Susan thoroughly enjoyed the time she, Greg, Zack and Jessie spent as a family on Sunday, sightseeing in New York City with the Goodmans, Alan and Cindy. Early on Monday morning however, everything abruptly changed.

Greg did his best to prepare her for it by trying to give her an idea of what to expect the evening before, talking to her about the experience for several hours between the time they had dinner and the time they went to bed. But he knew it wasn't enough by the look on her face as they braved the crowds on Monday morning, not only outside their hotel, but also in front of the television studios the hired limousine delivered them to, early in the day. Susan's level of anxiety at having to face them was evident from the way she held herself, letting Greg know she was nervous about the day.

For Greg, normally once he showed identification verifying who he was while visiting television studios for interviews, he was quickly guided inside, leaving the crowds, and the reporters, and the paparazzi behind. He was well enough known within the entertainment industry to cut through the red tape relatively quickly and without a problem. Arriving in the car right behind them, Shelly had a similar experience and also was escorted beyond the gates without delay. So was Brandon and several others associated with their movie. What Greg didn't realize for a full five minutes after he was inside was that Susan was greeted with a different experience entirely and wasn't immediately let inside.

"Name," the man at the desk beside the gate said when she approached the counter.

"Susan Abernathy," Susan told him. When he said nothing after looking through a list he had attached to a clipboard, she added, "I have my identification here, if that will help."

"No, I'm sorry it doesn't. Your name isn't on my list," the man said. "I can't let you in."

"Are you sure?" Susan asked. "I'm here with my husband. He insisted we were both needed here today."

"Who is your husband?" the security man asked.

"Greg Gaffney," Susan said.

"No, I'm sorry. There isn't a Mrs. Gaffney on the list either," he said.

"Are you sure?" Susan questioned a second time as her nervousness settled into a knot in her stomach.

The guard looked at her sternly. "You'll have to step outside, miss. Only authorized personnel are allowed inside the studio today."

"Oh, but I'm supposed to be here," Susan insisted as her anxiety rose.

"Please, stand aside," the guard repeated.

"My husband can vouch for me," Susan offered as calmly as she could. "Maybe I should call him?"

The guard never answered. There was a slight movement of his hand and security men in gray uniforms and carrying guns appeared out of nowhere.

"Greg!" Susan shrieked as a wave of panic set in. She fought it, trying to stay as calm as she could.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Gaffney isn't available for public interviews today," the man on her left said. "I don't know how you got in here, but if we catch you in here again, we will be notifying NYPD."

"You've got to be kidding me," Susan said. "Greg!" she shouted again at the top of her lungs before being unceremoniously thrust out of the lobby and out onto the sidewalk in front of the studio.

Susan stared at the doors to the entrance in dismay.

"Who are you?" a man asked her as he shoved a microphone in her face.

"Susan," Susan told him. "Greg Gaffney is my husband."

"Who is she?" she heard someone ask.

"She says Mr. Gaffney is her husband," someone else said.

"Tell us ... do you know anything about the crash he was in?" a woman asked.

"Of course I do," Susan told her distractedly as she tried to figure out what to do. "I was in the crash too."

"Are you Susan Cooper?" another reporter asked.

"I was, before I married my husband," Susan said. "Excuse me; he's going to be looking for me."

Susan tried to step to the side of the crowd, intending to use her cell phone to call Greg when a ripple went through the assembled group and half dozen reporters followed her. Susan did her best to ignore them, covering her ears as she dialed Greg's number and waited for him to answer.

"Where are you?" Greg asked.

"They won't let me in. I'm not on the list," Susan told him.

"What do you mean, you're not on the list?" Greg said.

"That's what they said. They made me leave. I'm standing out on the street in front of the studio," Susan told him.

"Wait there," Greg instructed.

"I'm trying, but there are reporters everywhere," Susan told him nervously.

"Look for Alex," Greg told her.

"Alex?" Susan said in surprise.

"He'll be right there," Greg promised and he ended the call.

