Page 43 of Faultlines

Brooke: Survived daytime rehearsal, barely. The Queen remains power hungry .

Watch out. You may end up with a revolution on your hands.

The rest of the afternoon disappears beneath a mountain of client calls, and project deadlines. I finally glance at the clock, and it’s already past five. I shut down my computer, grab my keys, and head toward the middle school.

I pull into the parking lot and follow the familiar sound of theatrical shouting. Inside, the Mad Hatter is pleading for his hat back from a giggling Alice, while my daughter, the Queen of Hearts, threatens another uprising.

By eight o’clock, the cast finally breaks for the night. Ellie disappears toward the lobby where Mona and her mother are waiting. “Don’t forget your overnight bag,” I call after her.

She waves without looking back, “I’m not six, Dad.”

“You still need a reminder to pick up your dirty clothes from the bedroom floor,” I say, louder than I intend.

“I am not responsible for those isolated incidents.”

Mona snorts, Ellie glares at her, and Mona’s mother, Jennifer, laughs.

“I promise we’ll get her fed, entertained, and returned in one piece,” she assures me.

Ellie blows me a kiss and glances around the auditorium to see if anyone saw her blatant display of affection.

“It must seem like she’s growing up so fast.” Brooke appears beside me.

I glance over and follow her gaze to the parking lot. “Tell me about it.”

We stand there, watching the empty doorway. The auditorium has finally quieted as she lets out a long exhale. “I’m starving.”

I laugh. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“I didn’t eat any lunch,” she says, glancing at the clock.

“The Hitching Post is walkable, and it’s the best diner around,” I mention without overthinking.

“I’m game if you are.”

I’m about to say that I should get home, but then my stomach rumble’s loudly. “Apparently my body has its own agenda.”

She laughs. “Could be life-threatening. We should get you some food.”

We step out into the warm evening air, and head across the street toward the diner, its neon sign buzzing in the distance.

The clatter of a few stray dishes sound when we enter. A faint, sweet perfume of onions and grease hangs in the air, clinging to the worn booths.

My skin feels a prickle of anticipation.

A few college students fill a booth near the front windows, and an older couple splits a slice of pie at the counter.

Our food arrives, and the conversation drifts from rehearsal to teaching, then to Juniper Ridge itself. “You never told me what brought you here toward the end of the school year.” She looks up from her food, a fork halfway to her mouth.

“To Juniper Ridge?”

I nod. “You seem like someone who had a whole other life before this.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“It’s definitely a compliment.”

She traces a ring of condensation on the table with her finger. “I wasn’t planning on Juniper Ridge. I had my whole life mapped out near Sacramento. College, teaching job, fiancé…” She trails off, her gaze distant. “We were planning the wedding when I found out I couldn’t have kids.” She looks up then, her eyes searching mine for a reaction. “He wanted to be a father more than he wanted to be a husband, it turned out.”