Scene 1
Tina Duffy stood in the front doorway of Bridges in Avalon, one hand resting on a cocked hip and an inviting smile on her lips.
"That's no way to talk to your mother, Becky."
Tina walked forward and give her daughter a kiss. Becky tried to shrink from it, but George still stood behind her, blocking her escape. Tina looked back to her ex-husband, her spiked heels giving her a two-inch advantage over him. He, too, tried to shrink from her kiss, but Tina was too quick. She left a light lipstick stain on his cheek.
"How ya doin', Georgie?" She stood back and noticed the mark she left. "Oh, look what I've done."
She attempted to wipe it off, but George managed to avoid her, opting instead for a napkin from a stack on the end of the bar.
"Why did you come, Tina?" George asked. "I would have thought it obvious Becky wanted to get away from you."
"Becky needs me, as much as she denies it. She doesn't understand what went on between Antonio and I."
"I understand perfectly, Mother. You cheated on him and he left. Again."
"Becky..." Tina warned, in a much firmer tone than before.
"All right," George intervened. "This isn't the time or the place. I presume you came in a taxi, Tina, so I'll find someone here to drive you to your hotel."
"But I was hoping that—" Tina stopped herself. "Yes, that's probably best. I didn't sleep much on the flight and I'm beat. But I will be calling tomorrow."
George stopped a passing busboy and pulled his keys from his pocket.
"Greg, would you do me a favor and drive Ms. Duffy here to her hotel? She'll give you a nice tip."
"Of course, Mr. Avalon."
Tina smiled at the handsome young man, taking in his entire figure in one swift gaze. She walked to his side and took his arm, surprising him as she leaned in closer.
"That's so kind of you... Greg, was it?" She began walking with her escort to the door, but briefly paused to look back. "I'll call in the morning, Becky. Pierce, Arlie, it was good seeing you again."
A collective sigh of relief erupted when Tina was safely gone. Becky sunk back into George, who gave her a hug.
"It'll be okay. You're not alone now."
"Tina hasn't changed," Pierce said, trying to be pleasant.
"Oh, Pierce, I'm sorry," George said, suddenly remembering Tina's slight against the couple when she first appeared. "Tina is..."
"Obnoxious?"
"A kinder word than I would have used, but yes, that's one way to put it."
"Is she gone yet?"
Burke reappeared and looked out the door. Tina and Greg were about to disappear into the parking lot.
"You knew she was here?" Becky asked.
"The whole restaurant new she was here."
"Coward."
Burke laughed. "No, just smart." He turned to face Pierce and Arlie. "If you still have your appetites, would you like to be seated?"
Pierce nodded, and Burke took two menus from the bar. When Pierce wasn't looking, Arlie caught Burke's attention and mouthed "I could not help it," gesturing to Pierce. Burke nodded, understanding. "I know."
Scene 2
They were the lone mourners at the freshest grave in the small, country churchyard. There was just a modest, temporary plaque to mark the place: Ann Reece, 1971-1999. Jack wore a small bandage on his forehead, but Gemma's eyes were completed covered and wrapped. She was sitting on the ground, gracing her fingers over the letters on the stone. Jack crouched nearby, unable to look at his daughter or the grave. His forlorn eyes glazed over, but no tears would come.
"Can Mummy see me?"
"She can see everything now, honey."
"What are we going to do?"
"I think... well, we'll stay in London until your bandages come off, but then I was thinking of taking a leave from work. What would you think about leaving England, Gemma?"
"Where would we go?"
"Canada. I was born there, you know."
"Mummy told me. How long would we stay?"
"Maybe for a long while. Would you like to try it? Go to school there?"
"I could try it."
They remained quiet and contemplative for several minutes before Gemma turned to Jack. She felt the air with an out-stretched hand, finally finding him and resting a hand on his knee.
"Daddy?"
Tears came to Jack's eyes, struck by the trust and vulnerability in her voice as she said the word. He cleared his throat before answering, doing his best to hide the emotion in his voice.
"Yes, Gemma?"
"When they take the bandages off, will I be able to see?"
Jack squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, clenching his teeth in an attempt to suppress his feeling. He didn't realize that he was not answering her question.
"Daddy, will I?"
"We don't think so, honey, I'm sorry."
Gemma sniffed and whimpered slightly, but did not cry. After a few wasted moments of trying to shut her pain from his mind, Jack finally let the tears flow. He fell back into a seated position and pulled Gemma onto his lap, enveloping her in his arms. Together, they cried for the first time since Ann's death.
