MEANWHILE, IN SOUTH BEACH—THE LABREA MANSION:

The ocean breeze carries the scent of night jasmine into the room where Val is sleeping. Deep in slumber, she instinctively pulls a thick white comforter over her shoulder as protection against the cool air. The far-off sound of waves crashing on the beach soothes her now that she’s finally been able to drift off.

Suddenly a loud CRACK fills the bedroom, the noise bringing a flash of surprise behind Val’s tightly closed eyelids. Her eyes open with alarm, then confusion at her surroundings. She quickly regains her bearings and props herself on one elbow. A gust of wind bangs one of the louvered shutters against the wall, and Val rises to latch it again.

Returning to bed, she finds herself unable to get back to sleep. The intensifying wind rattles the shutters, and the sporadic rhythm of music can be heard from a nightclub several blocks away. Val considers turning on the light and searching the bookcase for something suitable.

The wind dies down, leaving a vacuous silence. Val shakes her head in relief and again rests her head on the pillow, remembering how quickly storms can come up here. She knows the gusts will return. Better get back to sleep as soon as possible.

Her brow furrows in frustration as a soft but annoying creaking replaces the harbingers of the storm. Val pulls the comforter over her head, then turns onto her other side to face away from the window. Yet the constant creaking—or is it whimpering?—is even more annoying. She throws back the covers and stares at the ornately carved ceiling.

The maddening noise swells into what sounds very much like a wail. Val’s eyes widen with alarm, but she knows the house is old and has weathered many tropical storms. She tells herself it’s only swaying with the intensifying wind … but if the shutters aren’t rattling anymore, what’s causing this disquieting sound?

The silence returns, and Val, wide awake, gets up and crosses to an armchair on the other side of the room. She turns on the floor lamp beside it and is about to sit down and collect her thoughts when the sound picks up again. From where she is standing now, it’s almost unmistakably a human cry. Val shudders and thinks about the walls having ears. Or eyes. Surely this place has seen untold horrors.

“Valene Ewing, you are just scaring yourself,” she speaks aloud, mostly to reassure herself and partly to drown out what she would be hearing otherwise. Val thinks of how her tone almost sounded like Lilimae’s, and rather than be concerned about turning into her mother, she takes comfort in it. She pictures Lilimae asleep in her bed back home, and the twins in the rooms across the hall … and of Gary, alone in their master suite. “Soon,” she whispers to herself. “I’ll be home soon.”

It’s too hard to ignore. The sound of crying seems to be coming from above. Val sighs and walks back to the foot of the bed, picking up her robe and putting it on. Without hesitating, she goes to the door and opens it. Peering out into the wide hallway, she can see that no one is there. The brief consideration to knock on Lucky’s door crosses her mind, but she resolutely wills it away.

The whimpering seems to be coming from the other end of the hall now. Looking both ways as if expecting traffic, Val steps out and tentatively follows the direction of the sound, her robe tinged with amber from the light of flickering sconces that line the way.

I’m not imagining it. I’m not, she repeats silently while taking tentative steps in and out of the shadows and light cast by the wall lights. Someone is definitely crying, and I mean to find out who it is. I can’t run away scared if I’m going to help Olivia and get home as soon as I can. I can’t.

Val reaches the end of the hallway, where the lines of a massive wooden door, larger than those leading to the sleep chambers, reach up toward the peak of the vaulted ceiling. She places a trembling hand on the iron latch and pulls.

The crying stops.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around this late at night,” an unseen person commands.

Val gasps and places a hand over her chest. She spins around, looking for the source of the voice.

Mrs. Flores, the housekeeper, steps out of the darkness of the wing that turns sharply to the left. She eyes the willowy blonde suspiciously.

“You nearly scared me to death,” Val pants.

The older woman is expressionless. “I suppose you think you know every twist and turn of this old house, but it’s not as safe as it might appear. May I help you locate something?”

“I … I heard someone crying,” Val decides to confide in her.

The housekeeper crosses her arms, the quilted arms of her bathrobe making her look all the more unapproachable. “I heard nothing. There’s a thunderstorm blowing up. That’s all it was.”

“I know the difference between crying and the wind, Mrs. Flores. Someone’s behind that door.”

“You’re mistaken. No one’s been up there in years. In fact, you were probably one of the last to visit the observatory.”

“Oh, I remember now, that’s where it goes,” Val says, studying the dark, aged wood panels of the door.

Mrs. Flores puts her hand against it, barring entry. “The next summer, after you left, there was a hurricane. The deluge weakened the old spiral staircase and rendered it unsafe. It was original to the house, you know; such a shame. Rather than restore it or replace the wood, Señor LaBrea simply left it be. He seemed to have lost his interest in astronomy, anyway.” She frowns. “Actually, he lost interest in most things that he used as an escape from his work.”

“Why?”

“Go to bed, señora,” the housekeeper advises with a slight, disdaining wrinkle of her nose. “Don’t go prying into such matters.”

“Matters that don’t concern me, is that it?” Val responds with a knowing look.

