Episode 870

- Diane brought Alex to meet with Yvette, who decided he would make a good adoptive parent for her child. After they left, Yvette went into labor. 
- With Molly and Paula’s cases wrapped up, Conrad joined the Fishers for a dinner party and planned to leave King’s Bay the next day.
- At dinner, Spencer blurted out the news of Claire and Brent’s relationship in front of everyone. 

The chill of the night nips at Tim Fisher’s fingers, nose, and ears as he closes the sliding glass door behind himself. Out on the deck, he finds his ex-wife, her face illuminated by the glow of her cell phone as she texts.

“You okay?” Tim ventures.

Claire looks up and sighs. “I’m fine. It’ll be fine. We wanted to tell everyone ourselves, though."

“Yeah. This was not ideal.” He glances back toward the sliding door, through which he can see his mother’s kitchen; just beyond it is the dining room, where everyone is no doubt eating in stilted silence after Spencer’s revelation that Claire and Brent have been in a secret relationship for some time. 

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” she says.

“Don’t be. We’ve been divorced a long time. For the record, I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong. You and Brent are both adults. You’re both single."

“Thank you. I wanted to tell you…"
"You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves. The actual kids, on the other hand…"

She presses her eyelids closed as she attempts to center herself. “I know. I hope Travis has grown up enough in the last few years to handle this like an adult. Brent really wanted to explain this to Caleb and Christian himself, though."

“Molly just took them into the den to talk. She already knew?"

“She’s known for a while. When Danielle was drinking… she found out and spilled the beans.” Claire shakes her head. “Is Spencer ever going to get past this nastiness? At times like this, it’s all I can do not to throw my hands in the air and try to forget the idea of ever having any kind of relationship with him."

Tim nods somberly. “I wonder that myself. He’s so angry, and it’s like he takes pleasure in causing trouble for everyone."

“It’s because of that woman who raised him. Are we ever going to get past that with him?"

“I used to think so,” Tim says. “But I don’t know anymore. I really don’t."


Things at the dinner table remain tense, but Jason thankfully redirects the conversation by asking Samantha about her new job at Objection Designs. Everyone happily dives in with questions of their own, and as the fray picks up, Paula quietly slips off to the den. There she finds Molly on the sectional sofa, seated between her two sons. Paula lingers in the doorway, unseen.

“No matter what happens, your dad and I love you both very much,” Molly is saying, “and you’re the most important things to both of us. Nothing will ever change that."

“We knowwww,” Caleb whines. “Can we go back and eat now?"

Molly places a hand on his arm to keep him in place. “In a minute. I want to be sure you understand what I’m saying. If your dad is happy with Claire, then I’m very happy for him. And I’m sure he wanted to tell you about this himself."

Christian rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, Mom. Like everyone at school has stepparents, anyway.” 

Paula watches from behind as Molly gives Christian and then his brother kisses on the top of their heads. 

“I love you both,” she says, “and so does Dad."

The twins sit still for another complete second or so, just long enough to prove that they have heard their mother, and then they leap up from the couch in tandem. 

“Okay, go finish your dinners,” Molly says as they rush past Paula and out of the den.

Paula approaches the sofa. “It seems like they took the news all right."

“I hope they aren’t just putting on brave faces."

“Kids are resilient. They seem to have adjusted to you and Brent being divorced, too."

“They have, yeah.” Molly folds her hands in her lap. “Why would Spencer blurt out something like that at the dinner table with everyone there?"

“Because he’s upset with Claire and Tim. He was lashing out. How foolish of them to be kissing in public when they hadn’t even told their families yet!” She settles on the edge of the sectional’s long side. “How are you doing, dear? You said you already knew about this?"

“Yeah. It’s… it’s a long story. But I’ve known for a while. They said they didn’t want to make a big deal of it until the trial and-- and everything else was over."

“I suppose that was thoughtful of them,” Paula says, unable to keep a wisp of annoyance out of her voice. “I really don’t see why the two of them have to use this family as their exclusive dating pool, though."

A moment passes before Molly’s shoulders droop in defeat. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying not to care…"

“Oh, Molly. If it bothers you…"

“It doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t,” Molly says. “Or it shouldn’t. I’m the one who asked for a divorce, for God’s sake!"