"I'm sorry," Jack whispered, methodically rocking back and forth. "I'm sorry."
Scene 3
Michael waited in the hall outside his uncle's office at Marshall Industries, just out of sight of the secretary. Sara had already passed her interview with the superviser in the communications department, but was now required to meet John Marshall's approval, as well, a proceedure every prospective employee underwent.
Inside, a door opened. Michael listened intently.
"I hope you enjoy working for us, Ms. Kumar. And when you return to school I hope you'll work out a part-time schedule."
"I will. Thank you, sir."
John returned to his office and Sara appeared in the hall moments later. Michael smiled and hugged her, but Sara only half-heartedly returned it.
"What's wrong?" he whispered.
"I have a job, but it still doesn't solve my problem."
Michael sighed. "Let's go talk. I know a place."
He led her to the elevator, where he pressed for the top floor then keyed in the security code. When the doors opened, Sara stood back in surprise. The area was open, supported by pillars rather than walls. Tables and chairs were strewn everywhere, some covered by large white sheets. Thick curtains were drawn, and there was a hazy feel as the sun struggled to shine through the floor-to-ceiling windows that surrounded the whole floor.
"What is this?"
"I'm told it used to be a restaurant, but it shut down twenty years ago. Marshall leases the floor, but no one wanted to take it on. Take a seat."
Michael gestured to the nearest table, one more recently used, and they both sat down.
"People with the security clearance come up here all the time. But, come on. Why are you still so scared?"
"It should be obvious by now, Michael. The job doesn't change much. My family will find out about the baby eventually."
"You have a job now. You could move out."
"For what reason? What reason would I give them? And they would still find out about the baby."
"But—and I hate to say it—if they find out about the baby you'll be out anyway. That's what you've always said. What if... what if you moved away?"
"Where? And how?"
"To one of Marshall's other offices. You could apply at a school there."
"And the baby?"
"Have the baby there."
"And give it up for adoption?"
"I'll take care of the baby."
"By yourself, Michael?"
"My family will understand. They'll help if you give them a chance."
Sara considered the possibility, and slowly nodded. "They might be willing to let me go. My parents, I mean."
"Then talk to them. The sooner the better."
"But can I be sure I'll have a job elsewhere?"
"That I can take care of. I think the Toronto office would be easiest."
"I'll talk to them. And I wish I could talk longer, but I really need to go."
Sara stood and started for the elevator. Michael followed her. But, when he tried to kiss her goodbye, she hesitated; when she finally consented to the kiss, she kept it brief and pulled away. She smiled and patted him on the arm.
"We should go down separately. I'll see you."
Scene 4
Grace Marshall, Sr., sat on the patio outside the Marshall family home with a light breakfast and her morning tea. Her namesake, the younger Grace Marshall, was taking her morning swim in the nearby pool. She was on the far side when Becky Duffy arrived, and simply waved.
"It's a nice morning, isn't it, Miss Marshall?" Becky asked, stripping down to her bathing suit as she did so.
"You always used to call me Aunt Grace, my dear. There's no reason why you shouldn't still. But there is no dispute on the morning—we've had beautiful weather lately." Aunt Grace held out a plate of fruit. "Would you care for something to eat before your swim?"
"Oh, thank you, but Grace and I were going to eat breakfast after our swim."
"Oh, steal a strawberry. You know you want one."
Becky laughed and took a small strawberry from the plate. As she did, Aunt Grace's hand began to shake. The plated dropped to the ground, sending the fruit sliding across the patio. Two strawberries plopped into the pool.
"Aunt Grace?" Becky warded off panic as her old friend slumped in her chair, rushing behind to try to support her.
"What's wrong?" Grace yelled from the center of the pool. She started swimming for the edge before waiting for an answer.
"I don't know what happened," Becky said shakily. "She just..."
Grace arrived at her aunt's side, taking over the support and trying to rouse her.
"Auntie... Auntie!" She looked up at Becky, her expression downcast and dumbfounded. "Call an ambulance. Quickly."
* * *
It was late afternoon in the small Paris book shop. It was hot, and there was no air conditioner—only a few old fans perched atop shelves throughout the room. A woman in her mid-fifties stood on a ladder organizing books on a top shelf, her stiff, dark hair long since made limp by the humidity. Her daughter, a young woman in her late teens, was just finishing with a customer at the till. When they speak, it is in French.
