Scene 1
Sara was speechless. She stared her father straight in the eye, but looked right through him. She knew his reaction would be harsh, and the options he presented were unexpected, but at no point did she expect to have so little time to make a decision.
"You go to India, have the child, come back here. We'll not speak of it again. You are free to choose not to go, but if you do, you leave this house today and do not speak to any of us again."
Sara couldn't speak. She looked across the room to Madhuri, who sat quietly staring at her lap. Kali broke the silence when she burst through the front door and rushed into the room, poised to unload a juicy piece of gossip on them all.
"Hey, you guys will never guess what..." Kali drifted off when she finally noticed the tension in the room. "What's going on?"
Sara stood and started walking toward her sister, but the sound of her father's voice stopped her.
"Wait in the kitchen, Kalyani," he said calmly, not turning around.
"But—"
"Please, just wait in the kitchen. We'll tell you what's going on when we're done here."
Kali frowned and hesitated for a moment, but left the room. Sara took a few steps toward the door, her eyes glazing over with tears, then turned back to her father.
"I'll do it."
It was Patel's turn to be surprised. He turned to his daughter and held her close to him.
"Thank you, Sarala. I did not want to lose you. I'm only doing what's best."
Sara pulled away from him, wiping her eyes as she did.
"Can I go..."
"Yes, yes, go talk to your sister."
Madhuri got up as Sara left the room, following her out the door. Neither looked at the other. Patel turned when they were gone, gazing out the door as he struggled to keep his own eyes from glazing over.
"I cannot believe I'm doing this to my daughter."
Scene 2
Pierce's voice admitted Arlie from beyond the door that separated their bedrooms at the Regent Island bed and breakfast. She entered and laughed when she found him distressing over which tie to wear.
"The blue and green one," she said.
"Really?" Pierce held the tie up and looked at himself in the mirror. "Ugh. I want to make an impression on the old guy. This deal is important."
"His missing yesterday's appointment did give you a leg up," Arlie pointed out.
"But now I have to share the meeting with the Benedict Forestry rep. Depending on who they send, it may not be a good thing."
"And why's that?"
"Benedict has two killer reps, the two dueling heirs both stuck in competition for their grandfather's ultimate trust and admiration, but it just fuels their talent. Morgan Benedict, a tough nut to crack, arrogant, swollen ego—reminds me of myself at that age. Or Jane Benedict, his half sister. Young, talented, gorgeous, one massive set of..." Pierce trailed off as he realized what he was describing. "Sorry. Brilliant negotiator but she can be one hell of a bitch on wheels. And she'll use her sex appeal in whichever way she can to get what she wants."
"Sounds as if you know them well," Arlie said, with just the hint of an accusation.
"I've dealt with both on occasion. They're— Oh, I see. You needn't worry, my dear. Jane's sex appeal never worked on me, and she detests me for it."
"Hmm... Yes, well, I'm ready. Why don't I pop downstairs and see if it is your friend Morgan or Jane is already waiting? You can finish convincing yourself that I'm right about the blue and green tie, and I'll be right back up."
Arlie gave him no opportunity to protest, leaving his room and jogging down the stairs. Voices stopped her at the landing.
"Excuse me, sir, I'm looking for Mr. Cresswell. Would you know where I could find him?"
"I'm Cresswell."
"Oh!" The man was taken aback. "Well, sir, you're in luck. I'm Morgan Benedict."
Satisfied, Arlie started back up the stairs, but curiosity got the better of her. She found a vantage point on the landing that afforded her a perfect view but almost completely disguised her from the two men. Cresswell was dressed casually, to say the least. Benedict was a stark contrast in his impeccable black suit, and it was evident that Cresswell was more than a little put off by it.
"Aren't you hot in that thing?"
Again, Benedict was taken aback. "The suit? Well, I suppose so, but one gets accustomed to it."
"I never did. Wear 'em to funerals and that's it."
"Well..." Benedict, too, was uncomfortable, but it was Cresswell's informal demeanor that perplexed him. "Before Marshall joins us, perhaps we could get a few minor things out of the way. I've been trying to get a hold of you, but there's never any answer at your phone—"
"I'm outside most of the day, fishing usually. No answering machine."
"That would explain it. But my home office has some specs I'd like you to have, and I was hoping to get your e-mail."
"What's that?"
"I said I was hoping to get your e-mail address."
"I heard you the first time. You mean that internet stuff then. I don't trust computers—it's all a bunch of hooey if you ask me."