Susan closed her phone and looked for a friendly face in the crowd, but all she could see were microphones and cameras pointed her way and dozens of reporters trying to ask her questions all at once.

"How did it feel to be in the crash?" one of them asked.

"How do you think it felt?" Susan asked rhetorically.

"Is it true you lived on nuts and berries?" another asked.

"We were in the tropics. The only kind of nuts we had were coconuts," Susan said.

"This exclusive just in, Mr. Gaffney lived on coconuts after the crash!" one of the reporters shouted into her microphone as the knot in Susan's stomach grew.

Susan turned, intent on getting away from the shouting reporter when Alex appeared at her side.

"Come with me," Alex told her. Taking her by the elbow, he guided her back inside the studio lobby.

Their way was immediately blocked by a pair of armed security guards, as soon as Susan stepped through the doors.

"The police are on their way," one of them announced.

Alex arched his brow at the man. "Really. Do you know who I am?"

"It doesn't matter who you are, Mr. Martin. The woman you have with you isn't authorized for entry. She's been warned," the guard told him.

"She's on the list," Alex insisted. "Did you look?"

"Of course," the man said.

"On the special guest list?" Alex pressed. "She isn't attached to the studio. She's a consultant, and a real-life personality, not a celebrity."

"I don't think so," the guard said.

"Try it. I think you'll be surprised," Alex insisted. "Before you call the police."

"Too late, they are on their way."

Sure enough, Susan could hear sirens in the distance and the knot she'd had in her stomach all morning clinched that much harder, sending blood pounding through her head.

"Oh," Susan murmured as the sound grew louder and the pounding got stronger in her ears. "Oh my ... Alex?" Susan murmured as the edges of her vision began to blur.

"Just a minute, Susan. We'll get this sorted out," Alex promised. Meanwhile, Susan got jostled from side to side by the security people trying to block her way, preventing her from reaching the reception desk where Alex was standing.

"I don't feel well," Susan told him, stepping around the security men as she tried to draw closer to Alex. "Call Greg? Please?"

The room began to swim around her as blue uniformed police officers came flooding through the door, surrounding her on all sides, mixing with those security personnel in gray who were already there.

"Greg!" Susan called weakly.

A uniformed officer was shoved by those coming behind, bumping into her in the small space, causing Susan to sway unsteadily from side to side. Susan reached out, trying to grip the edge of the reception desk to steady herself, when the security guard to her right tried to force her back again. The resultant twisting motion only added to the whirling motion inside her head and Susan fainted. With the guard still pushing her, she hit her head on the corner of the reception desk on her way to the floor.

Meanwhile, Alex was working with the man who stood behind it, trying to explain why Susan was there, and where to find her on the list.

"She's the real-life person this movie is based on," Alex told the man. "She's been in the news, even if she isn't a celebrity. That's what makes her important to this movie."

"I see that," the man at the desk told him after searching his database further. "Where is she, exactly?"

Alex turned around and to his dismay found Susan collapsed on the floor, surrounded by New York City police and studio guards who weren't sure whether to arrest her, take her to the hospital, or to escort her inside.

"Susan, Susan!" Alex said as he knelt beside her, patting her hand. "If anything happens to her, Greg Gaffney is going to personally kill me," he told the men standing around him.

"Why?" One of the police officers asked.

"She's his wife ... she's also one of the other two people who survived the RDW plane crash. If she dies here, after all that ... I can't imagine what that would do to him, or her family," Alex said.

"This is Susan Cooper?" the same policeman asked.

"She was ... before she married my client," Alex said. "Come on, Susan wake up. Let's get you inside."

Susan's eyes fluttered slightly, her hand moving to the back of her head before she opened them enough to see Alex bending over her.

"What happened?" Susan asked.

"You fainted. Come on, get up. Let's get you behind the gate. They're probably waiting for you inside," Alex said.

"They won't let me in," Susan told him.

"Do you have your driver license?" Alex asked, ignoring what she said.

Susan struggled to sit up, while at the same time trying to retrieve it from her purse. To her surprise, one of the men in blue helped her to her feet and handed her, her handbag.

