally teeters on combative anyway, sounds even more so to Molly right now, though she cannot tell if that is an accurate reflection of reality or simply her own insecurities.

“Why don’t we go through these and then we can discuss once we have a sense of the summer look as a whole?” Molly suggests. She clicks to display the next sketch, a maxi dress with a subtle gradient print. “As you can see, in this dress–”

“I’m sorry,” Gia says, eyes fixed on the screen, “but with all due respect, I don’t really think this flower-child aesthetic is the right continuation of the story we’re telling with fall, winter, and what we have for spring so far.”

“I would tend to agree.” The words pop up suddenly from Eli Walker, a mid-level member of the design team who is seated two chairs down from Gia. He wears a long black t-shirt and has a light scarf wrapped several times around his neck so that it hangs jauntily. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the designs themselves, but as a whole, they’re reading a little more ‘run off to Malibu’ than I think makes sense for us.”

Molly’s gut tightens, but she tries to maintain her composure outwardly. She reaches for her latte, not because she wants to sip it but simply to give her hands something to do.

“I think it’s all right to make a bit of a left turn,” she says. “I want to play up the freedom of summer. How does everyone else feel?”

A gentle wave of murmurs washes through the room. Molly tenses as she attempts to make out the actual words.

“I kind of agree with Gia and Eli,” one of the junior designers says.

“Me, too.”

Molly’s heart sinks as she listens to the wave of apologetic agreements. The design sitting up on the big screen now feels as humiliating as a photo of herself in a compromising position. Even the errant “I like Molly’s ideas” that she hears doesn’t help.

“Like Eli said, there isn’t anything wrong with the clothes in and of themselves,” Gia says, almost managing to keep the condescension out of her voice, “but they might be wrong for what we’re doing in the coming year. It’ll probably just take you some time to find your footing again, Molly. You were gone a long time. And you had a lot of things besides fashion on your mind.”

“I kept up with everything while I was out of the office,” Molly says.

“That may be, but you were distracted. And rightfully so! The things your family went through — what your fiancé did. No one could blame you for being preoccupied.”

“Besides,” Eli offers, “the investors have been happy with the direction we went while you were out.”

“Why don’t you pull in a few members of the team to help you rework these, and we can present them again next week?” Gia swivels her chair to gesture to an assistant seated by the door. “In the meantime, let’s bring in the swimsuit prototypes, shall we?”

As she swallows the lump in her throat, cheeks burning, Molly brings her latte to her lips and forces herself to take a drink of it. It’s all she can do to keep her cool. She knew that she might have an uphill battle being in control of the design team again, but now she wonders if it will even be possible at all — or if she has somehow managed to lose the faith of her employees and control of her company.

—–

After Claire Fisher leaves the apartment for her shift at the hospital, Tempest Banks remains at the dining room table, trying to complete the work she has to get done for Edge of Winter Arena. Her mind keeps drifting away from the work, though. She makes a cup of coffee, which only serves to make her more amped-up, and puts on some music, hoping that the background noise might help dull the buzz in her brain — but it just proves to be another level of distraction.

Finally, with her e-mail and a spreadsheet still lingering on the laptop screen, she opens a fresh browser tab. It takes her a few search attempts to figure out the right phrasing to use, but soon enough, there it is: a portal to access Washington state court records.

She doesn’t even know what she expects to find in the records from Claire and Tim’s original custody battle with Diane over Samantha. But there has to be something there — something that will prove what a huge hypocrite Diane is, something to make Samantha stop defending her interfering mother. No way is a woman who lost custody of her own baby qualified to play God with the life of someone else’s kid.

But no matter what she tries, Tempest sees that she has no way of accessing what she wants, largely because she doesn’t know exactly what she’s trying to access. She has no official case name, no case number. And she can’t exactly ask Claire for those things directly.

She leans back in her chair to think — and that’s when she spots it. The waist-height filing cabinet in the corner. Claire is always putting things in there: credit card statements, insurance documents, warranties. She must have the warranty for every piece of electronics either of them has gotten since Tempest moved in years ago, and they definitely don’t have all those gadgets anymore.

In a flash, Tempest is in front of the filing cabinet. She has never paid much attention to it before, so she is relieved to see that there is no lock or combination on it. The top drawer slides open, but she finds that it is full of manuals and various other things like that. No legal documents here.

The bottom drawer proves more fruitful. She can tell from the instant she opens it that, if she’s going to find anything, it’ll be in here. Hanging files with carefully written tabs fill the drawer. She feels guilty peeking at Claire’s bank documents and health insurance statements, though she does nothing more than glance to see what they are. She has no interest in rifling through Claire’s personal information.

Finally, she finds a folder labeled Legal. Her breath quickens as she removes it from the drawer. There are all sorts of things inside. A pang of sadness hits her when she sees a copy of Claire and Tim’s signed divorce papers; she came into Claire’s life after they split up, but she has always liked Tim, and she wonders what things would be like if they’d managed to stay together. She is glad that Claire is with Brent now, though.

After flipping through a few more paper-clipped sets of documents, she finds it: some kind of lawsuit back from when Samantha was an infant, filed by Claire and Tim to try and obtain sole custody of her from Diane. But as she goes through the relatively short bit of paperwork, Tempest realizes that there is nothing juicy in here. No court transcript, nothing like that. Just a bunch of dry legal language and signatures.

With a huff, she flips the document closed. She’s about to do the same to the file folder when she sees something on the first page.