"I see..."
Arlie was satisfied enough. She returned to Pierce's room, this time going in without knocking.
"It's Morgan Benedict, and Cresswell's already here."
"And not pleased that I'm keeping him waiting, no doubt."
"Well... I think your showing up at any time will be a God-send for him. He looks like he just got off his boat and Morgan showed up in a black designer suit. I'd change if I were you, the more casual the better."
"I just got my tie on."
"Well, you don't have to listen to me, but..."
"No, no. I'll change." Pierce returned to his closet and Arlie instinctively turned around to offer some privacy.
"And I'd also suggest staying away from industry or technology terms when you talk to him. He seems pretty down-to-earth, went into a little rant about computers when Benedict mentioned wanting to e-mail him."
"That's it!" Pierce said decidedly. "You're coming on every business trip from now on. I can tell you've been an untapped asset."
"I thought you brought me so we could have a weekend alone together."
"Just means your presence will be doubly good." Pierce, changed into khakis and a golf shirt, walked to Arlie and offered his arm. "Shall we, Mrs. Marshall?"
Scene 3
"I haven't eaten here in a long time," Grace said, somewhat nostalgic.
She was sitting at the Avalon dining room table with Becky and Burke. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back slightly, and inhaled deeply.
"Our house never smells quite this... alive... when there's food cooking. It's relaxing."
"It's why my night off and George's night off happen on the same day," Burke commented. "I wish he'd hurry up, though. I have to tell you two something and it can't wait much longer."
"Tell us separately," Becky prompted.
"I can't, Beck, it's important."
"Nothing as important as our first course."
George swept into the room holding an impeccably clean stainless steel serving dish with both hands. He set it on the table beside Grace first, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he did so.
"How are ya, honey?"
"I'm good, George."
"Working?" George continued serving everyone as he spoke.
"Part-time, yes. At the optometrist."
"Yes, I remember... well, someone mentioned it to me. Do you enjoy it?"
"Very much, especially working with the children. And I'm also in charge of Marshall's Vision Foundation, which basically means if I find someone who can't afford eye care I can authorize however much they need."
"You must really love that."
"I do," Grace said, nodding. "Giving back, and all that."
"And is it still optometry you want to get into?"
"Possibly, but I don't think so. Special education and business. I want to expand the Foundation."
George smiled. "You were such a trooper when your vision started going, handled it far better than anyone else. 'God has his reasons,' you'd always say, and eventually we all believed it, too."
"And now I've found the reason. Smart little thing, wasn't I?"
A brief silence followed as they started in on their dinner. Burke nervously awaited the chance to break the news about Tina's moving in, but the tone was so uplifting he couldn't bring himself to break it. He was just opening his mouth when Becky started to speak.
"Oh! I don't think I've told you yet, George. UVic finally accepted my application."
"They certainly took their time about it, didn't they? Have you registered?"
"Yes. And I'm so glad I took the LPI at that one sitting in Rome, otherwise I wouldn't meet the English requirement."
"So, have you registered?"
"Yes, but on most of the courses I'm so far down on the waiting list there's no chance I'll make it in. But I've got the two English courses for sure, and I'm going in tomorrow to prove that I can bypass first-year Italian."
"Why are you taking it at all?" Grace asked. "You've always said you didn't much like it there anyway."
"For the second language, mostly, and I'd like to be more fluent. And I managed an Art History course and a... well... a Women's Studies course, but I'll just have two courses in the fall term."
"There's nothing wrong with Women's Studies," Grace insisted, stopping the two men before they could snicker. "I took a course myself my first year. It was fascinating."
"I'm sure it was," Burke said. "But if you don't mind my changing this fascinating topic, I really have something I need to... share."
"Hold that thought, Burke," George said, rising from his chair. "I need to get the second course."
Burke stamped his foot in silent frustration, but held his tongue as George left the room. He held his tongue again when George came back talking.
"That's right, we haven't told them what happened today."
"You're right, but that really wasn't—"
"What happened?" Becky interrupted.
"Bridges is going to be in a movie. Well, probably, we haven't signed anything yet. It's going to be the best advertising we could possibly have. We might even get that four-star rating."
"Any names we know?"
"Yes, but I'm not at liberty to say."
"Any waitresses as extras?" Becky hinted.
"Well... probably, but don't spread that around."
"I really hate to keep interrupting," Burke said, "but there really is something I need to tell you and it has nothing to do with Bridges."
"Why didn't you say so? Go ahead."