“Because Brent and Claire were rushing all over the place, trying to play superheroes!"

“It’s just so hard knowing that I tried to move on, and… look how that turned out."

“Come here, dear.” But instead of waiting for her daughter to move to her, Paula slides across the sofa and wraps an arm around Molly. “It’s all going to work out."

“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Molly says. She drops her head onto Paula’s shoulder. “Maybe someday it’ll be the truth."


With shaky fingers gripping the steering wheel, Yvette Banks directs her car to the side of the road. She manages to put it in park before the searing pain cuts through her at full intensity again. Clamping her eyes shut, she breathes in and out rapidly, hoping that it will dilute the vicious tearing of her latest contraction.

She opens her eyes long enough to see the green numbers of the dashboard clock. Eight minutes. It has been eight minutes since the last contraction. If there is that much time between this one and the next, she’ll make it to the hospital just fine. 

“Shoulda called a damn Uber or something,” she mutters as her head rolls back against the seat. She didn’t think the contractions would become so bad so quickly, but she couldn’t deal with some Uber driver going too slow or taking the wrong streets. And she sure wasn’t going to pay for an ambulance ride.

“You’re gonna make it. You’re gonna be fine,” she says. She places a hand on top of her bulging stomach, still seizing with pain that stretches all the way down to her pelvis. “We’re both gonna be just fine."


Alex Marshall's heart thumps hard against the inside of his ribcage as he turns his key and opens the front door. He tries to steady his breathing, but no matter how many mental reminders he issues, it remains shallow and quick. He has never enjoyed lying, never even taken a momentary thrill from it, and this is no little white lie -- regardless of what Diane has been insisting. 

"I come bearing cupcakes!" he announces, probably a bit too loudly. The house is dark except for the warm, bouncing glow of the television and a distant light from the back hallway. His fiancée is curled up on the couch in track pants. 

"That's serious music to my ears." Trevor sets his wine glass on the coffee table and unfurls his long legs from beneath himself. "Everything go okay?"

"What? Yeah. Everything's-- everything is fine. Sorry."

"Where did you have to go so suddenly? On a Saturday night?"

Alex has rehearsed the cover story over and over, but he still has to drag it onto his brain's main stage and test it once more, quickly, before he allows it to have the spotlight. 

"It was Don and Helen. They're at that dinner party for Paula. They were worried they had left their garage open." At various stages of developing the tale, he had an addition about how they've been paranoid about safety ever since Courtney was killed, but invoking his late friend's name in his stupid lie feels like a request -- no, a plea -- for karma to come strike him down. 

"Oh. Huh. That was nice of you." Trevor really does seem to accept it. "What kind of cupcakes do we have here?"

Alex feels queasy as he places the box on the nearby dining table. "Um, I didn't want to take any chances, so I got four--"

"Four? For two of us?"

"Let's indulge," he says with a weak smile. Truthfully, he was moving so hurriedly when he stopped by the shop, and he couldn't get his brain to focus; all it could think about was the very pregnant Yvette, and the way they seemed to hit it off, and how he never should have gone to meet her in the first place, knowing that Trevor has said he isn't ready to adopt so soon. 

"Red velvet... chocolate-peanut butter... s'mores... and this last one is, uh..." He has to study it for a few seconds.

"That looks like the salted caramel to me."

"Yeah. That's it. Salted caramel."

Trevor darts in and plants his lips on Alex's cheek. "You're the best. Do you know that?"

Alex's stomach sinks as he shrugs a shoulder into his ear. 


Molly lingers in the den after Paula returns to her guests. She fires off a text to Brent that Spencer spilled the beans and that the boys know about him and Claire, but that she has it under control. He responds quickly, thanking her for doing that and saying that Claire already let him know.

Of course, Molly thinks with a bitterness that horrifies her. Brent and Claire are both single, consenting adults -- or were. She is the one who ended the marriage. That’s all there is to it. 

“There you are,” a voice declares, and she looks up to see Conrad Halston at the entrance to the den.

“Hey. How was the rest of dinner? No more incidents?"

“Not a single one. How are you doing?"

She flaps a hand through the air as if waving off the concern. “Oh, I’m fine. More than fine."

