Previously...
- Sarah reported to Molly that she had staged a run-in with the security guard whom she suspected of having sent them the footage of Paula shooting Philip and that the guard didn’t seem to recognize Sarah. 
- Travis’s first day of work in the kitchen of his late grandfather’s restaurant went much less smoothly than he hoped after he messed up his very first order.
- Alex admitted to Trevor that he still wants to be with him, and they slept together for the first time since Trevor’s return to King’s Bay.
- Jason told Alex he was going to ask pregnant Natalie to move in with him.

“I’m glad you got to catch up on sleep,” Brent Taylor says into his cell phone as he closes the door to his office at the police station. “I want you to be rested up when I see you again."

“Is that so?” Claire Fisher asks from the other end of the line.

An involuntary smirk curls the corner of Brent’s mouth. “It is. I think we’re gonna need a follow-up very soon."

“I agree,” Claire says. There is a lightness, a dreaminess, about her voice that he finds so inviting and so welcome. He’s missed this. He is about to respond when there is a knock at his office door. Quickly he pulls it open. “I should get back to work,” he tells Claire as he signals to Rosie Jimenez that he’ll be just a moment. Rosie waits at the open door. “I’ll call you on my break tonight,” Claire says.

Conscious that Rosie is awaiting him — and within hearing distance — Brent wraps up the call without too much of a drawn-out goodbye.

Rosie holds out a manila folder. “Just wanted to bring this to you. It’s the full file on the robbery attempt at the arena."

“Thanks.” He takes the folder and flips it open, even though its contents are more or less exactly what he expected to find. 

“No problem."

“Not just for the file — for what you did. It was brave. And smart."

“I had to do something, once I found out what the robber was doing to Tempest."

“You handled it very well. And Tempest is… she’s important to people I’m close to. Just know that we’re all grateful — and impressed."

“Thank you, Commander. That means a lot.” Rosie maintains a calm demeanor, though Brent can see a gleaming sparkle of pleasure behind her dark eyes. 

Brent nods as he sees a figure appear at the door. His ex-wife is styled immaculately, as always, in a navy skirt and boldly printed blouse accompanied by several necklaces of different sizes, but she wears her worry like another, heavier accessory.

“Can you give us a minute?” Brent says to Rosie.

“Yeah, of course.” She quickly exits the office. 

“What’s going on?” Brent asks Molly. “Is everything okay?"

“No. I’m sorry for showing up like this, but I really need to talk to you."

He comes toward her, ushering her inside and closing the door. “Molly, what’s going on?"

She fixes her eyes upon his. “I really need your help."

Travis Fisher slides onto a stool at 322 Bar & Grill and, within seconds, orders an IPA from the bartender. As he watches the beer flow from the tap into the chilled glass, Travis tries to push out thoughts of his first shift at work. It is a relief to be back on this side of a restaurant’s operations, with no idea what is going on backstage in the kitchen — not that he had much clue when he was in the kitchen at Harbor Boulevard earlier, either.

The glass lands in front of him with a clink. Travis thanks the bartender and promptly downs a good half of the beer. 

“That kind of day?” asks a voice from behind him.

Travis hesitates before swiveling around to see Rosie Jimenez standing there.

“That kind of day,” he says before taking another swig.

Without waiting for an invite, she takes the stool beside him. “Everything okay? With Tempest?"

“Yeah. Everything’s good there. Thanks again, by the way."

“Just doing my job. Literally.” She holds up a finger, gets the bartender’s attention, and orders a tequila on the rocks. “So what’s going on?"

He drags a finger over the frosty glass, clearing a path. “Had my first day at a new job today. And it was… not awesome."

“How not-awesome are we talking?"

“Like, borderline-disaster. I completely screwed up my first order — made the wrong dish — and then got yelled at because I was way too slow making about 4,000 Caprese salads, and then I was running to get back to my station and I slipped and almost ate it. Apparently I’m an idiot and didn’t know there are special non-slip kitchen shoes or something.” He throws back some more of the beer, as if the liquid might cleanse his memory.

