Page 40 of Faultlines

Brooke: Okay, I can meet you there at one o’clock.

Anticipation arrives in a rush, pursued by a prickle of guilt. I push both feelings aside and grab my keys.

On the twenty-minute drive to Silver Creek, the rain intensifies, blurring the world outside the windshield. It’s long enough for me to reconsider or to respond to Claire. I do none of those things.

The restaurant sits on a corner near the center of town, tucked between a bookstore and an antique shop. The clatter of cutlery and murmur of voices spill onto the wet sidewalk.

Brooke is already there, standing just inside the doors with sunglasses pushed into her hair, scrolling through her phone. She looks up and smiles when she spots me through the streaked glass. Something in my chest unknots itself. This feeling hits me harder than I expect. It’s been a long time since anyone but Claire made me feel this way.

We find a booth near the back, and the red faux leather squeaks when I sit. The restaurant hums with weekend conversations—normal people doing normal things.

The conversation between us flows effortlessly. We talk about Ellie and the upcoming play, and a disastrous field trip she supervised during her first-year teaching. I laugh more than I have in a while.

Then a server appears beside the table. “What can I get for you two?”

Both of us shift back, the spell broken. I look down at the untouched menu, its laminated surface sticky beneath my fingertips.

After our order is taken, we pick up right where we left off. She tells me about a parent who accidentally locked themselves inside a school bathroom during an overnight trip. Something about the way her eyes crinkle and her nose scrunches when she laughs makes it impossible to look away.

My phone vibrates against the table. Claire’s name flashes on the screen. I flip the phone over, silencing it. It buzzes once more against the cracked linoleum, a muffled tremor, then stops. But I can still feel it there, a hard-edged weight on the table between us. I push it aside with my water glass, as if that could change anything.

After we pay, we step outside into the drizzle. The air carries the scent of damp earth and honeysuckle. Couples with shopping bags, and families pushing strollers move up and down the sidewalks.

My own pulse thumps in my ears. “I should get back,” I say, gesturing toward my truck.

“You should,” she says.

I step closer to her and slide a stray hair behind her ear. She goes very still, and neither of us moves.

“We’re ridiculous,” she says.

“We’re discussing important matters.”

She laughs. “Oh?”

“Community development.”

“That’s what we’re calling it?”

“Sounds professional.”

I can’t get over how effortless standing here with her feels, like a building that finally makes sense of its site.

Then I notice a familiar-looking SUV turn onto the street. My gut clenches—is that Claire’s friend, Jennifer? But the vehicle continues past without slowing, driven by a complete stranger. The relief that washes over me is so intense it makes me feel sick.

She notices my expression. I see it register on her face. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” The lie comes quickly.

We say goodbye and head across the parking lot in different directions. I watch her drive away. Only after her car disappears around the corner do I pull out my phone. An unread message sits on the screen.

Claire: I know you’re upset with me. Can we talk tonight?

I read it twice, and I still don’t respond, and on Sunday I work in my home office all day to avoid her.

Ellie and I return home the following evening to find Claire at the kitchen table. She greets me with a tentative smile. Dinner is filled with Ellie’s voice as she tells Claire about rehearsal, and Mona’s obsession with David, the Mad Hatter.

Ellie seems happier and less hesitant around Claire. “Mom, can you help me run lines later?” I hear Ellie ask.