Paula Fisher’s pulse quickens when the doorbell rings. Her daughter immediately springs up from the couch, where they have been waiting for their visitor under the guise of watching a daytime talk show that neither cares about nor has processed at all. “I’ve got it,” Sarah says. Paula
nearly protests but realizes that she doesn’t know why. Instead she sits, her hands in her lap, and waits. She hears the door open and the clipped, nervous greetings being exchanged. By the time Sarah leads Conrad Halston into the room, Paula is on her feet, too. “Hi,
Paula,” the attorney says. She scans his face and his figure for any sign of the type of news he might be bringing. There is something weary about his posture, even in his immaculately cut suit, that worries her.
Once they are alone, Paula limply asks, “Can I get you anything?" “No, I’m fine,” Conrad says, holding up a hand. “But thank you. Should we sit?" “Yes.”
Every move Paula makes -- every step, every bend, every word her lips form -- feels mechanical and false, as if she is somehow living outside real life right now. Except she isn’t. This is her reality now. “What did the district attorney say?” she asks as soon as they hit the sofa. “We have a final offer. If we don’t plead and accept this, they’re going to move forward with a trial." “Okay. What is it?" Conrad looks her right in the eyes. “They want to sentence you to one year of house arrest." ----- “Dammit! Come on!" The
angry exclamation flies through the bedroom door, causing Matt Gray to pause as he walks from the bathroom back to the room that he and his wife share on the second story of the Fisher home. He waits a moment outside his daughter’s door and, after hearing her grunt again in irritation, knocks. “You okay in there?" “I’m fine!” she shouts back, her tone proving that she is anything but. “Can I come in?" “Yeah. Whatever." Matt opens the door to find Tori standing over the bed, hunched over her laptop. “What’s the matter?” he asks. “This stupid flash drive won’t show my file,” she says. “I have to print my Sociology paper." “I’m going to the restaurant in a little bit. I can print it in the office." “I have class in two hours. I have to go to campus and print it. Since Grandma’s printer sucks!" Matt
takes a cautious sideways step into her room. “Okay, calm down. Your grandma’s got bigger things to worry about than the printer. What’s got you so bent out of shape?" Tori narrows her eyes at him. “Mom didn’t tell you?" “Huh?" “She
was all up my ass before,” she says. “I had a friend over when I was watching Billy the other day. Mom thought she had to, like, tell me I shouldn’t see him because-- I don’t even know." “Your mom said you shouldn’t see your friend?" “He’s
kind of more than a friend. Maybe.” Tori lets out a heavy breath, and her shoulders drop. “Like I’m not allowed to date? I’m almost done with college. I don’t have to live here--" “Okay, okay.” Matt pauses to gather his thoughts. “Why doesn’t she want you seeing this guy? What happened?" “Nothing! We played Legos with Billy. Then she came in and started grilling me about him, like she doesn’t trust me." Annoyance
swells inside Matt; nearly everything that his wife has done over the past several weeks has had him on the verge of an outburst, even though he knows on a rational level that it is all connected to being angry at her for all the lies she told -- and the jeopardy she put them in -- while covering up her mother’s shooting of Philip. He does his best to press it back down, at least while he is in front of their daughter. “She’s probably just worried,” he says. “Y’know, projecting and stuff." Tori folds her arms. “Because of Philip." “Because a guy we thought we knew who we actually didn’t know at all tried to kill you. Yeah. Can you blame her?" His
question at least manages to give her pause, after which she rolls her eyes. “It’s so annoying. Zane is a nice guy. He seriously played with Billy for like three hours. I don’t get what her problem is--" “My
problem is that I want you to be safe,” Sarah says as she steps through the doorway, having overheard the conversation once she came up the stairs. “I know you want to believe otherwise--" “Zane didn’t try to hurt me!" Sarah hesitates, which strikes Matt as strange. “He’s still a stranger. I want you to be careful. That’s all." “You basically told me to stop seeing him,” Tori shoots back. “I
do worry,” Sarah admits. “I worry about you. I’m sorry. And I’ll keep worrying about you until the day I die. If that’s a problem, sue me.” And before either of them can respond, she turns on her heels and leaves the room. ----- Tempest Banks stretches across the couch, a plate balanced on her stomach and SportsCenter playing
on the TV. Every now and again, she lifts her head enough to take her sandwich from the plate and bring it to her mouth; otherwise, she is content not moving from this spot on her day off. The timer in the corner of the screen, a firm fixture beside the nonstop ticker running through the show, reminds her that it is nearly time for Samantha to have her interview at Objection, and although part of Tempest wants to send her a text to wish her good luck, an even stronger part doesn’t want to do a damn thing until Sam apologizes for snapping at her when Tempest tried to help her pick out a decent interview outfit.