“Where are you working? Hell’s Kitchen?"

“It’s called Harbor Boulevard,” he says. “It’s up on the north side of town."

“I know where that is.” Rosie pauses as she gratefully accepts her tequila from the bartender.

“It was a really shitty shift. And honestly, I’m not sure I wanna go back tomorrow."

With the tequila halfway to her lips, Rosie freezes. “You’re joking, right?"

“No."

“Oh, come on.” She puts her glass down with a heavy hand. “You mean to tell me you’re that much of a baby?"

“I’m not a baby—"

“You’re acting like one. You get a little embarrassed at work and throw in the towel?” She lets out a little snicker. “That’s the definition of a baby, if you ask me."

-----

Brent locks the door. “You’re scaring me. Are the kids okay? Are you okay?"

“I’m…” Molly goes distant for a moment, as if temporarily transported to some other dimension, before she finds her words and locks back into their conversation. “It’s about Danielle. I found something. A bottle of wine. In her closet."

His stomach drops as he asks, “Was it opened?"

“Half-empty. Hidden behind her shoes."

“Oh, god.” He rubs a hand over his face. “When was this?" “When she went to your house to pick up Caleb’s book." The comment gives Brent the slightest pause, the slightest prick of panic, at the memory of how Danielle caught him and Claire together, clearly post-coital. But that doesn’t matter right now, and as he does when an important case comes onto his radar, he pushes his personal concerns aside and focuses.

“She didn’t seem drunk — or like she’d been drinking — when I saw her,” he says, walking back through their encounter in his mind. “If she got behind the wheel after drinking…"

“She seemed okay when she left the house, too. And the bottle was hidden at the time. But… she has been drinking."

“We need to do something.” He hates himself for even entertaining the next thought, but it is his job — both professionally and as a brother. “She’s been driving the boys around. I don’t think—"

“I said I had to be in early this morning and took them to school myself,” Molly says. “But obviously that won’t work every day. Not that I believe she’s drinking and then getting in the car with them, but…"

“It isn’t okay.” He leans against the edge of his desk. “I’m guessing you haven’t said anything to her?"

“Not yet. No."

“Let me talk to her. Soon. Tonight, even."

“Don't you think we should have an intervention?"

He shakes his head. "I want to… I want to make sure she doesn’t feel like it’s an attack or an accusation. Let me see what’s going on, how she reacts, you know."

Molly’s lips flap open and closed before she manages to say, “She might not tell the truth."

“I know that. But I want to get a feel for what her state of mind is. Then we can go from there."

“Yeah. All right.” She smooths her skirt, a normally absentminded move that now seems like a deliberate attempt to distract herself or channel her nervous energy. “Poor Danielle. She’s always seemed to have this under control."

“She’s been through a lot the past few years,” Brent says. “But the sooner we step in, the sooner we can help her and make this all better."

“You’re right,” Molly says, though she sounds less than fully convinced that this is possible.

Alex Marshall’s fingers fly over the keyboard of his MacBook. As words fill the previously blank space on the screen, the sights and sounds of Cassie’s Coffee House that surround him might as well be a world away. 

“Don’t tell me Tim is being that hard on you with deadlines,” a voice says from a few feet away.

Surprised, Alex turns to see Diane Bishop standing there in a camel-colored coat that covers her black outfit. She holds one of Cassie’s familiar white cups in her hand.

“I’m just feeling inspired,” Alex says with a smile. “Finally. Making up for lost time."

“I’m glad to hear that. You look inspired. You’re beaming."

He shrugs, a bit bashfully, though he knows that is an accurate description. He has felt all day as if he were floating, drifting blissfully and weightlessly through a world that cannot touch him. 

She slips into the chair across from him. “Okay, spill it. What’s got you so happy? Does it have something to do with the movie? Liam?"

“No, nothing like that.” The mention of Liam Cassel and the film that has just gone into production threatens to drag Alex down, but today, he finds it much easier than usual to cast off the shackles of that subject, to throw them down and continue floating.

