Page 76 of Faultlines

I finish getting ready for work knowing I need to talk this through. The only two people I trust enough to discuss this with are also the two most likely to blow this way out of proportion. At least one of them is anyway.

Even knowing that, I open our group text and type a brief message asking Lucy and Sloane to meet me for coffee at Half Baked and Happy.

Their responses arrive in a rapid succession of notifications.

Sloane: Who are we burying? Or do you need help transporting a llama?

Lucy: I’m in. I love their lavender haze latte.

Neither scenario is unfolding I assure you, and why a llama?

Sloane: Good because I’m wearing suede boots, if I need an alibi I like to be prepared. And why not a llama? They’re so cute and I woke up hoping one of you had stolen one overnight.

Lucy: Ignore her.

An hour later, I push open the door to the café and the little bell above the door jingles. I’m greeted by the familiar smell of rich coffee, and warm fresh pastries. The morning crowd has thinned enough that I have no trouble finding a table near the window.

After placing our orders, I settle into a chair just as the bell above the door jingles. Sloane sweeps into the café, her boots clicking purposefully on the tiled floor. Lucy follows close behind, carrying a gigantic handbag, and wearing the resigned expression of a woman who already knows this conversation is going to take an unwelcome turn.

They catch sight of me and make a beeline for my table, dragging the empty metal chairs across the floor as they sit.

Sloane wastes no time, removing her massive sunglasses, and placing them on the table with a decisive tap. “Why was I summoned before nine o’clock in the morning?”

Lucy waves her off and gives me her undivided attention.

Despite myself, a small smile tugs at my mouth. The familiar rhythm of their bickering lets me breathe a little easier. It’s been this way since we were kids. One of us is in trouble, and the other two show up—not always with advice, but always with strong, unwavering opinions.

“I have a Hot Mess Mocha, a Main Character Energy, a Lavender Haze, a Tropic Like It’s Hot, and a Scone Cold Fox,” the barista calls out.

“See? Even your breakfast thinks you make questionable decisions,” Lucy says looking at Sloane.

Sloane sticks her tongue out and heads to the counter to grab our order.

My smile fades as I remember why I asked them to meet me here. I wrap both hands around my coffee cup, take a deep breath and tell them everything. When I finish, I pull out the folded receipt placing it in the center of the table. Both women look down at it before lifting their eyes back to mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SEISMIC GAP

Ethan

I’ve been staring at the same page for twenty minutes when a familiar rap sounds against my office door. Reid steps inside, carrying two pastry bags. He tosses one onto my desk before taking his usual seat.

“Morning.” My voice is flat.

“Morning to you too.”

Under normal circumstances, we’d exchange a few sarcastic comments before diving into the day’s crisis. After a few minutes of meaningless conversation he asks, “How was Seattle?” The question sounds innocent enough, but his tone puts me on edge.

“Fine.”

One of his eyebrow rises.

“It was a conference, so the usual. You know what they’re like.”

“Did you enjoy the keynote? The valedictorian of my graduating class, Kenneth Burnham, gave the speech. I think the title was ‘Architecture in a Changing Climate.’ Or am I remembering that wrong?”

“Absolutely. Burnham’s always been a powerful speaker. I thought his point about balancing sustainability with affordability was especially relevant.”