“Are you sure about that?"

There is a directness about him, something about the intensity of his gaze, that always surprises her. She supposes it is the natural-born attorney in him, some innate skill that he has cultivated so that all his interactions are a bit of a cross-examination.

“I’m going to be fine,” she says. 

“You will be. I…” He trips over what she realizes is an awkward segue. “I’m going to go. Dinner’s over and I’m not sure anyone is in the mood to hang around and party. Plus I need to finish packing."

Now she realizes that he has his jacket in his hand. Molly stands uncertainly from the sofa.

“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done,” she says. 

“I’m just happy to know that you’re all safe and that your mother is going to be all right."

“She will be."

“What you did for her…"

A laugh slips out of Molly’s throat. “Was insane."

“Was insane. Yes. But also brave. I don’t think I’ll ever have another client who’s that eager to take the rap for a murder she didn’t commit."

He slings his jacket over the back of a nearby side chair. As he extends his hand, Molly moves forward, and they are caught halfway between a handshake and an embrace, like two dancers with entirely different perceptions of where the downbeat is.

“Thank you,” Molly says, fumbling through the tangle of arms as their torsos bump against one another in an awkward hug.

Conrad offers a reassuring smile. “Be well, Molly."

“You, too.” 

An awkward energy buzzes around them. Conrad picks up his keys and heads for the hallway. 

“Bye,” he says.


She watches him disappear around the white frame of the doorway and finds herself wondering if she’ll ever see him again. Seconds pass, and then she takes a deep breath to steel herself and heads back to rejoin the party, or whatever is left of it.


“I’ve been using that shower speaker all the time,” Spencer says over the dining room table. “It was a really smart gift. So, thank you."

“You’re welcome,” Samantha Fisher says, her voice a little uneasy.  The half-siblings are among the few people still hanging around the Fishers’ extended dining room table, which is covered in the debris of the meal: plates, silverware, balled-up napkins. 

“Sounds like your job is going really well, too."

“It is. Yeah.” Samantha nods, but there is something slow and methodical about it. Spencer gets the sense that she is taking care to pass every second that she can, as if on the lookout for an escape route. 

“You like it there?” he asks. “I’m not sure a fashion designer’s is the first place I would’ve seen you working. No offense."

“None taken. It’s definitely different. I’m learning a lot."

“Hey,” Tempest Banks says as she appears at her girlfriend’s side. She casts a pointed look at Spencer and then, without explicitly acknowledging him, tells Samantha, “You wanna stay for dessert?"

Samantha cranes her neck around to face Tempest, who is positioned half-behind her chair. “I think we should. I don’t want my grandma to feel like everyone’s racing out of here."

“Maybe everyone would feel like sticking around if someone hadn’t started shit at dinner,” Tempest says, her eyes again darting toward Spencer. 

“Hey, I didn’t know that it was such a secret!” he says. “I saw them out in public--"

“I think you knew exactly what you were doing,” Tim says as he walks up behind Spencer. “Can I have a word with you?"

Spencer lets out an irritated huff. But then he sees the way Samantha is watching him. It bothers him that Tempest and Tim are mostly correct. He definitely had a feeling that not everyone was aware of Claire and Brent’s relationship. He hadn’t counted on Molly already knowing, but Paula’s clear annoyance with Claire in the aftermath was an equally satisfying reward. 

He stands and follows Tim to the far corner of the dining room.

“It will always kill me that I missed so much of your life,” Tim says as if he’s had the words cued up forever, "that we aren’t close. I thought we had a chance to make up for some of it, for a while there. But I know I can’t change you."

“No one asked you to."

“I’m well aware. But Spencer -- these people are my family. And I know you think it’s, what, funny to lash out by throwing these grenades and running away--"

“They’re my family, too,” Spencer says defiantly. 

“That doesn’t mean you get to come in here and act like a hateful bastard because you’re angry. We’re all angry about something. I’m angry about the fact that Nick Moriani and that-- that woman who raised you kept me locked in a clinic for four years. I missed huge chunks of all of my kids’ lives. My marriage fell apart. So I could spend the rest of my life letting everyone know how pissed off I am about that, or I can move the hell on and make the most of the life I do have. I suggest you figure out which one you’re going to choose."

