Page 48 of Faultlines

My phone rattles against the wooden nightstand.

Brooke: Made it home. Goodnight.

Without thinking, I type a reply. The response takes only seconds to send, and afterward, I lie there, the phone heavy in my hand, staring at the screen.

Goodnight

Then, for reasons I don’t want to examine too closely, I delete the entire conversation.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

LIQUEFACTION

Claire

Ethan’s spending more and more time at the theater. Most nights, I’m already asleep by the time he comes home.

It’s a strange reversal. Just a few months ago, I was the one arriving home late, buried in work while he waited for me.

His texts become almost routine.

Running late.

Grabbing dinner with the cast.

Don’t wait up.

Before I know it, it’s the week of the fundraiser, and every spare minute is swallowed by last-minute preparations.

One afternoon, I’m directing the event company’s crew where to set up the banquet tents when I spot Lucy outside the barn, her phone pressed to her ear. The look on her face tells me something has already gone wrong. “What’s the crisis?” I ask.

“The florist is delivering Saturday morning instead of Friday night.”

“That’s the crisis?”

“Claire, I have centerpieces planned around those flowers.”

I wrap an arm around her shoulders as we walk toward the barn. “You realize most people wouldn’t consider that a crisis.”

“Most people aren’t trying to host a fundraiser for hundreds of people.”

“It will be okay. There will still be plenty of time to get them in place before the gala.”

Inside the barn, Uncle Jeremy and my dad hang sponsor banners from the rafters. The space has changed greatly from the week before. I can almost picture what the venue will look like once the reception tents are assembled—white tablecloths draped over every table, and twinkle lights strung overhead.

I step outside to call Ethan, but it goes straight to voicemail, so I text him.

Hey, did you get held up at the office?

I get side-tracked sorting through paperwork Sloane left for me, and an hour passes before I glance at my phone. My text to Ethan is still unread, so I call Reid.

“Hey, Claire.”

“Hey, Reid. Has Ethan left the office yet? I assume since he’s not responding to my messages, he’s with a client.”

Silence.

“Reid?”