Page 4 of Faultlines

Every girl who walks through these doors has already learned things no one should have to know. I can’t erase their past, just as I can’t erase what happened to my family. But I can ensure they have a safe place to land.

CHAPTER TWO

HIDDEN FAULT

Ethan

A stack of files topples off the desk, knocking my old sketchbook to the floor. Charcoal-smudged drawings scatter across the carpet. I kneel to gather the pages. Claire on the porch of our first apartment, squinting into the sun. Claire on the college quad, a book open across her knees. I’d forgotten I used to draw her without asking, the way you hum a song without meaning to. I can’t remember the last time I did that.

“Mr. Bennett?”

I shove the sketchbook into my desk drawer and turn. Hattie stands in the doorway, purse already on her shoulder.

“Your last appointment canceled. I’m leaving early—don’t forget Ellie’s ceremony.”

“Right. Thanks.”

She’s gone before I can say more.

I check my phone, half-expecting a text from Claire but there’s nothing. Lately, Juniper House gets the best of her, and we get whatever’s left. Even when she’s home, her mind is miles away.

Twenty years of building Bennett & Cross Architecture, and now that the firm can thrive without me, all I want is a family dinner without someone checking emails. It feels like we’re managing two separate lives under the same roof.

I stand, catching sight of the photo on my desk—Claire and me at her cousin’s wedding, six years ago. I’m whispering something in her ear, and she’s laughing, her entire face given over to it. I linger for a second, trying to remember what I said to make her laugh.

I grab my keys and head for the door, the unasked question following me: when did we stop trying to make each other laugh?

I pull into the parking lot at Ellie’s middle school. As I search for Claire’s car, I notice its absence. I look at my phone, expecting a text explaining she’s running late. Instead, the screen is blank. No missed calls or messages, so I text her.

Are you on your way? I just arrived at the school. I’ll grab us a seat.

I kill some time in the lobby, chatting with Jennifer Starling—Mona’s mom, before I make my way into the auditorium.

As I settle into a seat near the front, still nothing from Claire. It doesn’t even look like she’s read the message I sent earlier. Ten minutes later, the ceremony begins, and she still hasn’t arrived.

After ninety minutes of speeches and awards, I make my way to the center aisle with the rest of the parents. Ellie secured first place in the school’s science fair, a project that received more than a little help from her grandfather, Peter. He’s a retired science teacher who seemed more invested in the competition than she was.

Thirteen years of fatherhood have taught me to read Ellie. When she stepped onto the stage, her eyes scanned the audience. Upon finding me, her gaze flickered to the empty seat beside me. Her smile faltered for only a fraction of a second before she recovered, turning back to the principal.

“Excellent job, Ellie-bean,” I tell her when she finds me at the back of the auditorium.

She groans, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Dad, stop.”

I sling an arm around her shoulders and pull her into a quick side hug. “You’ll always be Ellie-bean.”

“You’re so embarrassing.”

“Occupational hazard of being a dad.”

Before I can respond, her face lights up. “Oh! Dad, come meet Ms. Whitmore,” she says, grabbing my wrist and tugging me toward the auditorium doors.

“Ellie, I know how to walk.”

“Clearly not fast enough.”

I laugh, allowing her to pull me through the crowd. As we step through the double doors, we stop beside a woman surrounded by a cluster of parents. She’s petite, with long blonde hair falling over one shoulder, and a laugh that cuts through the lobby chatter. When she turns toward us, her smile is open and bright.

“Hi, Ms. Whitmore.”