At the hospital, Weaver's in her coat, preparing to leave. A social worker is conversing in Spanish with Araceli, and stops when she sees Weaver. The social worker asks whether Watts said anything about relatives in either Chicago or Guatemala; Weaver wearily says they didn't have time to ask. The social worker makes to head back to Araceli, but Weaver stops her and asks what's going to happen to Araceli. The social worker says they'll put her in a group home for the moment. Weaver asks whether she'll be deported, and the social worker says she won't unless they know she's going back to family; otherwise she'll stay in the U.S., become a ward of the state, and end up with a Spanish-speaking foster family. Weaver looks stricken, and nods faintly. The sad music starts up, and Weaver heads out.
Weaver crutches through the ambulance bay.
Weaver gets out of her car and walks up to her front door. She goes to open the door, and then flattens herself against the wall for a second, and heads back down to the street.
Weaver ascends the stairs to the el platform, because that's where people go to cry. Dude, wouldn't she rather think about her shitty day in a cab?
On the el, Weaver clutches her purse on her lap, and the singer wails, "Scared of the things that people say." Like, that lesbians should have hysterectomies? Because Weaver is one, now? Get it? No, are you sure you get it? Because I can explain it again. It's kind of subtle. Laura Innes does such a good job looking totally lost and vulnerable that this shitty-ass anvil music is really doing her performance a disservice.
Weaver crutches along a sidewalk and knocks on a front door, which is presently opened by Mitchell, who beams at the sight of her and reaches out to invite her in. Aw. "It's nice to have someone to go home to," as Weaver herself once observed.