“You’re all I need,” she mutters as she takes in the case number printed near the top of the sheet.

Selections from the La La Land soundtrack dance through the air of Edge of Winter Arena. Though it is a relatively busy evening session, many of the skaters have put their practicing on hold to stand by the boards and watch as Bree Halston performs a run-through of her brand-new freeskate. She flies down the ice, her white skates a blur as she performs a complicated footwork sequence, before she turns, reaches back with her right foot, and launches herself into the air.

At the side of the ice, Jason Fisher watches as Bree springs upward and pulls her arms and legs tight. Her lithe body twists one, two, three times, and then she comes down solidly on the blade of her right skate. Jason brings his hands together in applause and hears the other skaters and observers clap, as well. Bree skates breezily through the remainder of the jazzy program before stopping at center ice with one hip cocked out and an arm above her head. Again, applause fills the air.

“That triple flip was incredible,” Natalie Bishop says as she leans over the opening in the boards toward Jason. “It looks like she’s been landing it for years.”

“Something just clicked this week,” he says. “If she can keep nailing it, it’s going to be worth a lot of points that late in the program.”

“For a first full run of this program, she looks amazing.” Natalie lightly pushes baby Peter’s stroller back and forth as she talks. “By the time Regionals rolls around, she’ll be unstoppable.”

“That’s our plan,” Jason says with a broad smile.

As the other skaters flock back out onto the ice, Bree skates over to her coach and her mother.

“That was amazing, baby,” Natalie says. Jason gives Bree a spirited high-five.

“Thanks,” the teenager says as she fiddles with her blonde ponytail. “We should film the program soon so I can watch it and see if it looks how I think it does.”

“We’ll do that,” Jason agrees.

“I’m glad we came by to watch,” Natalie says. “That choreographer did a fantastic job. Now we just need to nail down your costume…”

“And keep your training on course,” Jason says. “Not that I have any doubt you will. Any coach would be lucky to have a student who works as hard as you do.”

Bree blushes. “I just want this so badly. And I couldn’t do it without you guys.”

Jason lets out a little laugh. “Do you remember when you first came to King’s Bay and I wasn’t even interested in coaching? Your mom had to twist my arm…”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” Natalie asks.

“Don’t answer that,” Jason tells Bree with a roll of his eyes. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”

Natalie shrugs. “But I’m always right.”

“Okay, you might’ve been on to something,” he admits. “More than either of us even knew. It’s crazy…” He gazes around the arena, at its high ceilings and the expansive white ice. “That day you walked in here and asked me to teach Bree — well, basically told me I had to — I had no idea that we’d all turn into a family. I thought it was going to be just Sophie and me forever… and now I have you and two more kids I never expected to have.”

Natalie grasps his arm over the board, even as a shudder of terror races through her. “You’re being so sappy.”

“What can I say? I’m happy.”

“This would almost be cute if you guys weren’t such parents,” Bree says, though there is a grin on her face. “I’m gonna go do my cool-down.”

As she skates off, Jason looks over the boards at Peter, who is preoccupied with a stuffed toy. Then he turns his focus back toward Natalie.

“I don’t care what Bree thinks — we are pretty cute,” he says. “And even being old people isn’t going to change that.”

Natalie’s pulse quickens as Jason takes her hand. She can hardly comprehend how she can feel such strong, opposing emotions: warmth and joy at his words, his touch, counterbalanced by absolute dread at the thought of Spencer lying in that hospital bed, able to wake up at any moment and ruin it all for her.

“No,” she says with resolve. “Nothing is going to change it. Ever.”

—–

Travis edges closer to the couch, as if afraid that any movement he makes or any word he speaks could cause his being to explode.

“There was a newspaper report about how her dad was killed during a robbery,” Landon says. “A home invasion, they said.”

“Oh. Wow.” Travis stands motionless for several seconds. “And she was bringing flowers to his grave on the anniversary of his death. Why would she lie about that?”

“I know! It’s weird.”

“I mean, it’s her personal business,” Travis says, “and we haven’t been dating that long, so it’s not like I have any right to know, but…”

“But I don’t like her lying to my best buddy and making excuses,” Landon adds. “Has she ever mentioned her dad?”

“No. Never. Or not in any specific way. She just told me she isn’t close with her family. That’s why she spends holidays alone.”

“Then maybe it’s some weird-ass way of handling grief. Like she can’t open up. Maybe you’ll be able to get her to.”

Travis perches on the edge of the couch, consumed by thought. “Really? You think I should, what, ask?”

“Yeah! Give her a listening ear.”

“But I can’t tell her that I know anything, or she’ll know you followed her. Or she’ll think I followed her and I’m trying to punt the blame.”

“Then you have to be clever,” Landon says. “But come on, dude. You can’t be serious with someone who keeps lying like this. And if she’s got something heavy going on like this — isn’t the point of a boyfriend or girlfriend that you get to open up?”

“It should be.” Travis sighs. “I don’t know what to do.”

“One way or another, you’ve gotta get her to talk, man. Because if she won’t — if she keeps lying — what kind of relationship is that gonna be?”

“I don’t know,” Travis admits, somehow feeling both relieved and more burdened at the same time. “I really don’t know.”

END OF EPISODE 885

Should Travis confront Rosie about what’s going on?
Will Molly be able to regain her professional footing?
Can Natalie hold onto this life she’s found?
Share your thoughts on this episode below!

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