George sat down, fully prepared to hear Burke out, but the doorbell rang before he could continue.
"I'll get it!" Burke announced, nearly knocking over his chair as he stood.
"No, you sit," George insisted. "Start saying whatever it was, and I'll see who's at the door."
"Really, George. I should get it. It's what I needed to talk to you and Becky about."
But Tina had let herself in. She appeared at the dining room door, setting her suitcases down beside her.
"I hope you didn't start dinner without me."
George turned and glared at her, transfixed like a deer in headlights.
"What are you doing here, Tina?"
"Don't be like that, George, I'm only a little late." Tina approached and briefly kissed him before taking his vacated seat at the table. "Oh... I guess you'll need to set another place. Sorry about that. And could someone pay the cab driver? I forgot to stop at the cash machine."
George seethed, but managed to keep his voice calm. "Gracie, could you help Tina take her bags upstairs?"
Grace smiled knowlingly. "Of course."
"George, I'm famished," Tina pouted. "It can wait till after dinner."
"Please, Tina," Burke interjected. "I think George needs to talk to Becky and me alone."
Scene 4
Frankie poked her head into her mother's room one more time to ensure she was asleep before tiptoeing downstairs to use the phone in the store. It was the middle of the night in Paris and her mother had been asleep for hours.
Turning on the small desk lamp, Frankie sat down at the desk in the small office behind the main store. She was incredibly tired, but too nervous and wired on caffeine to take note. After spreading a small piece of paper in front of her, she lifted the receiver on the phone and began to dial.
"Hello?"
The phone was answered after just one ring, and Frankie was startled. It took her a moment to find the proper words in English.
"Yes, I am sorry. I am calling to speak with Grace Marshall, if you please."
"Which Grace?"
"Pardon me?"
"There are two Grace Marshalls here. Which do you wish to speak to?"
"I... I don't know."
"Well, the younger Grace is out for the evening and the older Grace is not taking business calls."
"It is not a business call. I call for my mother. She is a friend."
"Well... then you probably want the older Grace. I'm sorry to tell you, she's very ill. And sleeping right now so she won't be able to speak with you."
"Oh, please... could you see if maybe she is awake? It is very important and I am calling from France."
"All right. Hang on a sec. Who can I say is calling?"
"Uh... my name is Frankie, but my mother is Victoire Chevalier."
Frankie strummed her fingernails on the desk as she waited, lulling herself into such a nervous daze that she was startled again when the woman returned to the phone.
"Miss Chevalier? You're in luck. Miss Marshall just woke up and she very much wants to speak with you."
* * *
Aunt Grace sat on the edge of her bed in a long white nightgown, wringing her hands as she waited for the cordless phone to be brought to her. It was still early in the evening, but she spent most of the day in bed and had just woken up from a two hour nap. Various medical monitors dotted the room, but it was still very much a warm, friendly place. She mumbled to herself while she waited, shaking her head.
"Frankie... Frankie..."
She quieted herself when the maid returned with the phone, not wanting to appear the least bit out of her mind.
"Thank you," she said, almost in a whisper. "Be a dear and shut the door when you leave."
Grace stared at the phone in her hands when she was alone, hesistating before pressing the talk button.
"Frankie Chevalier?"
It was more a statement of disbelief than a question.
"Yes," the young woman replied. "Are you Madame Marshall?"
"Mademoiselle Marshall, but I'm old enough to be a Madame. I hope you don't mind my speaking English. I don't quite have enough wits about me at the moment for French."
"I am fine."
"So... you are Victoire's daughter."
"Yes. Françoise. My mother has never really explained why she calls me Frankie."
Grace smiled and wiped a tear from her eye.
"How is your mother?"
"Very well, thank you. She is using the money to expand our store."
"The bookstore? She still runs the bookstore?"
"Yes, but... Mademoiselle, I would dearly like to know why you... why you gave us this money."
"It is rightfully your mother's, and I wanted to do it before it is too late."
"I do not understand how it is rightfully my mother's."
The girl was growing frustrated, but Grace noted the fatigue in her voice.
"Victoire did not explain it to you?"
"No, and she will not. She told me not to contact you, but I had to. To say thank you and to... to..."
"Satisfy your curiosity?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, but your mother is the one who needs to tell you. It is her right, not mine."
"Oh, please..."
"I'm sorry, ma petite. But I am glad you phoned me. I knew your mother had a child, but... how old are you?"
"Nineteen, just."
"And your birthday?"
"Twenty-five August."