"It's an honor to meet you, Mrs. Cooper," the man said.

"It is?" Susan asked in surprise.

"My nephew was on that flight. They tell me you were responsible for burying him when he died ... before they brought his body home, nearly three years ago," the police officer said.

"Okay," Susan said. "Ah ... er ... thank you?"

"Here it is," the guard at the gate told Alex.

"Come on Susan. This way."

Susan followed Alex without really understanding why they were suddenly letting her inside. The next thing she knew, she was being told to sit down in a makeup chair in front of a mirror where a woman approached her and began to brush her hair.

"Owe ... careful," Susan told her. "My head is really sore today."

"Oh?" the woman said blankly.

"She had a fall outside and may have hit her head," Alex explained from where he stood nearby.

"Where," the woman asked.

Susan put her hand over the flat place at the back of her head.

"Well the skin isn't broken, so I think you'll be okay," the woman soothed. "I can get you some ice if you want."

"No thank you. Maybe just some Tylenol?" Susan requested.

"Coming right up, Susan," Alex told her. "Then I need to go find Greg."

Susan nodded, watching in the mirror as he left, taking in for the first time who else was in the room. To her left, Brandon was in the chair next to hers, and Shelly was in the chair next to that.

"Hi, Mrs. Abernathy," Brandon said with a grin.

"Hi ... although maybe you shouldn't call me that," Susan said with a grimace and a frown as the woman behind her brushed her hair.

"Why's that?" Brandon asked.

"They wanted to call the police rather than letting me inside," Susan told him.

"You're kidding," Brandon said.

"No. Something about not being on the list ... or at least not being on the right list," Susan said.

"Are you okay, Susan?" Shelly asked from the other side of her costar. To her, Susan looked very pale; a condition the makeup person was trying to rectify using a certain amount of blush.

"I think I will be. Thank you Shelly," Susan said.

Alex brought her some aspirin instead of Tylenol and a cup of coffee. He assured her she was now in good hands, and left again as abruptly as he came.

The next thing Susan knew she was being guided to another room and told to sit in a director's-style chair in front of a wall bearing an enormous copy of the poster for The Tropical Dream movie. It featured life-sized photos of Brandon and Greg wearing similar clothing, blended together so they appeared to be one man, standing beside Shelly in her costume. Behind them was the beach of a tropical island, the same one they filmed on the previous summer. A camera on a dolly sat directly in front of her and a woman with a microphone stood to one side.

"Hello. My name is Janet Morrison," the woman said, introducing herself. "I'm with our local news station, here in New York."

"Hello," Susan said.

"I'm here to interview you about your part in the story The Tropical Dream is about," she said.

"Okay," Susan told her. "I'm not used to doing this, but I'll try to answer your questions."

"It's okay. Just try to relax. I'm going to ask you about your story," she explained.

Susan cocked her head. "Isn't it my husband's story you want to know about?"

"Aren't they the same story?" Ms. Morrison asked, and with a subtle gesture from her hand, her cameraman started filming.

"In a way," Susan said. "We were both on the RDW plane crash Greg's movie is about. But he wrote the script, so the story that's in the movie is his story, really."

"I understand. Your husband is the celebrity, you're not," Mr. Morrison commented.

"No, I'm not," Susan agreed. "I'm a computer programmer, normally."

"Not today though," Ms. Morrison said.

"No, not today," Susan said. "Today I'm the wife of the producer of The Tropical Dream and the real life person the character Jillian is based on."

"But you weren't his wife when this story began, were you?" Ms. Morrison asked.

"No, I wasn't," Susan agreed. "I didn't know Mr. Gaffney before the plane crash. But after months of living with him in the South Pacific, struggling to survive, being chased by terrorists ... let's just say we got to know one another very well."

"Terrorists you say," Ms. Morrison said, picking up on that bit of news immediately.

"Yes, that's right," Susan said. "I think he put that part in the movie."

"Don't you know?"

"Not for sure, no," Susan said.

