Page 34 of Faultlines

During the last break of the evening, I make my way over to Brooke. “Did you do this every summer at your last school?”

She laughs. “Yes. Every June, I ask myself why I do this, and every August I swear I’ll never do it again.”

“Wait, how old are you actually? It couldn’t have been that many summers.”

“I’m 26.”

She glances around the auditorium. “My mom taught middle school English for thirty years. She thought I was crazy for adding theater to the mix.”

“Thirty years? That’s brave.”

“That’s what I used to tell her. But she loved it. I guess it just felt natural for me to follow her lead—minus the stage productions.”

Ellie bounds over to me, still wearing the oversized crown, its fake jewels glinting under the stage lights. “Dad.”

I brace myself. That tone leads nowhere inexpensive. “Yes?”

“We need a guillotine.”

“A what?”

“Just a fake one.”

“That distinction feels important.”

“It is.” She nods seriously, the heavy bedazzled crown shifting on her head. “The current design lacks dramatic impact.”

I rub my forehead. “Of course it does.”

Brooke pipes up. “To be fair, she’s not wrong.”

I look between them, eyes narrowed. “Have you two been scheming?”

“Maybe.”

“Absolutely,” Ellie answers, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

At least one of them is honest.

Reid walks into my office a few mornings later and tosses his suit jacket across a chair. “You look like you woke up shitting rainbows.”

“Do not.”

“You do.”

I glance down at my new screensaver, a picture of Ellie from our last rehearsal. He notices and clicks his tongue.

“Before you start, it’s a picture of Ellie,” I say.

“Uh huh.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I turn away before my face can betray me.

He drags a hand over his face before settling both hands on his hips. “I’m worried about you.”

I let out a long breath. “Now this I have to hear.”

“Because every story you tell me lately seems to start with Claire, but somehow ends up being about Brooke.”