“I didn’t say that. I didn’t say that at all,” she says, turning and walking away. “Goodnight … and pleasant dreams.”

Val watches the woman fade away into the dark, then rests a hand on the door latch again. A shiver runs up her spine, and choosing to follow up on this matter in the daylight, she heads back to her bedroom.

 

BACK IN CALIFORNIA, THE MACKENZIE HOUSE:

As Mack clicks off the TV with the remote, the strains of the late night news fade from view. He rubs his eyes and yawns, considering heading upstairs to bed. He leaves the living room and hears the front doorknob turn. Meg creeps in.

“Shouldn’t you have been home earlier?” Mack chides gently.

“I know, I know,” Meg replies knowingly. “But you didn’t have to wait for me—though, I knew you would. You always do.”

“I wasn’t waiting up,” he says. “I was just watching the news.”

“Then why did you turn the TV off?” she asks pointedly. “You normally watch ‘Nightline’ all the way through.”

“Well …” he pauses a beat. “I’m goin’ on up now, kid.”

“Oh, come on,” Meg responds, looking up at her father, who has an indifferent expression on his face. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head, as if that would make all the problems go away.

Meg motions him over to the sofa, where she does her best to draw him out. “You’re always telling me the same thing, Dad: I should come to you whenever there’s the slightest problem. What’s the deal here?”

Mack lets out a long, drawn breath and begins. “Everything.”

“Everything?” she asks expectantly.

“First, your mother decides to move outta here …”

“And that bothers you?” Meg asks with an arched brow. “Wow, that’s news to the rest of us.”

“We’re supposed to be a family. We got married ‘for better or for worse,’ and this is one of the worse times.”

“We can still be a family,” she says. “You two kids are just going to have to start communicating like adults.”

“It’s been too long,” Mack responds. “Now I’m thinking there’s more for me back home—in New York.”

“Are you going?” she asks, surprised.

He pauses for a moment before answering. “I’m considerin’ it. I don’t know for sure. I don’t know anything for sure any more.”

Both are silent for a few moments. Finally, Meg puts a comforting hand on his shoulder as she looks at the sad expression on his face. The lines crossing it look deeper now as he tries his best to hold back tears.

“Dad?” she asks softly.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“There’s something else you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

Mack shakes his head as if to ignore what’s going on in his mind, but he can’t.

“Come on … it’s Paige, isn’t it?” Meg asks.

“I was … really likin’ the idea of having a grandson …”

Meg holds out her hands and gives her father a long hug as he wipes at the single tear that’s slipped through his slightly cracked resolve.

 

THE NEXT MORNING, OCEANSIDE VILLAS
—OLIVIA’S CONDO:

The Gellmans’ home life has been somewhat chaotic since they returned from their honeymoon. Aside from Harvey having to run back and forth from his own unit, Olivia’s bedroom is very disorderly—the diaper disposal overflowing—with baby bottles in various positions, some standing up, some on their sides, dripping old baby formula on the dresser and the floor.

Harvey is running around that bedroom now, trying to find some decent clothes to wear for his first day back at the office. Olivia is sitting on the edge of the bed and bouncing the baby up and down gently, trying unsuccessfully to stop him from crying.

“Have you seen my gray and blue tie?” Harvey inquires curtly, without making eye contact.

“No, Harvey, I haven’t seen it,” she replies with equal impatience.

Still looking around the cluttered bedroom in a hurry, Harvey continues his focused search. “I wonder if it’s over at my pla— No. I KNOW I brought it over here.”

“I said I haven’t seen it!” Olivia raises her voice.

He looks up quickly at his wife with raised eyebrows, and his search for the tie is halted.

She sighs and offers her apology. “I’m sorry. It’s just that with the baby not sleeping at night, my nerves are frazzled. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Harvey kneels down in front of her and looks into her eyes. “I know. But hey, besides the bags under our eyes and getting by on four hours of sleep a night, we’re doing OK.”

Olivia cracks a much-needed smile and looks at him lovingly.

“We’re strong and we’ll make it through,” he says confidently through the eyes that she’s fallen so in love with.

“I love you” is all she can manage as her heart begins to flutter.

“I love you too, Mrs. Gellman,” he says passionately, leaning in to kiss her softly.

They each break into soft giggles and realize that the baby has finally fallen asleep. Olivia carefully gets up and walks toward the crib. As she gently places Billy inside, Harvey watches proudly, then looks down to see the tie he’s been searching for, right in front of him. He picks it up, smiling embarrassedly, as Olivia backs away from the crib, admiring their sleeping angel. She steps into Harvey’s arms as he embraces her from behind. They stand there quietly and enjoy the sight of their peacefully sleeping child together.

Then their moment is interrupted by the doorbell. They look at each other, puzzled, and make their way curiously to the front door.

“Who is it?” Harvey inquires as softly as possible.

“It’s Paige,” comes a muffled voice from the other side.

The happy couple looks at one another questioningly. Finally, Harvey unlocks and opens the door to greet a smiling Paige.