"I find that fascinating," Ms. Morrison told her. "Tell me, what for you was the hardest part of your journey?"

Susan sat in silence trying to remember it all, trying to decide which part was the worst, but the more she thought, the more her head pounded.

"Maybe when I was hurt," she said finally.

"Were you injured in the crash?" Ms. Morrison asked.

"Yes. I received a head wound when something fell on me from an overhead bin during the crash. Mr. Gaffney pulled me from the water and took care of me until I healed," Susan said.

"Then in your estimation, Mr. Gaffney is the hero of this story," she suggested.

Susan hesitated. Was Greg a hero? Of course he was. He'd saved her life more than once, fought off her attackers, and protected her when no one else could. She was still struggling with how to answer that, when to her surprise Greg came striding towards where she was sitting in the director's style chair.

"Susan, are you alright?" Greg said. "Sorry to interrupt, Ms. Morrison, but my agent told me my wife was injured out in front just now while trying to get into the studio this morning."

"Hi," Susan said weakly. "I'm doing the best that I can."

Greg nodded. It was the answer she used to give him so long ago, when even though she was injured, she forced herself to go on.

"Did you hit your head?" he asked.

"I must have. Alex said I fainted, but I don't really remember it," Susan told him.

"Cut," Ms. Morrison told her cameraman while frowning at Greg.

"Mr. Gaffney, if you please? We've done your interview. We were hoping to interview the second survivor of the crash independently," Ms. Morrison told him.

"Except everything we went through back in those days, we went through together," Greg told her. "I think for the purposes of this sort of interview ... if it is survivors of the crash you want to speak to, you should talk to us both."

The reporter considered him doubtfully. "But aren't you the producer for this movie?" she asked.

"I am. This is my story, Ms. Morrison," Greg said.

"That's what I tried to tell her," Susan said.

"Excuse me, but what we were hoping to get is Mrs. Cooper's point of view," Ms. Morrison told him.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not Mrs. Cooper any more," Susan told her firmly. "Have you seen the movie?"

"Not yet," the reporter admitted.

"Then there is no way for you to know for sure if what I'm telling you is my point of view or Greg's," Susan pointed out.

"We assume whatever was put into the movie is your husband's creation," Ms. Morrison told her. "What we are looking for is the truth. That's the advantage of interviewing someone who isn't in show business. Their answers tend to be more candid, less practiced, a bit more honest than those from entertainment professionals tend to be."

"That may be true," Greg told her. "But from here on out, if you want to talk to Susan, you also need to talk to me."

"I see," Ms. Morrison said, and she began again, trying to hear more of Susan's story, doing her best to minimize the effect of Greg sitting there beside her.

The interview lasted slightly less than an hour, but that didn't mean they were done. Susan followed Greg to another set, almost identical to the one they'd just left, this one with another reporter and cameraman waiting for them.

"Hello, I'm Angelica Howe," a handsome black woman said.

"Hello Angelica," Greg said. "Good to see you again."

"It's good to have you back, Mr. Gaffney," she said kindly. She glanced at the notes in her hand. "And this is Mrs. Cooper?"

"No actually, I'm Susan Abernathy," Susan told her.

Ms. Howe frowned. "Really? My notes here say I'm supposed to interview the woman who was in the crash with you. Our news connections have her name down as Susan Cooper," she read.

"That's because that was my name at the time of the crash," Susan told her. "But I divorced Mr. Cooper several years ago."

"Is that part of your story?" she asked.

"Yes, actually. It's probably not the most interesting part of the story, but that is one of the things that did happen," Susan said.

"I don't know about that. Our viewers are always interested in the personal relationships of our stars," Ms. Howe said.

"In that case, perhaps you would be interested to know, that the former Susan Cooper is now my wife," Greg said.

"Really?" Ms. Howe said. "How exciting! Did he sweep you off your feet? Court you under the stars? How romantic it must have been to find yourself alone on a tropical island with such a handsome celebrity of his caliber."

Susan smiled. "Yes, it was a little exciting ... at first ... although being all alone on an island ... even with a celebrity ... has its drawbacks, eventually."