“What
the hell are you--” Tempest stops short when she catches sight of her mother’s now-very-pregnant body. Yvette’s stomach rounds out a black t-shirt unmistakably, pushing out the sides of her unzipped red winter coat. She is not only pregnant, but on the verge of giving birth. “Did you get my Christmas present?” Yvette asks. “Yeah.”
Tempest opened the two boxes -- one containing a sweater that wasn’t half-bad, the other a set of assorted nail polishes that she’s 99 percent sure she will never touch -- when they showed up on Christmas Eve, then promptly tried to put it all out of her mind. “Thanks, I guess." “It was the least I could do." “For real. What are you doing here?" “I called the ice rink,” Yvette says. “They said you were off today." “I had to work this weekend. This is my day off. I damn well don’t need to spend it getting stalked by you." “I know. I’m sorry. But I got news." Tempest grips the door, ready to slam it in the other woman’s face. “What makes you think--" “It’s about the baby,” Yvette says. “I’m thinking of giving him or her up for adoption."  Samantha
Fisher has been to Objection Designs a few times in the past, usually for events that her Aunt Molly was holding or because she was brought along with her father for a quick visit, but it has been several years since she was inside the fashion company’s headquarters. Ever since learning that she scored an interview for a copywriting position, she has been trying to picture the interior of the offices as best she can, as if mentally inserting herself into the setting might help her ace the interview. When she finally arrives in the reception area, she is relieved to find that her memory was mostly accurate, that the design is striking without being garish, rich without being tacky. A bold, black-and-white printed wallpaper covers one wall of the reception area, and through the glass doors, Samantha can see that it repeats elsewhere; a crystal chandelier hangs overhead. The
receptionist takes her name and directs her to a cluster of seats where, thankfully, she is the only person waiting. She would rather not face her competition for this job before she goes in to interview. As she waits, though, she cannot help but evaluate the receptionist’s effortlessly chic look. She recalls her argument with Tempest over what she should wear today and glances down at the black pants and ruffled white blouse that she decided to wear, pairing them with an emerald green blazer that her mother bought her several Christmases ago and she has not touched since. Before she left the house, she decided that she’d done a decent job of looking professional and yet stylish, but now, she again fears that she totally missed the mark. When Trevor Brooks appears at the glass doors, simultaneous waves of relief and anxiety flood her system. “Samantha, hi,” he says as he comes over to greet her with a handshake. “Glad you could make it." “Of course. I would’ve made it no matter what. Thanks for bringing me in." Trevor waves to the receptionist as he leads Samantha back through the glass doors. “Congratulations,”
she says. The sentiment has been ready to burst out of her since he first appeared in front of her. “Uncle Jason told us the good news." “Thank
you.” Trevor turns to her with a dazzling smile as they walk. “It still hasn’t totally sunk in that I’m actually getting married, but I’m giddy." “That’s so cute. You guys are going to be really happy." “I hope so." They
turn a corner, and Trevor pushes open the door to a conference room. Seated at the table is a woman with a short, severe haircut in a shade of platinum blonde that cannot be natural, outfitted with a fashionable pair of thick-framed glasses. Samantha notices the nearly imperceptible -- but not totally -- way that the woman looks her up and down as she enters. “Samantha, I take it,” she says as she stands. “I’m Susan Volpe, head of the marketing department." Samantha shakes her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you." Susan regards her with a cool expression that is less a smile than an extension of her lips. “Let’s sit, shall we?" Trevor
moves around the table to sit beside Susan, who has a slew of papers spread before her. Samantha sets her purse on the chair beside her and holds her leather portfolio. “Do you need copies of my résumé?” she asks. “I brought extra." “No, but thank you.” Even Susan’s polite answer comes off as chilly. “We really liked your writing samples,” Trevor says. Susan offers a terse nod. “The short story is very good. But you don’t have any marketing experience to speak of, do you?" “Well,
no,” Samantha says. “Not officially. But I did all the marketing and social media for the chili cookoff that Harbor Boulevard sponsored last fall, and I write a lot of the social media copy for one of the cohosts of KBAY’s morning show." Another
nod, and then Susan slowly lowers her glasses. “Tell me, Samantha: are you interested in fashion? What’s your relationship with it?" “I…
I wouldn’t call myself a fashion plate.” Samantha tries to pepper the statement with a chuckle, though she worries that it comes off as nervousness. “I’m
