Page 45 of Faultlines

“I lied to you a few months ago.”

My stomach tightens. “About what?”

“The cut and bruise on my cheek. I didn’t run into an open cabinet door in chemistry lab.”

I stop writing mid-word, my pen pressing into the paper. The ink bleeds through to the intake form beneath, blurring the emergency contact line I’m filling out. I don’t lift the pen. I know that if I move—if I so much as shift in my chair—my face will betray everything. Years of training, of maintaining composure while children described horrors, and still my hands want to shake. I focus on the stain spreading beneath the pen, until I can trust my voice again.

“Okay,” I mumble.

“Jake, my boyfriend—” The word just sits there, blunt and heavy. Boyfriend. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. My stomach pulls tight, like a thread about to snap. She swallows hard before continuing. “He’s a senior at Riverstone High. He plays on the football team. We met when I was at his high school for a track meet.” Riverstone is a few towns over and our high school’s biggest football rival.

Something in me goes cold and sharp at the same time. I want to find this punk who hurt her and make sure he never gets near her again.

She tells me about the first time he got angry and physical, when she was late meeting him after school. “He just got this look—and squeezed my arm.” She traces the memory on her own skin. “After that, I started checking in all the time, just so he wouldn’t get upset.” The story continues like that, each step into the darkness sounding like an act of love.

She finally says, “I thought he loved me,” tears stream down her face. I see past the anger and the self-destructive choices to the core of her: a girl so desperate to be loved she accepted cruelty instead.

I move my chair a little closer. “You deserve so much better. I hope you know that.”

Her shoulders shake. Since I’ve known her, this is the first time she’s let herself cry—in front of me.

“I have to report this, Heidi,” I say.

“You can’t. His dad is a judge. Last summer, half the football team got caught with pills at that lake party—suspended. But not him. His parents ‘donated’ the new stadium that fall. That’s how it works in Riverstone.”

“Don’t worry about that right now. You let me worry about that, and I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

The morning after Heidi confides in me about Jake, I find myself at work long before anyone else arrives.

Detective Hale arrives from the Juniper Ridge Sheriff’s Office to take a statement and speak with Heidi. I call her to my office. When she spots the detective, her shoulders tense.

“You told.” Her voice cracks on the second word.

“I’ve spoken with the people whose job it is to help keep you safe.”

“Heidi—”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

We both look up when the detective clears his throat. “Hi, Heidi. I’m Detective Hale.” He offers a small smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes yet—he’s saving that for when she’s ready to believe it. “I’m just here to listen. Our primary job, as Mrs. Bennett said, is to help keep you safe. Why don’t you tell me what happened, and then we’ll figure out the next steps together.”

The three of us spend the next hour in my office as Heidi speaks, and the detective takes notes for his report. We discuss with her what to do if Jake contacts her or if she sees him. I want her to know she isn’t facing this alone anymore. She reluctantly admits that he’s recently contacted her through multiple social media accounts. Together, we review her privacy settings, block his accounts, and document his messages. When we’re finish, the detective informs us he will be in touch with updates.

I touch base with Detective Hale three times over the next week, and I’m disappointed by the lack of updates. Heidi was correct about his parents. When detectives showed up at the door, his father stepped onto the porch and denied everything like a man reading from a script. Before they could finish their questions, his mother appeared behind him with a business card already in hand—Harrison & Vale, the same firm that has buried three separate Title IX complaints in the last two years. The detectives were informed that any further communication would be handled through counsel, and the door clicked shut with the finality of a vault.

By the time I step out the front doors of Juniper House, the sky has settled into that deep blue that comes just before nightfall. The girls finished dinner nearly an hour ago. Marisol headed home after reminding me—for the third time—that I needed to stop staying so late. I told her I was almost done.

I lied.

I sling my purse over my shoulder and step outside. The parking lot is mostly empty except for my car. Across the street, beneath the dying light, a black pickup truck sits along the curb.

I pause. It isn’t unusual for vehicles to park there. Still...

Something about it makes me look twice. The engine is running. I can’t make out the driver through the windshield. I unlock my car and glance back as I climb inside. The truck hasn’t moved. I shake off the feeling and pull onto the road.

At the first stop sign, I check my rearview mirror.

Headlights.