"I can't imagine what," Ms. Howe said. "Unless perhaps, Mr. Gaffney snores?"

Susan chuckled slightly and so did the cameraman. "If only that was the worst of the problems we encountered. No, actually, he doesn't snore ... but being alone on a tropical island also means there is no one else who can help. We were there without food, without even a survival kit, and had to find a way to survive."

"Oh, but even if you were hungry for some of that time, it must have been so romantic to find yourself sleeping together under the stars," Ms. Howe said.

"It would have been, as I've said, provided there were stars. Our plane was brought down by a cyclone during the rainy season in that part of the world. It rained nearly every day the first three months we were there, and most of the nights too. We had little food and no shelter until Greg found our cave," Susan said.

"You lived in a cave! How exciting," Ms. Howe said. "You were like the Flintstones then."

And so the questioning continued, looking for the romantic angle in every experience they had.

"I'm not sure she was actually listening," Susan commented when the interview was over and they moved on to the next set.

"She was, but what she was listening for and the story you had to tell her didn't intersect in very many ways," Greg said.

Susan nodded. "Do you think people will understand, once they do see our story?"

"Perhaps. Speaking of people, this next reporter is from People magazine," Greg told her.

Susan nodded and sat down next to Greg on a pair of tall chairs arranged around an equally tall table. This time the reporter wasn't all that interested in what she had to say. But he was eager to interview Greg ... after all this time, about the crash. His interview ended with Greg inviting the magazine's readers to come see the movie and judge for themselves.

"We just may. Thank you," the reporter said.

"Who's next?" Susan asked as they walked next door.

"CNN," Greg read from a sign atop the camera in the next room.

"Hello. I'm Howard Running," the next reporter introduced himself.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Greg Gaffney. This is my wife, Susan," Greg said.

"Pleasure, Mr. Gaffney. Please have a seat," Mr. Running invited and he began again, trying to get to the bottom of just how much of Greg's true story viewers could expect to see in their movie. Once again it was mainly Greg's comments they were interested in, especially so when Susan admitted she'd never read the script. She tried to smile through the end, but her headache was back and once they were finished, she reached once again for the back of her head.

"Do you need something?" Greg asked anxiously.

"Yes. Do you suppose there is any Tylenol in this place?" Susan asked.

"Let me ask Alex," Greg said.

"I already did. All he could find me is Aspirin," Susan said.

"I'll call Cathy then," Greg said and he opened his phone to make the call.

Meanwhile Susan did her best to rest her eyes while sitting in lounge reserved for those being interviewed, while waiting for their turn with the next interviewer.

"Hi Susan. Greg tells me you aren't feeling well," Cathy said, appearing out of nowhere.

"Hi Cathy. I hit my head out in front this morning on the way in," Susan explained. "It still hurts a bit."

"Do you need a doctor?" Cathy wondered.

"I don't think so. I'm not dizzy ... at least not any more. It just hurts," Susan explained.

"You were dizzy?" Greg asked.

"It didn't last long," Susan assured him. "I guess I sort of panicked when they wouldn't let me in."

Greg was about to ask more about it when someone came to summon him to the next set. Susan started to get up to go with him when Cathy held her back.

"You don't need to go with him this time, Susan. Just stay here. Rest. Let's make sure you're going to be okay," Cathy said.

Susan nodded and swallowed the Tylenol Cathy had in her hand. "Thank you," Susan said. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you."

"Don't be. I'm afraid the problem at the front desk was my fault. They asked for the names of the real life personalities associated with the film and I gave them your name at the time of the crash. I know Greg doesn't like to use the Abernathy name in public, but I didn't stop to think that your identification wouldn't match. I'm sorry," Cathy said.

"Oh ... is that what the problem was?" Susan asked.

"Yes. I've changed it for tomorrow," Cathy assured her.

"Okay," Susan said.

Cathy hovered for a moment longer, but when she didn't say anything more, Susan leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, feeling the throbbing at the back of her head lessen just a bit. She supposed she must have dozed off, because the next thing she was aware of, was Greg waking her.

