Page 89 of Faultlines

The smile vanishes, leaving his expression guarded again.

“We’re just getting dinner and staying out later than we should. Lucy is going to drive us, so I’ll just crash at the ranch.”

“You could use a night out.”

The comment is supportive, but it somehow makes me sad. A year ago, he would have asked about our plans.

I force a lightness into my voice. “Also, Dad’s picking Ellie up after rehearsal. He offered to take her overnight. Apparently, he promised her homemade waffles with whipped cream.”

“She’s not going to turn that down.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I’m sure you girls will enjoy a night of debauchery.”

“You should reach out to Jensen or Reid. Grab drinks after work.” He doesn’t seem to notice my lack of casualness or the slight tremor in my voice.

“Nah, I need to work on the set. We’re getting close to opening night.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

FAULT MAPPING

Claire

I lean toward the bathroom mirror and swipe a fingertip beneath my right eye. No smudges. I step back and study my reflection, wondering for the third time if mascara is overkill for sneaking into a middle school after hours.

Ridiculous.

I smooth the front of my navy blouse, tug unnecessarily at the hem, then glance down at my fitted jeans and ankle boots. Practical. Comfortable. I won’t need to change after dinner.

The doorbell rings. I draw a slow breath and head downstairs. When I pull open the front door, all I can do is stare. Lucy stands on my porch looking perfectly normal. Beside her, Sloane appears to have wandered straight off the set of a low-budget detective movie.

“Oh… my.”

Sloane curtsies. “Thank you.”

“No. no. no.” I shake my head. “What are you wearing?”

A weary sigh escapes Lucy’s lips. “I asked the same question.”

Sloane smooths the front of her black trench coat, an absurd choice for a mild summer evening. It falls to her knees, giving her the unmistakable air of someone who expects to exchange classified information in a dimly lit parking garage.

“It’s called blending in,” she singsongs.

“You’re wearing sunglasses.”

“It’s still light outside.”

“It’s almost seven o’clock.”

“Exactly.”

I stare at her. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant buzz of cicadas. She stares right back, completely serious.

Lucy sighs in profound resignation. “You haven’t even seen the rest.”

A terrible feeling settles in my stomach. “The rest?”