3. Strain Accumulation
CHAPTER THREE
STRAIN ACCUMULATION
Claire
An image of Ellie on stage flickers behind my eyes. Each throb in my temples drags the guilt back up. Inside, I abandon my shoes at the door. My hand is heavy on the banister as I take the stairs one at a time.
I pause at Ellie’s open door. The glow of her bedside lamp illuminates her sleeping form. She’s on her back with her arms flung out, taking up every inch of the mattress. I pull her covers over her feet before heading to my bedroom.
Ethan is lying on his side when I slip beneath the covers.
“Hey,” he says, his voice thick with sleep.
“Hey.”
“Did you get to eat dinner?”
“I grabbed something there.”
He rolls onto his back. “I met Ms. Whitmore tonight.”
“The drama teacher?” I ask, stretching out.
“The one and only. She’s…very enthusiastic.”
I close my eyes, trying not to relive the day’s events. “I met her. She seems full of energy. And so young.”
“Ellie wants to sign up for the summer drama program.”
“Of course, it’s all she’s been talking about. Please tell me Ms. Whitmore’s not recruiting volunteers already?”
He chuckles. “Funny you should mention that.”
I crack one eye open. “Oh, no.”
“And Ellie told Ms. Whitmore you’d make an amazing volunteer.”
I stare at the ceiling, trying not to cry at the thought of adding one more thing to my plate. “Little traitor.”
“That’s what I said.”
“You did not.”
“No, I told Ms. Whitmore you work seventy hours a week, and your last day off was sometime during the Clinton administration.” He lets out a short laugh.
I offer a soft smile. “It feels like that some days.”
“Ellie was disappointed tonight.” All trace of humor gone from his voice.
“You don’t have to say it. I know.”
He sighs. “It’s just…it’s important to her, Claire. This program.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“This can’t keep going the way it’s going, Claire.”
“Tell that to everyone else.”
He starts to turn away, then stops. His jaw tightens, some last reserve of energy pulling him back. “No,” he says, and his voice is rough but clear. “I’m telling you. Right now. We need to—”
“I’m exhausted, Ethan.”
“I know.” He drags a hand down his face, but he doesn’t close his eyes.
“That’s the problem. We’re both running on nothing, and we’re still circling around it.
” He sits up, the mattress shifting under his weight.
“What happens when we run out of excuses, Claire? When there’s nothing left to blame and we’re just sitting there looking at each other? ”
I stare at him in the dark. The question hangs between us, too large for the room, for the hour, for whatever strength we have left.
The next morning is a blur of minor disasters. Ellie’s left shoe turns up in the pantry, and Ethan’s tie is knotted all wrong—a fact he seems annoyed I noticed. By the time I make it to the kitchen counter, I’m pouring coffee I already know I won’t have time to finish.
“Mom,” Ellie calls, and I glance up. She’s leaning against the island, fidgeting with her friendship bracelets. “Did Dad tell you about the summer drama program and volunteering?”
I choke. “Morning to you too.”
She grins. “That’s not an answer.”
“I know. I don’t have an answer at the moment.”
“Mom, please.” She draws out the word, her chin tucking down the way it has since she was two.
“Honey, I want to, but I can’t commit right now.”
“Why not?”
“My plate is already overflowing.”
Ethan walks in carrying a piece of half-eaten toast. “Your mother has a point,” he tells her.
“You’re both avoiding the question.”
“We’re being realistic, Ellie,” he says. “There’s a lot to consider.”
She rolls her eyes with such practiced perfection I’m convinced it’s genetic.
“Ellie,” he says, sternly.
“It’s been so long since you’ve helped at my school,” she says.
The kitchen falls silent. Finally, Ethan steps in. “Hey,” his voice gentle. “Your mom wants to be there, and she’ll help if she can.”
“You work too, and you’re always available when I ask,” she replies.
I look away. That says more than anything. She grabs her backpack and heads for the door.
“Love you,” I call out.
Then I hear a muffled, “Love you, too.”
The front door closes behind her. I sip the now-cold coffee in my mug.
Ethan studies me over the rim of his own cup. “You know she doesn’t hate you, right?”