More tears fell from Grace's eyes, and she covered her mouth with her hand to prevent Frankie from hearing her cry. She did her best to withhold it before continuing.
"I hope you don't mind the questions. Are you in school?"
"I do not mind. I finished... uh... you call it high school. I finished high school, but did not go to the university because Maman needed my help in the shop."
"That is a shame... oh, dear! This call must be costing you a fortune. I should let you go, but I..." Again, Grace forced herself to hold back tears. "I am grateful for this chance to speak with you and get to know you, if only a little."
"Please... do not hang up. The... the woman mentioned you were ill. What is it?"
"Age, my dear," Grace laughed. "I am one hundred."
"Will you... recover?"
"My dear, one cannot recover from age. My time is very limited, they say."
"I am sorry."
"It's been fun, but I have many a loved one waiting for me. I regret only that I could not do for your mother what was required of me, and now that I did not have the opportunity to know you and meet you."
"May I call you again?"
"I would enjoy that very much, Frankie, but I don't think it would be best. Your mother..."
"Yes, my mother. All right. Thank you for speaking to me. And I hope... I hope you feel well."
"Thank you. And know that my love is with your mother and you always. Au revoir."
Grace ended the call before Frankie could say anything more, instantly both relieved and heartbroken. Slowly, she laid back against her pillows and slid her legs under the covers, holding the phone to her chest as tears flowed freely from her eyes.
Scene 5
Andrew had given up his bed so she wouldn't have to sleep on his couch, and Flynn felt guilty because she was unable to sleep. His snores had been filtering in from the living room for some time, only contributing to Flynn's insomnia. She tried to content herself with the view from the window, but the moon was too concealed by clouds to cast any light on the water or the mainland in the distance. It only contributed to the growing depression she felt.
"Why do I always have to be the family fuck-up...?" she mumbled to herself.
Oddly, the ringing of the phone did not startle her. She rushed to pick up the receiver from Andrew's bedside, not wanting the phone in the other room to wake him.
"Hello?"
"Flynn? Did I call home by accident?"
"No, Lou, Andy let me stay the night here," Flynn said, lowering her voice.
"You're still there?"
Flynn could tell her sister was becoming suspicious, and she wasn't sure she wanted to put those suspicions to rest.
"I've been working late at Marshall, and it's just easier to come here rather than bus it all the way home."
"I'm sure it is," Lou mumbled, purposely loud enough for Flynn to hear. "Look, Flynn, I just got off work and I really need to talk to Andrew. He was supposed to call me back yesterday night and never did. Can you put him on?"
"He's sleeping."
"Wake him up, please?"
"Is it that important, Lou? He's had a long day."
"Are you going to wake him up or not?"
"I think not. Not if you're only going to talk to him like you are me."
"Fine. Then tell him I'm coming down in a few days. I'm not going to be working here anymore and we need to talk."
"Is that it?"
"Yes, that's it."
"You can't just say 'we need to talk.' You know what he'll think."
"Good, then he'll have a few days to prepare. Goodbye, Flynn."
Lou hung up before Flynn could say anymore. Flynn calmly, too calmly, put the phone down. She sat at the head of the bed, hugging her knees to her chest, her lower lip shaking as a single tear dropped from her eye.
"The family fuck-up strikes again."
Scene 6
It was an early breakfast at the Avalon home, but it was not grogginess that made the family unusually grumpy and quiet. The silent animosity toward Burke spoke volumes.
"I thought we got past this last night," Burke finally said.
"Just because we agreed to let her stay for a while does not mean you're forgiven," George said, refusing to look up from the stove.
"What's it going to take? I can only apologize. I fully meant to tell you, but I never got the opportunity to say it when you were both together."
"But you didn't ask in the first place," Becky bit back.
"Sweetie, I'm sorry," Burke replied.
But all the sincerity he could muster didn't phase Becky's mood at all, and Tina's arrival in the kitchen did nothing to help.
"I forgot about these mornings," she moaned. "Do you ever let people sleep in, George?"
"Sleep in as long as you want, but make your own breakfast."
"A bit grumpy this morning, I see."
George tensed and remained still as Tina approached to kiss him on the cheek. She noticed, but kissed him anyway before moving on to Becky, who shrank from her, and then Burke, who smiled weakly.
"I am grateful you're letting me stay here, George. You don't know what it means to me after all I did to you."
"Well, it's not permanent. Just until you find a job."
"A job?" she questioned, as if the concept was alien to her. "I can't get a job."
