Page 21 of Faultlines

“You did?” I ask. I’m thrilled for her. Alice in Wonderland is the perfect play for the program.

“Yup,” the pride in her voice squeezes my heart.

“That’s amazing.”

They both tell me about upcoming summer rehearsals. Ethan gives me his thoughts on the set construction. A few minutes later, Ellie heads upstairs and silence settles between us.

Then his phone lights up. I watch him glance down, a faint smile touching his lips before vanishing. The phone vibrates again, and curiosity gets the better of me. “You look happy. Good news from work?”

He looks up, startled, as if he’d forgotten I was in the room. He quickly flips his phone face down. “Nobody, just a question about the set construction.”

The answer feels strange, but I tell myself I’m imagining things.

CHAPTER SEVEN

PLATE MOVEMENT

Ethan

I don’t hear Claire leave.

By the time I wake, she’s already on her way to the hospital to check on Heidi. She promised she’d be home for dinner. Her travel mug from yesterday waits beside the sink, unwashed, as if she plans to grab it again tomorrow.

The trip to the emergency room still weighs on me. I feel a flash of anger that this incident will occupy even more of Claire’s time. I think of the conversations that trail off mid-sentence when her phone buzzes. The way I’ve learned to read her schedule before I make plans of my own.

Across the kitchen, Ellie jams books into her backpack while struggling not to drop her granola bar. “Don’t forget,” she says with her mouth full, “the sign-up for play volunteers begins next week.”

“You’re not overjoyed at all, are you?” I say.

She does her best to appear unimpressed, but the smile she’s fighting betrays her. “Ms. Whitmore said we’re doing the full production this year and not the shortened version.”

It’s impossible to miss the enthusiasm in her voice whenever she talks about Brooke. Hearing her name also makes me smile.

My phone is full of texts from Brooke—questions about set design peppered with smiley faces. It started with one email about the set, and now we talk almost daily.

“Ms. Whitmore again, huh?”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Dad, she’s the best.”

“Just making an observation.”

She dismisses me as she heads for the door. I watch her leave and realize summer is almost here.

Two weeks go by, and I’m working on a project with one of our junior architects when my office phone rings. It’s Ellie’s school.

Something shifts in my chest at the thought of talking with Brooke—a pull I haven’t felt in years. My hand tightens around my drink before I can stop it. I set the cup down harder than I mean to, the clatter drowning out the thought before it can finish forming.

“Ethan, I’m so sorry to call on short notice. It’s Brooke.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yes. Ellie’s fine. One of our parent chaperones has backed out of tomorrow’s field trip. Ellie mentioned your schedule is flexible. I’m hoping you might be available.”

“What kind of field trip?”

“We’re taking the seventh and eighth graders to the Pacific Coast Shakespeare Festival.”

And that’s how I find myself boarding a school bus with a group of overexcited students and other parents the next morning.