Page 18 of Faultlines

I stand. “Thanks for your help.”

“She’s a wonderful kid, Ethan.”

“I know.”

Ten minutes later, after a silent walk through the school hallways, Ellie is in the passenger seat of my truck. Her arms are crossed, her expression miserable. I drive three blocks in silence before pulling into the parking lot of Bennett & Cross.

Her brows pinch. “Why are we here?”

“Because my workday isn’t over.”

“Well, why do I have to come here?”

“You’re suspended.”

“Temporary details,” she mumbles, though I can tell the whole ordeal bothers her.

I laugh despite myself, and we head upstairs. Everyone in the office notices our arrival. Reid gets up from his desk as we walk past and follows.

“Hi, delinquent,” he says while ruffling her hair.

She sticks her tongue out at him while trying to duck out of reach. “Hi, Uncle Reid.”

“You can use the corner table in my office,” I tell her, attempting a stern tone. I gesture toward the small table and four chairs opposite my desk. “You can do your schoolwork there.”

She tips her head toward the ceiling before dropping her backpack onto a chair as Reid gives us some privacy. At first, we both pretend to work. Eventually, I set down my pen. “Talk to me, Ellie-bean.”

She stares at her laptop screen for a few seconds before replying, “Nothing to talk about.”

“Ellie, please.”

Silence. Then, finally— “She deserved it.”

I should correct her, but I fight a smile. Not because she shoved someone, but because I recognize that fierce loyalty. Claire would have done the same thing at thirteen, or worse. I rub both hands down my face. “That’s not helping your case.”

“She was being a bitch.”

“Watch your language. What did she say, exactly?”

Her jaw tightens. “She said… Mom must not care about me if she never shows up to anything.” Her voice catches on the last word, drops almost to nothing. “So, I shoved her.”

A single sniffle escapes. She unlocks her phone, focusing on the screen instead of looking at me.

“You know none of what that kid said about your mom is true.”

“I know.”

But her voice lacks certainty, and that scares me more than the suspension. “Do you?”

“I know she loves me,” she whispers.

The pause before her answer lands somewhere in my chest. “But?” I push.

Her eyes well up. “I just wish she were around more, and I wish she would show up when she says she will.” I move to the chair beside her and squeeze her shoulder.

“Your mom would burn the entire world down for you.”

She doesn’t look up from her phone. Her thumb keeps scrolling, some endless feed of other people’s lives. “Yeah,” she says, flat. “Okay.”