Page 27 of Faultlines

I already know what she’s hinting at, or at least I think I do.

“Has anything changed at home?” she asks.

I hesitate; explaining the situation without escalating it presents a challenge.

“My wife has had a tough few months at work. She’s been so busy lately that I think it’s starting to affect Ellie.”

Understanding flickers across her face. “Sometimes when kids are struggling, they don’t know how to ask for help. It puts a lot of pressure on everyone.”

I let out a slow breath. “That sounds suspiciously like teacher code.”

A laugh escapes her. “It is teacher code.”

“To be honest, I think a lot of her issues started when my wife went back to work full time.” I stop, a flicker of guilt twisting in my gut. It feels like a betrayal to talk about Claire this way, even if it’s true.

“What I mean is… ” I rub the back of my neck. “Ellie’s been struggling with the transition. That’s all. The adjustment period.”

“That sounds like a lot. And this is typically something we find out when kids act out.”

We continue to discuss study habits and the typical stressors of middle school.

Once we exhaust the topic of grades and classroom performance, the conversation naturally shifts.

“So,” she says, “how is your Shakespeare career progressing?”

I grunt. “I’m still recovering from the trauma.”

“I thought you did very well.”

“That’s because you’re grading on a curve.”

“The assignment wasn’t graded, so there is no curve.”

The discussion turns to books, and we debate whether students should still be required to read classic literature.

I learn she moved to Juniper Ridge after teaching in Sacramento, missing the restaurants but not the traffic.

“No one misses traffic,” I tease.

“No one misses Sacramento traffic, but you can miss anything if you’re lonely enough,” she replies. The comment is surprisingly candid.

Throughout our conversation I catch myself laughing at things I wouldn’t normally find funny, and then laughing again at the fact that I’m laughing.

The topics flow from teaching to the small towns in Italy we’ve both, impossibly, visited. It’s just… easy. When I glance at the clock on the wall, ninety minutes have passed since we finished discussing Ellie.

She follows my gaze. “Wow.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” I stand and collect my things, surprised by how quickly the afternoon disappeared.

“It was nice chatting with you, and I’m here if you or Ellie need anything,” she says as she squeezes my hand before opening the door.

Her comment about being lonely echoes in my head on the drive back to the office. I pull into my parking spot and sit for a long moment, the stack of plans waiting for me to review completely forgotten.

At my desk, I look up to find Reid waving a folder toward me.

“How’d the parent-teacher thing go?”

I toss Ellie’s progress report onto the desk. “Apparently, my daughter is slipping academically.”