Page 41 of Faultlines

Claire smiles. “Absolutely.”

An hour later, the house is silent save for the distant hum of the refrigerator. I find Ellie asleep on the couch, a script spread open in her lap. Her breathing is soft and even. Claire sits next to her, a blanket draped over Ellie’s slight form, looking through paperwork, the rustle of pages the only sound.

“How did it go?” I ask, the words a whisper.

“Wonderful, she’s very passionate. I’m delighted to see it all come together?”

“Brooke seems to know what she’s doing. It’s fascinating to watch her with the kids.”

“She seems like a wonderful addition to the faculty, and I know Ellie and Mona adore her. I meant to tell you she contacted me, asking if I need any additional volunteers for the fundraiser.”

“That sounds like her. She doesn’t know anyone in the area, so that will be a good way for her to meet people.”

“You seem to have gotten close to her.”

“We’re friends. I’m around her every evening. You should make an effort with her.” The words feel right, a way to fold this new part of my life into the old. “I think you two would get along.”

“We need to talk about this past weekend,” she says, her voice low so as not to wake Ellie.

“I know. Ignoring your texts and avoiding you was—awful of me. I’m sorry.” The apology feels hollow even as I say it.

“I’m sorry, too. About the luncheon. I’ll do better for Ellie.” We leave it there. It feels less like a resolution and more like a pause.

I carry Ellie to bed, her small body warm and pliant against me. The house settles as Claire and I nestle under the duvet, its weight a shared solace.

The morning sun streams through my office window as I browse through my sketchbook when my phone vibrates.

Claire: So sorry, but I’ll be late tonight. Grant proposal crisis. Marisol and I have to prep for a mandatory meeting first thing Monday. Don’t worry about dinner, we’ll order something.

No worries, there’s a chance rehearsal will run late.

Claire: I’ll make it up to you. Don’t forget that Jennifer Starling is taking Ellie straight from rehearsal tonight for a sleepover with Mona.

I respond with a thumbs up eager to get back to browsing through my sketches. For a while now, I’ve had the desire to sketch again. I pick up a pencil and start drawing.

By noon, the sketchbook is nearly full. A few drawings of Ellie on stage, but then there’s Brooke. A quick drawing of her wrangling the cast. A more detailed sketch of her laughing at the bistro, the way her nose crinkled. I linger on that one, shading the curve of her smile.

I’m so engrossed in drawing that I don’t notice Reid until he sets something down on the corner of my desk and I jerk back in my chair. He’s standing in front of my desk with a curious smile. “Sandwiches?”

“Please!”

We sit in our usual spot at the Dandelion Café, surrounded by the lunchtime rush, and the familiar smell of toasted bread and melted cheese. He takes a bite of his sandwich and with his mouth still full says, “You look happy today. I haven’t seen you sketching in a long time.”

“I feel inspired lately.”

“Good. I’m amped up to see what your inspiration looks like on paper.”

“Yeah—they’re just rough drafts. Nothing to show yet,” I stammer.

He nods. “I’ve been meaning to ask you how the fundraiser is going.”

“Actually, I think it’s going smoother than Claire expected, and I can tell that all the extra help she’s receiving is a relief.”

“That’s good.”

“It is,” I reply, picking up my iced tea, the condensation cool against my fingers. “Lucy somehow convinced half the county to donate or volunteer. Even Jensen’s friend from nursing school agreed to help.”

“I’ve heard a bit about her.”