going to be blunt. You don’t strike me as someone who cares much for fashion. And if you’re going to be a part of Objection-- well, that’s a very important attribute to have." Trevor casts a helpless look over the table at Samantha. She
feels an unusual sensation stirring with her, like a hot, red ball that is rising through her stomach and chest, burning and glowing so intensely that she cannot suppress it. She should have let someone else dress her for this. She wants this job. She needs this job. And she let herself come in here looking like someone who doesn’t care and doesn’t know what she’s doing. “I’ll
be honest,” Samantha blurts out. “I don’t know a lot about fashion. And I’ve never considered myself someone who loved clothes or style." Both Susan and Trevor lean back in surprise. “In
fact, I got in a fight with my girlfriend about what to wear for this interview.” She reaches a finger up to push up her glasses, as she is so accustomed to doing, and only then remembers that they are not there, abandoned for the contact lenses that she wears a handful of times every year. “I got defensive with her, I think, because I don’t understand fashion -- even with an aunt who’s a designer and runs a company -- and I’ve never really tried. Maybe because of my body -- because of my weight, and never being fully comfortable with it. And that’s what would make me a great fit for this job." Susan lifts a well manicured eyebrow. “How do you figure?" “Because
I want to learn. I want to understand how to make myself more confident, and how clothes can do that for me. I want to help other people understand that, too. And that’s who we should be marketing to -- not just the people who are of course going to buy Objection’s clothes, because they’re fashionable and they enjoy shopping, but the people who might be intimidated or uncomfortable and never set foot in the stores or dig through the website because they don’t see the-- the power that clothes and style can have to help you be the best possible version of yourself." Only
when the final word is out of her mouth does Samantha take a breath. She has no idea if what she has said makes sense to anyone but herself, and maybe she just blew the entire interview, but this woman was never going to consider her as a serious candidate, anyway, so she had nothing to lose by being honest. Susan
looks over at Trevor, who is sitting stiffly with an amazed expression on his face. Then she cranes her head back in Samantha’s direction. “I think you might have a lot to offer us, too,” Susan says, “as long as you’re willing to learn." Samantha has to restrain herself from leaping out of the chair with joy. Across the table, Trevor beams. “I am,” she says. “I really am." ----- Paula’s
initial reaction is to expel an enormous sigh of relief. She won’t have to spend time in prison. Given her fears of the last several weeks, that seems like an absolute miracle. “We’ll take it,” she says. “Right? There isn’t another option." “Not really, no,” Conrad responds. “Unless you feel convinced that going to trial is best." She shakes her head. “No. I don’t want to put this family through another trial. I don’t want to go to prison." “Okay.
I just want to make it clear that house arrest -- home confinement -- is not as breezy as it sounds. Normally your probation officer would work with you on a schedule that allows you to go to work, perform community service, that sort of thing. But since you don’t currently hold a job…" “I wouldn’t be able to leave the house for a year,” she says as the enormity of that sinks in. “Correct.
Obviously we’ll have the parameters set so that you can go into the backyard and physically be outside. But I’m not sure we’ll be able to wrangle any sorts of exceptions." She thinks for a moment. “I am the owner of the restaurant." “Can you prove some sort of day-to-day involvement in its operations?” Conrad asks. “Probably not." “I
don’t mean to demoralize you or make this sound worse than it is,” he says. “It’s absolutely a safer, less devastating option than prison. You’ll be in your home with your family, with no restrictions on visitors, activities, any of that. But it is going to be difficult. Anything like a wedding or a gathering -- you almost certainly will not be able to attend that sort of thing." Lips
pursed, she nods. “I understand.” But even as she thinks it over, the idea of truly not leaving her home for an entire year is somehow too large to comprehend fully. “And
there are some costs. In the prison system, the state pays to house the inmate. When you’re in your home, you pay for the monitoring device--" “That’s
all fine,” she says. “It’s the only option. I want to start moving on from this as quickly as possible. I’ll be with my family -- that’s what really matters. Tell them I’ll take the deal." ----- When
Sarah leaves the room, Matt offers Tori a few more words of reassurance and takes off after his wife. Something about her demeanor was strange back there, and after all the bizarre reveals of the past few months, he isn’t taking anything for granted. He finds her in their bedroom and closes the door.
