"You're done," Jackie says to Sam, and tells him either he walks out right now, or she sends him to employee health to pee in a cup. Either way, she doesn't want to see him in her ER. He feels bad for a second, and then gets pissed: "Takes one to know one," he says, and her jaw drops like she's going to karate-chop his face, and he wanders off. Jackie commences freaking out.
Jackie runs to Eddie in the Harmacy, but before she can even begin to unload about her day, he's like, "Yeah, so how's your kid?" She nods and admits that Grace is doing better, then apologizes for keeping her a secret. She goes into serious damage control mode and tells him they need to have coffee, whatever, let's get together and talk about what a huge withholding liar I am, and he begs off. She asks if there's anything else he wants to know, and he says honestly that he doesn't. Apparently her life is Need-To-Know. She kisses him and he tastes like doormat. "There's nothing else I should know, right?" Um, like how she's married and unbelievably in over her head? No, more like maybe she's secretly a cat burglar. That's one word for it. "Believe me," she says with a smile, "My life is not that interesting."
It's karaoke night at Kevin's bar, and when Jackie arrives it seems clear that both she and Gracie have gained a little equilibrium. Jackie's name comes up on the karaoke list, and she is in absolutely no fucking mood... Until Kevin nudge-winks that it was a special request. Grace sits at the bar, smiling hugely at her mother, and of course Jackie has to go for it. She just wants to see her mother sing.
"When this old world starts getting me down/ And people are just too much for me to face..."
She smiles, and Grace watches her, and she feels stronger for a second. She's home.
"I climb way up to the top of the stairs/ And all my cares just drift right into space..."
Grace stares, joyfully, and then something occurs to her. Wrong song, wrong life. Her smile slips down off her face, and she looks away. Jackie sings harder and harder, trying to pierce through the shadow, get her to look up again, roll back the tape just that one second before she lost her again: nonresponsive, glassy. She'd sing forever. She pushes against it like a wall, until her voice breaks. Grace doesn't look up, but she keeps going.