I laugh. “Good. Because I was worried we’d reached that stage already.”
“She just misses you.”
I nod. “I know.”
I barely have time to set my coffee on the desk before my inbox chimes.
8:14 a.m.
I open the email.
By 8:15, I know my day is about to get harder.
I reread the message three times, hoping I’ve misunderstood something. A state budget reduction and temporary funding freeze.
For most, a budget cut is a number on a spreadsheet. For me, it’s therapy sessions for Heidi, a new pair of glasses for Chloe. Physical therapy for Zahara, and the never-ending building repair bills. The needs don’t vanish just because the funding does.
A knock sounds at my office door. “Got a minute?” Marisol, my assistant director, steps in.
One look at my face, and her smile vanishes. “What happened?”
I turn my monitor toward her. She reads the email and swears, a reasonable response, honestly. Everyone in social services eventually learns the same lesson. The need will always persist independent of what funds are available. These girls aren’t statistics or line items in a budget.
The rest of the day is a series of blows.
A conference call with state funders that goes nowhere.
A text that the main washing machine is flooded again.
An email with a roof repair estimate that costs more than our entire quarterly budget for activities.
By five, I’m just staring at the numbers, my hands tapping a frantic rhythm on the desk.
Except for some girls listening to music downstairs, the building falls silent by evening. I rest my palms against my desk and stare at the budget spreadsheet one last time before calling it a day.
Dinner at home feels blessedly normal, at first.
Ethan asks Ellie about school. We laugh over a science fair project that caught fire during judging.
Then Ethan passes the salad bowl. “So,” he says casually, looking at Ellie, “Tell me more about the drama program. Have they decided on a play?”
Her face brightens. “Yes! They picked Alice in Wonderland. Then she turns toward me, and I brace myself for what she’s about to ask.
I take a slow sip of water. “Darling—”
“Parents can rotate their time throughout the summer,” she interrupts.
“Mm.” I nod as if thoughtfully considering the proposal.
“You can do just a few afternoons,” she says, her voice full of hope.
I set my glass down. The request itself isn’t unreasonable. But lately, every commitment feels overwhelming. “I’ll try, sweetie.”
“You won’t.” The certainty in her voice stings.
My fingers find the smooth gold of my mother’s pendant, an automatic gesture. I trace its familiar shape, the cool metal a small anchor in the rising tension.
Across the table, Ethan notices and sets down his fork. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s all take a breath.”
“I’m breathing,” Ellie says, crossing her arms.
“Maybe with a little less attitude.”
“You used to volunteer for all of my school stuff.” The words hang in the air.
“It’s not that I don’t want to, honey.”
“Then say yes.” Her eyes lock onto mine.
I rub my temples, searching for the right words. How do I explain to a thirteen-year-old that I can’t find the floor anymore?
Before I can speak, Ethan says, “I’ll do it.”
Ellie and I both turn to look at him.
“What?” I say. Her own “What?” follows a heartbeat later.
“I’ll volunteer.” He shrugs as if it’s the simplest solution. “I can take time off.”
Ellie’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely,” he smiles. “Your mom has a lot on her plate right now, but I know she’ll be there for the important things. As for the volunteer stuff, I’ve got more flexibility these days.”
Before he can say another word, she launches herself out of her chair and wraps her arms around his neck. He hugs her back, and she beams at him as if he’s just announced a snow day on a Monday.
I make it through brushing my teeth, which feels like an achievement I shouldn’t have to be proud of. I feel as though gravity has increased, and no one bothered to tell me. I climb into bed, wanting to stretch out and turn off my brain.
“You know,” Ethan says as he settles beside me, “I don’t think this is about the drama program. She just wants more of you.”
I stare up at the ceiling, the old ghost of the large family we once planned flickering in the dark. The noisy, chaotic house we used to joke about.
“Claire?”
“I’m listening.”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, and I know you’re right.”
He laughs. “What? Say that again. Wait, let me get my phone set up to record.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I nudge his shoulder.
The mattress shifts as he rolls toward me and runs a finger along my collar bone. My thoughts dissolve before I can finish them, and the soft press of his lips on my forehead is the last thing I register.