Page 113 of Faultlines

My heart tightens. “Ellie is trying to be brave.”

“That sounds like her.”

“It is.”

She squeezes my arm. “If you need help, call me. Anything. Rides, sleepovers, taking them for ice cream, keeping them busy—whatever you need.”

Emotion catches in my throat. “That’s very generous.”

She smiles. “It’s not generosity. It’s what moms do.” Then, with an even wider grin, she continues, “And for the record, you’re handling this much better than I would. My husband knows I’d already be digging a hole somewhere. So, when you figure out what you need, call me first.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

BENEATH THE RUBBLE

Ethan

My key clicks as I unlock the theater door.

The familiar scent of sawdust and fresh paint greets me as I step inside. I set my toolbox on the floor and look toward the stage.

Wonderland is finally taking shape.

The plywood walls we’ve been cutting for weeks now stand painted in impossible colors. Oversized mushrooms crowd one corner, the crooked garden gate is finally upright, and the Queen of Hearts’ court no longer looks like a pile of lumber waiting to happen.

I’m kneeling beside two sheets of plywood, lining up the edges, when the theater doors creak open behind me. I glance over my shoulder to find Reid carrying a six-pack of beer.

“It’s not even nine,” I say, gesturing to the beer.

He lifts it, the bottles clinking. “Emotional support.”

“Beer isn’t emotional support.”

“It is today.”

Jensen appears behind him, carrying a drill and a saw. “What are we building?” he asks, surveying the stage and stifling a yawn.

“We’re finishing Wonderland.”

He studies the oversized mushrooms, the painted scenery, and the platforms, his brow furrowed. “It looks like a fever dream. We can do better.”

“I was thinking abandoned carnival,” Reid adds, setting down his beer.

“Thanks, guys.” My voice is dry.

“We’re here for you.” Jensen glances at my face. “That shiner I gave you looks better.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You deserved it and worse.”

“I don’t disagree with you.”

Their serious expressions last three seconds before we fall into a peaceful rhythm of shared work. We measure lumber, adjust supports, secure scenery, and debate structural integrity.

Jensen, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, tells us about a patient who super-glued his fingers together. Reid complains about a contractor’s impossible measurements, pantomiming the crinkling of blueprints in his frustrated grip. I tell them about a client who tried to convince me that putting a window directly across from a toilet was a smart design.

The stage gradually comes together. Platforms become castle walls. We secure the Wonderland flowers, vibrant even under the harsh work lights. Painted scenery, depicting a fantastical forest, rises along the back of the stage.