Page 3 of Faultlines

The confident smile he wore around everyone else was gone, replaced by genuine worry that I might say no. And somehow, that vulnerability was precisely what made me say, “I’d like that.”

His face went so slack with relief it was almost comical. He nodded once, twice, then turned and started walking away.

“Ethan?” He spun around.

“You forgot to ask what time I get off Friday night, and maybe my phone number would help?”

A blush spread across his face. “Right, details. Definitely important.”

Envisioning the memory of his carefree smile makes me realize how long it’s been since I’ve seen it in person.

During our first Thanksgiving together, I brought him to Juniper Ridge since his parents were living in Germany. My family fell in love with him, just as I had.

When I told him I intended to settle in Juniper Ridge, Ethan said he would follow me anywhere, provided we stayed in one place. His parents’ years of constant moving fueled his desire to raise children in a stable environment. His father, a retired General, and his mother, a retired nurse, both live in Florida now.

When we graduated from college, he was ready for permanence in a way I didn’t understand then. Juniper Ridge became home for both of us, but for vastly different reasons. He saw roots, while I just saw the small town I’d always known.

It’s the kind of place where everything feels solid, predictable. You can go years without a single tremor, and then one morning, your whole world starts to shake.

The benefit of living in the same town you grew up in—family is never far. Which reminds me, I need to call Lucy, or maybe Sloane. I grab my phone and pull up my contacts, my thumb hovering between the two. Even at thirty-five, Lucy will always be the baby sister. Sloane, our cousin, falls between us in age, but she’s been just as much a sister.

I call Sloane. She answers on the second ring, already mid-sentence “—completely harmless, I swear, but now there are feathers in my—Claire? You there?”

“I’m here.” I press the phone harder against my ear, grounding myself in her chaos.

Growing up, she was our ringleader for troublemaking. Stolen lipsticks, midnight escapes through my bedroom window, the time she convinced us to “borrow” my dad’s truck at sixteen. If someone was attempting something questionable, chances are Sloane was behind it.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice shifts, all mischief gone.

“Nothing. Everything.” I close my eyes, feeling the familiar weight of always having to be the responsible one. The one who held Lucy when she cried for Mom and didn’t understand why she wasn’t coming back. The one who learned to make mac and cheese at twelve because Dad was always working, and grief had hollowed out our kitchen.

“I need to call Lucy too. Can you—would you conference her in?”

“Already on it.”

Three beeps, then Lucy’s breathless hello comes across the line.

“Sorry, sorry, I was—Sloane, why are you calling me at—Claire?”

“Dad’s birthday is two weeks away, and if we don’t make a plan now, we’ll end up ordering pizza again,” I say.

“He’d be happy if we all just show up,” Lucy replies.

Sloane scoffs, “Speak for yourself. Your dad deserves brisket, bourbon, and someone else paying the bill.”

“How does the sixteenth work for everyone?” Lucy asks.

I glance at my calendar. “Works for us.”

“My parents would be happy to host at the Vineyard. I’ll call them now,” Sloane says, and then I hear a dial tone.

I guess our conversation is over.

I glance toward the window, where Aunt Sarah’s vineyard stretches across the hills. Sinclair Vineyards, one of the oldest in the region. She and Uncle Jeremy took us in when Dad couldn’t manage. They fed us and loved us, never once made us feel like burdens.

Movement in the courtyard catches my eye. A few girls are bent over their homework before dinner, and one girl is engrossed in a book.

Heidi’s usual spot is empty. This afternoon, she came home from school with blood trickling down her cheek, a bruise swelling beneath her eye, and pain etched across her face. She insisted she’d walked into an open cabinet in the chemistry lab. The explanation was unconvincing. A few months ago, a self-harm incident changed the course of her life, bringing her to Juniper House.