Page 33 of Faultlines

“You did all this yourself?”

She looks offended. “Occasionally, I have useful thoughts.”

Lucy snorts.

“What am I missing?” I ask.

Lucy gives me a sheepish smile before saying, “We took the issue to the town council.”

Of course they did. They’ve broadcast our problems to the entire town. Normal people hold bake sales; my family stages municipal interventions.

“Daniel Mercer, the CEO of the Mercer Development Group is interested in helping. He was asking a lot of thoughtful questions,” Sloane adds.

“I like what he stands for. He’s very outspoken about affordable housing,” I cut in.

“The community wants to help save Juniper House. It’s an important asset no one wants to lose, and you need to let people help. I know you’d rather wrestle one of Lucy’s horses than admit you need help, but this time, we are not letting you back out.”

“They’re quite friendly,” Lucy mutters under her breath.

A wave of affection for my meddling family washes over me.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DEEP FAULT

Ethan

Claire is consumed by the fundraiser, leaving me with more free time—and what I convince myself is the perfect excuse to help with the play.

The auditorium is loud tonight, and glitter coats the floor in uneven drifts. There are paint-smeared paper cups crowding every flat surface, and at least three arguments about scissors happening simultaneously. The backstage hallway smells of sawdust, drying paint, and the faint sweetness of the aging velvet curtains—a combination that somehow means rehearsal has begun.

Brooke is in jean shorts and a simple tank top, her hair pulled back. I’ve only seen her in professional teaching attire; this casual version feels both unexpected and distracting.

“Again, from the top,” she calls, and a collective groan, bounces off the high ceilings. “Excellent enthusiasm, everyone.” The groaning intensifies. Unperturbed, she nods. “That’s the spirit.”

I can’t help but smile. The kids adore her, and if I’m honest, I do as well. She somehow maintains authority while letting them be themselves—a balancing act I’m not sure I could pull off.

I’m holding a heavy part of a castle wall while two eighth graders, their voices rising in pitched argument, debate whether a dragon could fit through the castle gate. Twenty years as an architect, and I’m mediating a debate on dragon-to-gate size ratios. It’s easily the strangest meeting I’ve had all year.

“OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!”

Ellie delivers the line with a theatrical flourish. Several students and parents jump, startled by the sudden shout. She beams a triumphant smile.

It feels like yesterday she was dressing her stuffed animals in doll clothes and insisting they attend tea parties in the sun-drenched backyard. Now she’s standing on a stage, commanding an audience.

Without thinking, I pull out my phone and snap a quick picture of her—center stage in a bejeweled crown, threatening the execution of half her cast mates—to send to Claire.

I wish you could see this in person. [picture]

A few minutes pass with no response, so I slip my phone back into my pocket.

The rehearsal continues, and at one point, the Mad Hatter loses his hat not once, but twice, sending it rolling across the worn stage floor. Someone accidentally backs into part of Wonderland. A painted tree falls over. Ellie, in all her Queen of Hearts glory starts another fictional war.

Brooke somehow keeps everything moving. Watching her reminds me of Claire at Juniper House, both of them managing chaos with an invisible strength.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Claire: She looks so much like you.