“We don’t know him,” she declares. “She met this guy at the chili cookoff, then just happened to run into him at the park, and suddenly she’s bringing him to the house to spend time around Billy? Sorry if that makes me a little uneasy." “Okay, yeah. Maybe letting him hang around Billy so soon isn’t a great idea. But was there anything you noticed that was some kinda red flag?" “I-- I don’t know. Nothing definitive. But I have a feeling." “A feeling?”
Matt feels himself getting riled up again and tries to suppress it, without too much success. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?" Sarah recoils, her dark blonde hair flipping behind her. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Our daughter who’s a senior in college was hanging out with a boy and I told her to be careful’?” Big news story." “That would be more than you told me in months--" “Don’t start with that again,” she says, her palm jutting out to cut him off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to drag you into what was going on with my mom. I couldn’t. I’m going to have to do probation and pay for what I did. That doesn’t mean I suddenly don’t care about our kids." “I know that. But there’s a line. There’s gotta be. Tori is a grown-up, whether we like it or not. And I don’t, honestly. But she is, and we’ve gotta go with it. Unless there’s something about this guy you think is dangerous or something…" Sarah clamps her mouth shut, not saying anything. “Then maybe it’s time you stopped trying to play God with our family,” he says as he moves for the door. “Look how well that’s working out for you lately.” He pulls open the door and walks out of the room, leaving her to think about what he’s said. ----- Her fingers curled around the door’s edge, Tempest freezes. She is sure that she heard Yvette wrong. “What’re you talking about?" “I’m thinking about giving the baby up for adoption,” Yvette repeats. “What? Since when?" “Since I was talking to a friend--" “Oh, so you met a guy, and he doesn’t want anything to do with a baby--" “No!”
Tempest can see that Yvette is ready to go off, but instead, the woman clamps her eyes closed and mutters something to herself. “A new friend I made. Lady who knows you. Danielle,” Yvette says. “How’d you meet her?" “She was singing at the coffee place. Point is, she was telling me all about how she gave her baby up for adoption, and it was the best choice she ever made, ‘cuz that little girl got parents who could give her what she needed, and Danielle knew she wasn’t gonna have the time or whatever to be a good mother." Emotions
overwhelm Tempest, firing through her head like laser beams that keep crossing and cutting one another in utter, indecipherable chaos. “Why are you telling me?” she manages to ask. “Because
this baby is your brother or sister. I wanted you to know. Truth is, I’m not ready. I’ve got nothing. And when I think about it, I’m too old to start over with a baby right now -- or I don’t wanna." Tempest offers a grudging nod. “Then it’s a good call. Yeah." “I hope so.” Yvette gently touches a hand to her rounded belly. “Gotta figure it all out. But I wanted to tell you you were right." “What do you mean?" “About
me not being ready. About this baby not making up for what happened to you and Isaac. No matter how good a job I do…” Tears well in Yvette’s eyes. “I can’t never change what happened to you and your brother. And I’m sorry, real sorry, I am. Even if you don’t believe it. I’ll be sorry ’til the day I die." Tempest
feels a sudden lump in her throat. She doesn’t know what she is supposed to say or do, but as she looks over her mother, it really hits her -- for the first time, perhaps -- that the child inside Yvette is her own sibling. Another brother or a sister. “What’s your plan?” she asks. “I don’t know.” Yvette wipes away a streaming tear as she shakes her head. “I’m gonna figure it out. Gotta go meet with some people. My doctor said they can help. Probably gonna stay up here ’til the baby’s born. It’s too late to drive myself back down to California. Then I’m thinking, I don’t know, maybe I finally go back to school like I’m always talking about, get that degree to be a dental hygienist. Get me a real job, something I can be proud of.” “I think that’s a real good plan,” Tempest says, her own eyes stinging a little. “Well…”
Yvette pulls a slip of paper from her pocket. “This is my number. Just in case you wanna have it. I’m gonna let you know when I have this baby. Let you know that everything turned out okay. You hear me?" “Yeah. I think-- yeah. That’s a good idea." Yvette turns to go. Tempest is stricken by the sudden impulse to hug her mother, a woman she has not hugged in years and years. “You’ll be hearing from me,” Yvette says. “Okay. Good.” Tempest forces a smile, though she doesn’t have to force as much as she would’ve thought. “Good luck." “You, too, baby.” Tempest stands at the open door, watching as her mother’s red coat disappears down the hallway and around the corner. END OF EPISODE 863 Has Yvette finally proven herself to Tempest? How will Paula manage a year of house arrest? Will Sarah be forced to take drastic action? Discuss it all in the Footprints Forum now!
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