"Susan?" he said anxiously.

"Yes. I'm coming. I'm ready," she said, forcing herself to become alert again.

"Ready for the next one?" Greg asked.

Susan nodded. "Okay. Just show me where to go."

The day went on like that for hours, lasting more or less all day and into the early evening. By the time they were finished, Susan wasn't sure she could count just how many journalists or reporters or TV news people she'd talked to. All she knew was her headache was back and she was exhausted.

c

"Are you ready to go back to the hotel?" Greg asked after their last interview was concluded.

"Yes please," Susan said.

"Do you have any idea what you're in the mood for, for dinner this evening? You can get absolutely anything you want in New York City," he said.

"Thank you, but could we could just go back to our room?" Susan asked.

"Of course, Susan," Greg said.

Several limousines and taxis were waiting out in front of the studio when those associated with The Tropical Dream movie were ready to leave. Greg helped Susan into one, followed her into the back seat, and gave the name of their hotel to the driver. He closed the door behind him and they left. Greg watched his wife, noticing when Susan seemed to melt back into her seat during the drive, apparently falling asleep. He didn't think he'd seen her do that since she was pregnant with Melody, and he found he had to rouse her again when it was time to get out.

"Sorry," Susan told him when she heard him say her name twice after the car came to a stop.

"It has been a long day," Greg said sympathetically, and again he helped her out, holding the reporters at bay while he escorted her inside. Still, he couldn't help hearing some of the questions being shouted at him. Some of them were specifically asking about living on coconuts.

Greg flashed back to the crowd of reporters who'd been on the street in front of the studio that morning. Reporters who'd surrounded his wife during the confusion over her identity. Alex said he'd taken care of it and Cathy quickly corrected her mistake, but not before Susan had been subjected to them without his help, and Greg couldn't help wondering what she'd said ... what it was that happened, before Alex got there.

c

Susan was completely silent during their ride up in the elevator together. She said nothing while they walked down the hall to their room, and immediately collapsed on the sofa in their tiny living area as soon as Greg opened the door and they walked in.

"Do you need anything?" Greg asked anxiously.

"I don't know. I suppose it's too soon to take more Tylenol?"

"Is your head still hurting you?" he asked.

"Yes, it is. I'm beginning to think I hit something other than the floor when I fainted earlier," Susan said.

"You fainted?" Greg asked in dismay. "When did that happen?"

"This morning, when Alex was trying to get me in and the guards called the police department. I guess I sort of panicked when they started swarming around me. One man grabbed me, and I was almost sure I was going to end up in handcuffs. But the next thing I knew, another one ran into me, and I was suddenly on the floor, with a half dozen of them standing over me," Susan said.

Greg stared at her. "They called the police department? And they came?"

"Yes. I wasn't on the list, and once they determined that, they insisted I had to leave. I tried arguing with them and all that did was to get me thrown out on the street with a warning that the police would be called if I tried to come back in. That's exactly what they did when Alex tried to bring me in," Susan explained. "They were trying to have me arrested while Alex was arguing with them."

"But Alex did get you in," Greg said.

"He did ... this happened before that," Susan said.

Greg just shook his head. "I had no idea of any of that."

"Alex didn't tell you?" Susan asked.

"No, he didn't. And you can believe I'm going to have a word with him about it," Greg said angrily.

"Greg, don't. It wasn't his fault. He was doing his best to help ... and I did eventually get in," Susan said.

"But not before you got hurt. Susan, he did tell me there was an incident, but he made it sound like you ran into something ... maybe the turnstile beside the gate or something similar ... not that you fainted or were almost arrested or any of that. There is absolutely no excuse for it, for the studio to treat anybody associated with the movie like that," Greg said, his anger mounting.

The next thing Susan knew, Greg was on his phone. Walking into their bedroom, he closed the door.

Susan sat in the comparative quiet, trying to decide if there was anything she was supposed to be doing. She couldn't think of a single thing, aside from taking more Aspirin, which she could take earlier than the Tylenol. She'd just gotten up to take it when she heard a key at their door.