"You'd better."
"But... I haven't worked in years. I don't have any worthwhile experience or skills. Unless—"
"No." It was said firmly, by both Burke and George.
"But you gave Becky a job. And I know I wouldn't be suited for waitressing, but I would make a great hostess."
"We don't need a hostess," George said firmly. "Why don't you try at that clothing store you were working for when... well, when we met. It's still there."
"That would be embarrassing, Georgie, you know that. After all these years?"
The phone rang before George could voice his snide retort.
"I'll get it!" Tina said cheerfully, fully expecting the call to be for her as she picked up the phone. "Hello? ... Oh, yes, he's here." She handed the phone to Burke. "For you."
"Hello? ... You did? This soon?" The excitement in Burke's voice drew everyone's attention. Becky rushed to get him a pen and paper when he gestured for one. "Yes, I'm writing... yes... yes... got it... yes... God, thank you... Thank you."
He hung up the phone and looked up, slightly frightened but more joyful than anything.
"Burke?" George prompted.
"Anna O'Malley," he replied.
"Who's that?"
"My... my mother."
All the animosity toward Burke seemed to disappear in the mini celebration that followed. George and Becky were genuinely happy for him, with promises of love and support. Tina wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but she joined in the spirit of the occasion in the round of hugs and kisses. George was caught off guard by his full kiss on the mouth and he didn't protest, only pulled away politely—after five seconds. He was surprised more than anything, but Tina was not effected. Burke, though, became fully involved in their long, open-mouthed kiss. It clearly surprised them both, and the room was silent when they parted—George and Becky staring at them in disbelief and Burke and Tina trying to avoid looking each other in the eye as if they had something to hide.
Scene 7
Sara stopped to collect her thoughts between the domestic terminal and the baggage claim at the airport in Vancouver. The fifteen minute flight from Victoria did nothing to calm her nerves, and all she could think about was the tearful goodbye she shared with each member of her family, including her father.
She attempted to distract herself by watching the passersby. They seemed mostly to be business people, but there were a few families. A father passed leading his young daughter protectively by the arm. She was a pretty little thing, with curly blond hair and a sweet smile, but her large sunglasses and distant look made Sara wonder briefly if she was blind.
Sara's distraction worked until a queasiness built up and she was reminded of the baby, now making its presence known in the slight swelling of her abdomen. She leaned her head against the wall behind her chair and closed her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Michael," she whispered.
Sara forced herself to continue walking but paused briefly in front of a bank of payphones and found herself unable to continue, remembering the last thing her mother said to her at the Victoria airport. Madhuri had hugged her closely, slipping something into her pocket as she did.
"For you to call him," she whispered.
Later, on the plane, the prepaid phone card she found in her pocket made Sara cry. It was the first opinion on the matter her mother had expressed.
Sara dialed Michael's extension at Marshall Industries, knowing he'd be at work by then.
"Michael Marshall," he answered.
"Michael..." Her voice broke sooner than she expected.
"Sara? What's wrong, where are you?"
"My father found out about the baby."
"God..."
"I'm at the Vancouver airport. He's sending me to my uncle's."
"What? No, he can't..." Michael was near frantic, more so than Sara had ever been in the past few days.
"I didn't have a choice. It was that or be cut off from them completely. I can't... I can't do that."
"What about me? The baby?"
"They know someone who will adopt the baby, but Dad says if you want it you will have to claim it yourself."
"Sara..."
"I'm so sorry, Michael..."
"When does your flight leave?"
"Five hours. It was delayed."
"Wait for me."
"What?"
"Wait for me. I... I have to see you, at least. I can be there in under an hour, just don't go through security yet. I can be there in an hour if I get the next flight over, two if I don't."
"Michael..."
"Just... wait... please. I'll come for you."
"All right," Sara finally whispered. "At the food court in the international terminal."
"I'll be there."
Michael hung up quickly, and Sara could picture him rushing from the room as he did it.
"I just don't know if I'll have the strength to leave if you come."
Before you go, kindly leave your comments:
Detailed comments are welcome on the message board.
Coming up in Episode 9:
- Jack realizes Gemma will need more help than he is able to give.
- Andrew at how untouched he is by what Lou has to say, and uses the opportunity to help Flynn
- Pierce's initial success in the Regent Island deal is not necessarily to Marshall Industries' advantage
- Frankie will not give up in her search to uncover the secret held by Victoire and Grace (Sr.)
- Michael comes to Sara's rescue, but is his solution really a rescue?