“Hi there. I hope you’ll excuse me for coming by unannounced,” she says sincerely. “I brought some things for little Billy.” She hands Olivia a large wooden basket filled with baby bottles, toys, little undershirts, sleepers, powder, lotion and wipes.

Olivia is speechless, so Harvey reaches to accept the gift. “Thanks, Paige. This was really good of you.”

“This is my way of saying congratulations to you both.”

“Yes, it was very nice of you,” Olivia says with suspicion now evident in her eyes.

“Think nothing of it. It was the least I could do. Olivia, I know there’s a lot of negative history between us,” she says with a smile before continuing, “but that’s passed and doesn’t need to affect us now. It’s silly for us to insult each other in public like two little schoolgirls. We’ve both grown beyond that.”

Impressed, Harvey looks to his wife, expecting a positive response, but all he sees is the continued suspicion.

“Now, I know we’re probably never going to be bosom buddies, but I was hoping to at least put the past behind us. What do you say?” Paige extends her hand for a shake.

Olivia looks to Harvey, who’s nodding his head in approval. She then extends her hand, which Paige accepts and shakes gratefully.

“Now, where is that cute little boy?” Paige asks, moving on.

Olivia’s not quite ready to get that comfortable. “I just put him to sleep a few minutes ago. In fact, right before you rang the doorbell. I’d hate to wake him up. You understand.”

Obviously disappointed, Paige sighs. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect you to do that. Maybe another time, then?”

“Sure,” Olivia answers passively. “Paige, if you don’t mind my asking … What prompted this?”

She hesitates a moment, then looks up with an air of confidence. “Well, after the loss of my child, I’ve realized how life is too short. We don’t know how much time we really have. Why spend all that time being negative and being hateful? We should be loving and productive, and making the most of it.”

Paige turns slightly to address Harvey directly. “And I want you to know something: I was thrilled to hear your name as a prospective replacement for Tim Murphy. I’m stepping back in at the Sumner Group, and I’m behind you all the way.”

“I really appreciate that,” he says sternly and proudly while feeling like a celebratory little boy inside.

Paige smiles at them warmly and then turns to go. “Well, I—”

Her exit is interrupted by a crying Billy, and Olivia’s slowly fading anxiety returns fully. She knows what’s coming next.

“Oh, he’s up,” Paige says wistfully.

Harvey nudges his wife, silently suggesting she let Paige see and hold the baby.

She looks back up at him and communicates silently that they’ll have something to discuss privately later, then turns back to Paige. “Why don’t you come in and see him for a few minutes.”

“Oh, I’d love to,” their guest says excitedly.

Not long after, the three of them are standing in the living room and Paige is holding Billy.

“His hair is so dark. I can’t tell which of you he favors more,” she muses.

Harvey and Olivia look on at Paige, each feeling uneasiness at the question of who the baby looks like, thinking full well that he could turn out to look more like Harold Dyer—a LaBrea—than anyone else.

 

AT THE SAME TIME, OVER AT THE
CUL-DE-SAC—KAREN’S HOUSE:

From the kitchen, Michael hears the doorbell and leaves the morning paper on the table. Walking to answer the door, he carefully straightens his tie. It’s uncomfortable for him, as he’s been used to wearing “business casual” attire when working with Diana in New York. But, on his first day at Mackenzie Law, he wants to look—and therefore feel—his best.

Mack enters, giving him a pat on the back. “Hey Mikey, lookin’ good. How’s things going?”

“Oh, they’re going, I guess,” he responds vaguely. “I just want to get back into a normal routine here. I’ve really missed that.”

“It’s nothing like New York, that’s for sure,” Mack says. “I’m surprised Keith isn’t up and around yet. What’s he up to?”

“Uhhh …” Michael evades the question. “No, it’s nothing like New York at all. So different. So … are we ready to go?”

Holly enters the room, tugging on the leg of Michael’s pants. He turns to her and leans down, and she whispers something into his ear. He and Mack share a knowing look as the young father follows his daughter out of the room, down the hall.

“Mack? Is that you?” Karen asks from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he calls back. “Where’s Keith?”

“Oh.” Karen pauses, walking into the room and wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “He and Michael are having a little problem,” she whispers.

“What kind of problem?” he asks in his typical boisterous tone.

Karen looks at him impatiently, then turns toward the hallway to check for Michael. Satisfied that he hasn’t heard anything, she answers, “I haven’t been told much. But I think they’re both uncomfortable here—not knowing how they’ll be accepted. All of that takes a toll on a relationship,” she adds sagely.

“You don’t have to explain relationships to me, Karen,” Mack responds tersely. “I’ve been married for nearly 20 years, too, you know.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know. You never do. Look, I’ll round up Janice and see if we can help some.”

“Oh, Mack. Thank you. He really needs his dad right now.” She steps forward, lifting her arms to hug him, but stops short as he takes a step back.

Michael walks back into the room before the hug—or lack of it—can be addressed. “What’s going on out here? You could cut the tension with a knife.”

“Nothing,” Karen and Mack respond in unison as they both turn to him. Michael just looks back skeptically.