Tim exhales once the diatribe is over. He eyes his son for a moment longer, and Spencer finds himself deflecting his own eyes toward the carpet. 

“Think about it,” Tim says. “Think about it hard.” And then he slips off to rejoin the party.


Despite the cold, Claire waits out on the deck for a while, composing herself as she trades text messages with Brent. She watches the house through the glass door, and when she sees Paula come into the otherwise empty kitchen with a platter in hand, she opens the door and heads inside.

“Paula. Do you have a minute?"

Her former mother-in-law regards her with an uneasy glare but doesn’t bolt. 

“I’m sorry you had to hear this way,” Claire continues. “We wanted to tell you privately, explain what’s been going on…"

“Would that have made it any better?"

Claire has to restrain an annoyed huff. Keeping her tone even, she says, “We’re both adults. We were both single until recently. We’ve done nothing wrong. But we still felt that the family -- especially the kids -- deserved to find out from us, so that everyone could have time to process."

“None of that changes the fact that you went after my daughter’s husband,” Paula says, “and Brent, after being married to both my daughters--"

“He hasn’t been your daughter’s husband for a long time. And he definitely wasn’t when things started up between us."

Paula sighs, but there is something resigned about it, as if she knows she’s firing blanks. “Molly has had a terrible year."

“So have we all! Philip was my brother, remember? So shouldn’t we all be taking happiness wherever we can find it?"

Claire sees the words land upon Paula.

“I’m sorry it came out this way,” she says. “I really am.” With that, she slips out of the kitchen into the dining room, hoping that what she’s said will penetrate Paula’s mind sooner rather than later. 


When Yvette sees the signs for King’s Bay Memorial Hospital, she summons her strength and holds onto the wheel even harder as she makes a right turn. She is so close, thank goodness. Even between contractions, there is a sense of pressure, of discomfort, and all she wants is to get out of the damn car and lie down. She doesn’t even know how she’s going to deal with parking and getting herself inside, but maybe she’ll just pull up out front and roll the dice. 

Then another contraction hits. A quick glance at the green numbers reveal that this is a good minute, maybe more, before it was supposed to come. The searing pain rips through her again, and the lights up ahead -- a mixture of white headlights and red taillights -- mix into a big, horrible blur, like one of those out-of-focus photos of a city at nighttime. 

As the contraction burns at her, she huffs and puffs rapidly and eases the car into the left-turn lane. A yellow light gleams in front of her. All she has to do is make this turn, and the hospital is right there-- she can see the sign--

Her shaky hands turn the wheel as her foot pushes into the accelerator. But her foot is suddenly weak, and the car struggles to move.

The last thing she hears is the desperate whine of another car’s horn as a pair of lights race at her. 


“Mom?” Bree Halston calls out as she races into the living room.

Natalie Bishop sits on the loveseat, with a drowsy Peter in her arms, and Jason at her side. Across from them, Molly sits in a side chair with a cup of coffee in hand. 

“Could you get Sophie?” Natalie says. “We’re going to go home in a minute. Your brother needs to go to bed."

“But this is Dad’s!” Bree says as she holds up a jacket.

Natalie appears puzzled.

“He must’ve left it in the den,” Molly says. She stands and places her coffee on the mantle. “We were talking. I remember him setting it down."

“Why don’t you take it and give it to him next time you see him?” Jason suggests.

“That’s a good idea,” Molly says. “I’ll call him and let him know that you found it."

She pulls out her phone and dials Conrad’s number. 


The bodies of the two separate vehicles are smashed into one smashed into one heap, from which smoke rises. A handful of other cars have pulled to the side as people rush to the crash site.

“Someone call 911!” a woman screams as she stands a good ten feet away from the wrecked cars. 

A middle-aged man takes out his cell phone and dials. But as he does, a ringing calls back at them. 

“What’s that?” he says, momentarily startled even further. 

“It’s coming from in there,” the woman says, pointing toward one of the cars as Conrad’s cell phone rings out...


What will happen to Conrad, Yvette, and the baby?
Will Paula and Claire get past their tension?
Is this the final straw for Tim and Spencer?
Join us in the Footprints Forum to discuss it all!

Next Episode