"Mom?" It was Zack and Jessie, just coming in from a day out with Alan and Cindy, sightseeing around New York City.

"Hi Zack," Susan said. "Hi Jessie."

"Hi Mama," Jessie said, as she ran to her, her cheeks pink from the cold outside.

"Did you have fun today?" Susan asked.

"Uh huh. We went on a boat! It went way out on the water to the Statue of Liberty. And we got to climb up inside her, all the way to the top," Jessie said.

"Yeah, we did," Zack said. "It was really good, Mom," he started to say. Then he stopped, staring at Susan. "Mom, are you okay?"

"I will be," Susan told him. "I've had a bit of a headache today. I'm hoping this Aspirin will help."

"Oh ...that's not good," Zack said with a frown.

"Are you sick, Mama?" Jessie asked, hearing the concern in Zack's voice.

"No Jessie, I'm not. I fell today and hit my head. I have a bit of a bump on it. In fact, I should probably put some ice on it, but I think I'm going to be okay," Susan said.

"Should I get you some ice, Mom?" Zack said.

"Can you?" Susan asked.

"Yes. There's an ice machine down the hall. I'll get it," Zack said.

"I'll help," Jessie said.

The children took their room key and the two ice buckets in their suite, promising to hurry back as soon as they could.

"Are the children back?" Greg asked as he emerged from their bedroom.

"Yes. They've gone to get some ice for my head," Susan said.

"You really are hurt, aren't you?" Greg said.

"Not seriously, Greg."

"Susan ... you still have splinters in your head from the crash. Hitting your head anywhere close to that same area is dangerous for you," Greg said.

"I know it is," Susan said. "But please ... let's not worry the children?"

Greg nodded. He wasn't at all happy about the day's turn of events, but for the moment, Susan was doing what she could to take care of herself.

Zack and Jessie were back before they could talk about it anymore. Greg helped them fix an ice pack and Susan held it to her head, resting in their room's easy chair.

"Shall I order room service for dinner?" Greg asked.

"Please," Susan said. "Could you hand me the menu?"

"I'll get it, Mom," Zack said.

"Let me tell Alan and Cindy we're staying in tonight," Greg said.

"Okay," Susan readily agreed.

c

"Is she going to be okay?" Cindy asked when Greg told her and Alan about Susan's mishap that morning.

"I think so, Cindy. She has ice on it now, and her headaches seem to be under control with medication. I'm hoping if she rests this evening, she'll feel a lot better by tomorrow," Greg said.

"I hope so," Alan said. "Are you going back to that same studio tomorrow?"

"No, but this time I've had Cathy call ahead to make sure the records are correct. Also, I'm going to insist Susan go ahead of me this time," Greg said. "It just never occurred to me this morning that they wouldn't let her in."

"At least you know they take security seriously at that studio," Alan told him.

"That of course is true. It's one of the reasons I like to use them when I'm here, but on this occasion it worked against us to be there," Greg said.

"What are you doing tomorrow if you did all your press junket interviews today?" Alan asked.

"We're taping appearances for several local and national talk shows for the next two days," Greg said. "And of course we've got tickets for the four of us to see Brandon in his play tomorrow evening."

"I saw the write up for it in the newspaper," Alan told him. "It looks like it should be a good show."

"Are you coming with us?" Greg asked.

"We are going, but we only got our tickets today, so we won't be seated together, if that's what you mean," Alan told him.

"It should still be good though," Cindy said.

"I hope so," Greg said. "Thank you again for entertaining the children today."

"Sure. They were good. It was fun to spend the time with them and the Goodmans," Alan said.

"Kelly and Zack are so cute together," Cindy commented.

Greg arched his brow. It was tempting to ask what she meant by her remark, but he was anxious to get back to Susan.

"We'll see you tomorrow, Dad," Alan said.

"Goodnight," Greg said.

And even though it was early, he returned to his family's suite for the night, eager to look after Susan.

c