But it's good to know that there is a worse time for that to happen than two days before vacation: specifically, the very day before one's wedding. Although having it happen while sealed in a metal tube somewhere over the Pacific would have been even worse than that. Cut to a doctor's office, where Brenda's OB/GYN is trying to schedule the D&C for the next morning. "We can't do it tomorrow," Brenda says, with an exam drape still covering her bits after the exam. "We're getting married." "Oh, congratulations," the doctor says brightly. Brenda and Nate share a look. They really don't seem as devastated as I would expect them to be, which is why I kind of got distracted for a second wondering if there's any non-miscarriage circumstances under which a pregnant woman would need a D&C. Couldn't think of a one, in case you're curious. "We can cancel," Nate says. Brenda insists that they have to do it today. "I can't get an anesthesiologist today," says the doctor, and Brenda looks like she's about to offer to go without, right now. Yikes. "We have to do it tomorrow, Bren," Nate says. Brenda asks the OB/GYN if it can wait until Monday. It can. Gosh golly, that's great news! Splendid! Monday it is! Yay!
Claire's working on one of her creepy-ass photo collages, with whole and shredded prints scattered all over Billy's giant table. He happens along and asks how it's going. "Is that me?" he asks. She says it's Nate. "No, these pieces." "No, it's Brenda, narcissist." Billy comments that it looks like him. Eh, I still say the Chenowith siblings were cast more for their acting talent than for any family resemblance. Claire snarks, "It's a wedding present. Why would I have you in there?" Billy, now with his back to her, growls, "Well, 'cause she can marry Nate, but she'll always love me. She is me!" And then, in full-on Creepy Jesus mode, he whirls around with something in his hand and starts stabbing the pictures, then grabs Claire by the neck and rears back to stab her as well while she screams. And then the little dream sequence is over as sane, real-life Billy quietly asks Claire if she's upset with him. "No, I was just concentrating," she half-truths. He kisses her on the cheek and leaves her to her work. If by "work" you mean "paranoid fantasies." I can't believe someone like Claire has never read The Gift of Fear. For laughs, if nothing else.
Speaking of paranoid fantasies, George is home! Ruth lets him in the front door, and he's looking pretty disoriented. But in case you can't tell that from Cromwell's performance, they make him say, "How do I get to my room?" "You mean our room?" Ruth says. "Our bedroom?" "If that's what it is," says George, unsmiling. Ruth leads him upstairs to unpack rather than taking this valuable opportunity to park him back down in the bomb shelter for good.