Page 143 of Faultlines

By the time I pull into Dr. Rutledge’s parking lot, I’m grateful for something—anything—to interrupt the loop. The building is an unremarkable beige box tucked between a law office and a dental practice.

I need to get my head on straight before this appointment. I push open the heavy glass door. A receptionist greets me, but my eyes scan past her and land on Claire. Of course, she would beat me here.

I stand a few feet inside the door just looking at her. She sits in an upholstered chair, a glossy magazine resting unread in her lap. She’s wearing a white t-shirt that says, ‘Professional Problem Solver,’ and her hair is in a neat ponytail.

There’s a subtle shift in her posture when she notices me. No greeting. The woman who once told me everything now sits ten feet away, looking at me like I’m little more than an acquaintance.

“The slogan on your shirt is disturbingly accurate,” I tell her in an attempt to break the ice.

“Thanks,” she responds, but doesn’t look up from the magazine.

Fortunately, the receptionist’s voice cuts through the tension. “Mr. Bennett. Mrs. Bennett. Dr. Rutledge will see you now.”

Claire stands and follows the receptionist down the short hallway. I trail behind, catching the familiar scent of her perfume—warm sandalwood with a hint of citrus. Being this close to her, knowing I can’t reach for her, is its own kind of punishment.

His office is designed to put people at ease, but all I feel is cornered. After my first appointment here, I wanted to call Claire so we could analyze the decor, but then I remembered I no longer had that right.

A diffuser hums softly on the bookshelf, releasing lavender that somehow makes the room feel even more artificial.

He rises from his chair when we enter, and offers Claire his hand.

“Claire. Thank you for coming.”

She shakes it, before taking a seat in an armchair. “I’m not promising anything.”

A faint smile appears beneath his dark beard which softens the rugged lines of his face. “I would be worried if you were.”

To my surprise, the corner of her mouth twitches. It isn’t a smile, but close enough. As he settles into his chair, the worn leather groans beneath his weight.

“Claire, I’m sure you’re aware that Ethan has been coming here for a while now. I’ve been brought up to speed on the situation from his point of view.”

Silence.

“We can start simple. One of you tell me how your week is going so far?”

I let out a defeated puff of air. “Mine wasn’t great, if I’m being honest.”

“What happened?” he asks.

I consider offering a watered-down version of the truth. Then I remember where I am and with whom I’m sitting. “I ran into Claire having dinner with another man.”

He nods. “How did that make you feel?”

I laugh, a sharp bark of disbelief. I glance toward Claire, and her face is a carefully neutral mask. “Jealous.”

He nods again. “Why?”

“Because she was out with Daniel Mercer.”

“Who is Daniel Mercer?”

I rub a hand across my face, through the rough stubble of my unshaven jaw. “A wealthy, successful developer who is handsome and single, all right?”

Claire coughs into her hand suspiciously, I swear she’s fighting a laugh. The room’s temperature feels a degree or two warmer.

He remains unfazed. “Anything else?”

I focus on a shaft of sunlight peeking through the curtains. “He made her laugh, and until now, I hadn’t considered the possibility of her moving on. And⁠—”