“Well, I know you couldn’t possibly be giddy over the fact that your best friend is having a baby with my disaster of a sister." 

“I think they’re happy,” Alex says diplomatically. “And if Jason’s happy, I’m happy."

“He thinks he’s happy."

“He asked her to move in."

“He what? Oh, god.” Diane shakes her head. “But back to you. What’s going on?"

“It’s actually… personal."

“Oh.” Diane wraps her hands around the coffee cup. “If it’s none of my business, I’ll butt out, then."

Alex laughs. “You’ll butt out? Since when? I’ll give you one guess."

She screws up her face in exaggerated thought and then blurts out, “It’s Trevor, isn’t it?"

“I’m that obvious, eh?"

“Beyond. What’s going on? Are you guys back together?"

“We’re…” Alex looks at her over the laptop as he mulls his choice of words. “You could say we've reconnected."

“Oh. Is that what they’re calling it now? Seriously, though, I’m happy for you. You deserve to be happy, Alex. You’re one of the good ones. And I say that as one of the not-good ones."

“Give yourself some credit."

“I am. And that’s about as far up as I can drag my score.” She stands. “Look, I don’t want to kill your inspiration. Get back to writing. But I’d love to have dinner with you and Trevor soon. I’m sure Samantha would love to join."

“That sounds nice. Let’s set it up."

She pats him on the shoulder. “Happy reconnecting, Alex."

-----

After Molly leaves the station, Brent tries to settle down at his desk and catch up on some of the paperwork he’s been avoiding. His brain, however, is not interested in cooperating, and he finds himself drifting off into thoughts of how his conversation with Danielle might play out. As a brother, his instinct is to want to give her the benefit of the doubt, to believe the best about her and work out some explanation for why the wine was there. As a cop, however, he knows what the evidence looks like. 

He has to talk to her, and soon. He dreads putting her in that situation, backed against the wall — but, then again, he is doing it for her own good. Allowing her to spiral back into drinking is the last thing he should do. And when his children’s safety could be on the line, there isn’t any question what he must do.

With a sigh, he returns his attention to the paperwork. But he has barely picked up his pen again when the phone rings.

“Commander Taylor,” he answers, and the voice on the other end of the line comes at him like a speeding train. “

What? You can’t do that,” he protests, but he is already out of his seat, the paperwork forgotten again as he springs into action.

-----

Travis slams the rest of his beer and stands. “Thanks. You’ve been a huge help."

Rosie watches as he fumbles for his wallet and digs for dollar bills. 

“So that’s who you are, huh?” she says. “The guy who runs away the second things don’t go your way?"

He just stares at her in frustration for a moment before slapping the bills down on the bar. “I don’t need a lecture on being an adult from a cop who can’t even do her job, but thanks." She recoils, and he feels the satisfaction of having gotten a hit in.  “I’m sorry about your grandfather,” she says. “Do you think I’m not? Do you think I wish I could go back in time and decide not to take that bathroom break when Philip Ragan told me to? I fucked up, okay? But I can’t change it.” She turns away and shakes her head, as if embarrassed by her outburst, and then takes a drink of her tequila.

Travis feels as if his feet have been welded to the floor. His money is on the bar, his beer is gone, Rosie hasn’t exactly been a sympathetic ear, and yet… he can’t go. 

“It’s his restaurant,” he says. “Was his restaurant. My grandpa, I mean."

Rosie’s response is much quieter than the last words out of her mouth. “I think I remember hearing that."

“He taught me to cook. I had never really thought about it, but he needed help with my aunt’s wedding, and then I just kind of started doing it with him, and… after he died, I got this idea that it would be cool to work in the restaurant he opened. Continue what he was doing, I guess."

Slowly, Rosie’s head moves up and down in a nod. “That sounds like a really good idea."

“Anyway, I fucked it all up. I made an ass of myself today."

“So?"

“So I made an ass of myself."

