So Lynette arrives down at the restaurant, raring for some heart-to-hearting, only Tom's in no condition to be upbraided: he's lying unconscious behind the bar. Lynette falls to her knees, checks to make sure he's breathing, and then calls 911. After stuttering the address and weepingly asking the operator to "please hurry," she directs at Tom one of her heartfelt, vein-glorious meltdowns: "If you leave me with a mortgage and a restaurant and five kids, I swear I will track you into the deepest pit of hell and make you pay." Not the most tempting message when it comes to luring someone back from the light? Felicity Huffman does the same great job that she always does with these high-emotion scenes, making us see the fear and the love through the bullying. And I tell you what, I totally wept up the first time I watched it, AND the second, and every time after that. (That said, my friend Sophia, a Season 1 fan who stopped watching in the dark days of Season 2 and only tuned in because I was staying at her house, turned to me, as I sniffled away, and said, "Nothing but dry eyes over here! This show pretty much sucks now, huh?")
Down at the hospital. Lynette confers with Tom's doctor and is fantastically relieved to discover that it's only a "ruptured disc"; though it was so painful that it actually caused him to pass out. It's a serious injury, and it's going to require surgery, which means it'll be about three months before Tom can walk again, and five months before he can work at the restaurant. So I guess now Lynette has six kids to look after?
Sexy Susan climbs into bed wearing a very black negligee, clearly well ready to have her rabbit rogered. Unfortunately, Ian's too busy fondling his pre-nup to appreciate her mood. It turns out Ian kind of wants her to sign it now, which hurts Susan's feelings (lack of trust, pessimism, blah, blah). Ian tries to pretend that he's just trying to put his parents' minds at ease, but Susan thinks that maybe this is about some lingering Mike issues, which Ian denies (and I sort of believe him on that front, for once). Susan, her voice dripping with disappointment, tells him she'll sign it. He tells her to "at least read it first." But she says, "I don't need to, I trust you." Zow! Except she doesn't really sign it, she just turns off the light and goes to sleep, wearing seven pounds of eye makeup. The tunnel of love, it appears, is closed for the night.
Mike informs his memory therapist that he's done with the brain work; the stuff he's digging up is just too, too painful. The background music takes a very mournful turn at this, so I guess we're supposed to be very sad that the Stoneman is walking away from love, etc.