"Business has been better this week, Mama."
"It needs to be."
"I know, Mama. All too well."
The mother turned, a frustrated look in her eye, but refrained from saying anything as another customer—a man in a crisp, dark suit-entered the store.
"May I help you, sir?" the daughter asked, glad for the reprieve from her mother's indignation.
"I have some important documents for... Victoire Chevalier."
The mother turned her head again and began descending the ladder.
"I am Victoire Chevalier." She passed the few books in her hand to her daughter. "Finish this, Frankie."
Frankie said nothing, but sighed and took the books up the ladder. But she only went through the motions of organizing the shelf—instead listening intently to the conversation below.
"Madame, I come to you from the Banque Nationale. Funds were transferred to us in your name and, given the amount, we thought it best someone come to see you in person. Do you have some identification?"
Um... yes, of course," Victoire stumbled. She took her purse from behind the counter and began searching through it. "Where have these funds come from? Who...?"
"They came from Canada. Victoria. There is a personal letter for you. We assumed you would be expecting this."
"No... no, it is completely unexpected." She produced several forms of identification, which satisfied the banker. "How much is this exactly?"
"There is table detailing it..." The man set his briefcase on the counter and produced a sheet of paper. "It is a great deal of money."
Victoire scanned the paper and gulped, her eyes widening. "Sweet Jesus..."
"There are forms to sign."
"You mentioned a letter?"
"Yes, of course."
Victoire took the envelope handed her and removed the single sheet of paper. She scanned it quickly, mumbling a few words. "Sorry... before it is too late... I should have done long ago... with my best intentions... forgiveness..." Victoire chuckled quietly and sighed. "I don't want to accept it, but I would be a fool not to."
Scene 5
No sooner did Flynn take her desk that morning at Marshall Industries than the phone rang.
"All of them off the hook ever since we opened this morning," Scott, her officemate, said, gesturing to the phone. "They've heard about that broken Regent Island deal. We have no comment at this time and we're doing our best to resolve the situation."
Flynn nodded and picked up her phone. "Public relations... Marshall Industries will do its best to resolve the Regent Island project in the best interests of all parties involved... No, Mr. Marshall is not available for comment... I'm sorry, Pierce Marshall does not keep an office in this building... No, I can't give you his private number... I'm sorry, I can't transfer you to Mrs. Marshall either. At this time, the public relations department is all you will be able to contact... Marshall Industries is doing its best to— ... I know I've said that before. It is the only comment Marshall Industries has at this time... I'm not at liberty to comment on that... I have no comment... No comment." Flynn was becoming increasingly agitated. Scott tried to get her attention to calm her, but Flynn waved her off. "Sir, I can only suggest you call back tomorrow or wait for an official press release. Thank you for your call." She hung up before the caller could get another word in.
"Honey, I'd get reprimanded if it ever got out that I spoke to a caller that way." Scott leaned far onto his desk, gripping his hands over the far edge and looking Flynn straight in the eye. "Unfortunately I can't flutter my eyes and pout for 'Uncle John' and pass it off as a bad night's sleep."
"Save it, Scott."
"I'm sorry. Something is wrong, isn't it? Not just a bad night's sleep?"
"Nothing's wrong," Flynn said, using enough force in her tone to dispute what she said.
"PMS, then?"
"Not that it's any of your business! Anyway, I'm not due for that for another..." Flynn became distant and confused, struggling to do the math in her head. "Well, whatever. It's not PMS. It's not anything. There's nothing wrong."
"Whatever you say, sweetie, but I'm here for you if you want to talk about it."
Scott's phone rang just as Flynn was about to respond. She glared at him instead and turned away when picked up the receiver, taking her desk calendar with her and facing the wall. With a pencil, she counted back the weeks, her face revealing more denial with each week. When she finally stopped she squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head, whispering.
"Please God, no... I can't be..."
Before you go, kindly leave your comments:
Coming up in Episode 6:
- The Marshall family is faced with a dilemma in Aunt Grace's care.
- Burke and Arlie are forced to discuss the future of their relationship as Arlie begins to succumb to Pierce's attempts at reconciliation.
- Flynn tries unsuccessfully to confirm her suspicions in private.
- Tina has a chance encounter with Ross, experiencing more than the usual discomfort when meeting an old high school classmate.