“Don’t you think pretty much everyone else in that kitchen made a ton of screw-ups when they started? It’s stuff you have to learn, I bet,” she says. “My point before was — and I’ll be a little nicer about it—"

“Are you capable of that?” Travis asks, and for some reason he doesn’t understand, an invisible force inside of him stretches his mouth out into a grin.

She smirks back. “I’ll try. My point was, do you think giving up because of one bad day is worth it? Is that what your grandpa would want?"

He sighs. “No."

“No. He’d want you to push through it and learn and get better and run that damn place someday."

“All right,” he says. “You might have a point."

“I definitely have a point. Now listen: if I buy you another beer, will you sit back down and keep me company while I have my drink?"

“As long as you promise to be nice."

“No promises,” she says, but he sits back on the stool anyway. 

-----

Diane knocks on the door and then sips her coffee as she awaits an answer. She can hear the sounds of movement from inside the apartment.

Natalie Bishop opens the door and rolls her eyes at the sight of her older sister. “Oh, great. What did I do to deserve this?"

“A whole litany of awful things.” Diane looks Natalie up and down; the bump at her middle is unmistakable. “So it really is true. The universe is letting you spawn again."

“I’m busy, Diane,” Natalie gestures behind herself to the cardboard boxes and plastic crates strewn around the apartment.

“Wow, you aren’t wasting a minute,” Diane says as she strolls inside without waiting for an invitation. 

“Did you seriously come all this way just to torment me? A normal person would’ve just sent a bitchy text."

“Well, sister of mine, I’m not normal, am I?” Diane spins around to look Natalie in the eyes. “I am warning you: do not hurt Jason. He’s a good guy. He’s been through a hell of a lot. And he’s very important to Tim, Sarah, and my daughter. So watch it."

“What the hell are you talking about? We’re having a child together. We’re bringing a life into this world."

“You’re trapping him, just like you did with Conrad."

“Oh, okay. Should we talk about how you conceived Samantha?”

Diane sets her jaw. “All I’m saying is, tread carefully. Or you will answer to me."

Natalie glares at her and goes back to the open door. “You’d better get going before your broom gets a ticket."

“Good luck," Diane says as she leaves the apartment. “You’ll need it."

-----

“You didn’t say you’d be home early,” Danielle Taylor says as she stands in the foyer, watching Molly hang her purse and remove her heels.

Molly can’t bring herself to make eye contact, so she digs in her purse. “It’s these international conference calls. They’ve made my schedule so screwy. I have a bunch of work to get done, but I can do it this evening. And I’ll be able to surprise the boys and pick them up from practice."

“Are you sure?” Danielle asks. “I was planning to go anyway, if you have work to do—"

“It’s a treat for me,” Molly says. “Really.” She forces a smile as she finally looks up at Danielle, and she performs a quick scan that she hopes isn’t too obvious. Danielle looks fine: calm, composed, hardly wild-eyed or swaying on her feet. But Molly cannot forget what she knows. 

“I’m going to make myself some tea and then go change into more comfortable clothes,” Molly says. She only makes it a few steps toward the kitchen, however, when the doorbell rings.

Danielle answers it, and when Molly turns to see who’s there, she is startled to see Brent. She notices the way that he gives Danielle a concerned once-over.

“What are you doing here?” Molly asks. “I thought we agreed—"

“I’m actually here on police business,” Brent says. He steps into the foyer, and it is only now that Molly notices the two uniformed officers behind him. 

“Brent, what’s going on?” Danielle asks nervously.

He trains his eyes upon Molly. “I don’t want to do this, but the orders came down, and— I thought it was better if I made sure this was handled as calmly as possible. The kids are still at practice, right?"

Molly nods, as the rest of her body begins shaking. “What’s this about?"

“Molly Taylor,” he says, pausing for a pained sigh as one of the officers advances toward her with a pair of handcuffs, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Philip Ragan. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law…"

END OF EPISODE 821

Can Molly fight the murder charges?
Was Diane right to confront Natalie?
What should Brent do about Danielle’s drinking?
Could Travis and Rosie be good for each other?
Discuss it all now in the Footprints Forum!

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