5. Fault Creep
CHAPTER FIVE
FAULT CREEP
Ethan
Monday mornings at Bennett & Cross Architecture are usually my favorite. The office is peaceful, the coffee is fresh. The week still feels manageable—at least for the first twenty minutes.
Instead of reviewing project schedules, I’m thinking about the weekend. Lucy and Sloane arrived at our house the way a demolition crew arrives on a job site—loud, purposeful, and leaving no surface undisturbed—fueled by caffeine and pastries.
Then Sunday happened.
Sunday started with the shriek of Claire’s work phone at 10:12 a.m. By 10:20, she was a blur of motion, disappearing out the door for some ‘emergency.’ I’ve stopped asking for details.
All I know is she stumbled back in after eight, and sat down without saying a word.
She passed out on the couch before the movie we started concluded.
A knock sounds at my door. “Come in.”
Reid strolls in, carrying a designer coffee. I don’t know what he has against the office coffee pot. He drops into the chair across from my desk. “You look thoughtful.”
“You look unemployed,” I say. Reid Cross is one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever met—the architect who can visualize a skyscraper from a napkin sketch, who notices when a beam is off by half an inch from across a construction site.
Yet he dresses like he’s still pulling all-nighters in a college dorm. His precision stops at his wardrobe.
He takes a sip of his coffee. “Family time at the ranch looked fun.”
“Are you stalking social media again?”
“I gather information.”
“You’re forty-seven. A bit old for that, don’t you think?”
“I’m a modern business executive. I have to keep up with the youth,” he says with a laugh.
A few minutes later, the office phone rings, and I notice it’s Ellie’s school. “This is Ethan Bennett.”
“Mr. Bennett, this is Karen from Juniper Ridge Middle School.”
“Hi, Karen.”
“We weren’t able to reach your wife.”
Of course, they can’t reach Claire. She’s three meetings and two crises deep into her morning. I should have them update Ellie’s primary contact to me and save everyone the trouble.
“What’s going on?”
Karen pauses. “We need you or Mrs. Bennett present to discuss an incident involving Ellie.”
“What kind of incident?”
“There was an altercation with another student.”
Something tightens behind my sternum. “An altercation?”
“She was involved in an argument with another student that got physical,” she says.
Across the desk, I notice Reid sit forward.
“What happened?”
“We’d prefer to discuss the details in person.”
Wonderful. Just wonderful. “When?”
“We would like you to come in as soon as you can.” I glance at my calendar, then at Reid.
“Go,” he mouths.
I put my hand over the receiver. “You haven’t even heard the situation.”
“Your kid comes first.”
I nod. “I’ll be there in about 30 minutes,” I tell Karen.
Thirty minutes later, I walk through the front doors of Juniper Ridge Middle School. This feels strange. Ellie has never been in trouble badly enough to require us to come to the school. The receptionist points me toward a conference room.
“Come in,” I hear once I tap on the door.
When I open the door, a woman looks up from a file folder. For a second, I think I walked into the wrong room.
She stands, and I recognize her as the new teacher from last week.
I was struck by her then, but the room’s stark fluorescent lighting somehow works for her, carving out the angles of her face.
As she rounds the desk, the red of her blouse is so vibrant it makes the beige walls recede.
She’s taller than I remember, and the click of her heels on the linoleum floor announces each step.
“Mr. Bennett?”
“Ethan, please,” I remind her. “Ellie’s been talking about you nonstop since we met last week.”
She smiles at my statement. “I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.”
“Probably wise,” I reply, returning her smile.
I relax as I pull out a chair. The concern in her eyes when she says Ellie’s name seems genuine, and the easy way she gestures for me to sit puts me at ease.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Ethan.”
“Of course.” I glance around the room. “No, Claire?”
Her expression softens. “We tried reaching her.”
I nod. “She’s probably caught up with something important at work and hasn’t checked her phone.”
“That’s what Ellie said.”
A subtle discomfort washes over me. I remind myself that teachers often observe more than parents realize. She opens the folder in front of her. “First, Ellie isn’t in serious trouble,” she begins.
I exhale. “Okay.”
“But there was a physical altercation this morning between Ellie and another student.”
Now I’m confused. “What happened?”
“The other student made a comment about Mrs. Bennett and Ellie.”
“What kind of comment?”
She pauses. “Apparently, another student told Ellie that if Claire cared about her, she’d come to her events once in a while.”
I want to look away and lean closer at the same time. Brooke watches my reaction.
“The student, not very observant, likely heard Ellie tell Mona about her mom’s frequent absence. Anyway, Ellie and the student argued, and things escalated from there.”
Despite the situation, a tiny smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“You shouldn’t look so proud,” she tells me while her lips twitch.
I smirk. “I’m trying not to.”
She smiles as she touches the top of Ellie’s file. “Unfortunately, there are consequences.”
I already know I won’t like whatever comes next. “What kind of consequence?”
“A three-day suspension.”
“Three days?”
She nods. “The district has a zero-tolerance policy regarding physical altercations.”
“Even though the other kid was the one who started it?”
“Despite the other kid being the instigator,” she confirms with a nod.
Ellie is going to lose her mind. And truly? I’m not thrilled either.
Brooke softens her voice. “For what it’s worth, Ethan, every teacher involved advocated for a lighter punishment.”
“That’s good,” I nod.
“Absolutely. I wasn’t joking when I said Ellie is one of my favorite students. She’s bright and her grades are excellent. She generally has a warm rapport with everyone.”
I feel an immediate rush of relief. “She’s done nothing like this before,” I say, more to myself.
“Exactly. That’s one reason everyone was so shocked.”
“Claire is going to blame herself for how busy she’s been lately.”
Something flickers across her face—concern, understanding, or maybe both.
“Speaking of Ellie—” and I predict her next words. “The summer drama program.” Her grin confirms it. “I hear you’re volunteering.” She states it as a fact, not a question.
I run my hands through my hair. “News travels fast.”
“We’re a school. Gossip is our primary source of renewable energy.”
That earns a genuine laugh. She has a direct sense of humor that makes conversation feel effortless. There’s no hidden meaning, no history to navigate. It’s just... easy. And I realize how long it’s been since anything felt easy.
“I agreed to help. Claire is usually the one involved in school activities. But she’s currently swamped with work issues.”
“I’m thrilled you agreed to volunteer your time.”
“Minimally,” I reply.
Her smile widens. “Define minimally?”
“An afternoon here and there.”
Brooke laughs. “That’s adorable.”
I have a feeling I’m already looking for a reason to say yes. “I’m not sure if you’re teasing me.”
“Oh, I never joke about theater.” She slides a calendar across the table, her finger tapping a series of dates. “Set construction here, dress rehearsal here, and of course, the performances.” Her smile is bright and unwavering. I realize she’s exceptional at this—dangerously good.
“Wait, when did I agree to help build sets?”
“You haven’t, officially.”
“Good,” I exhale.
“Yet,” she smirks.
I raise my eyebrows. “That word concerns me.”
“You’re an architect,” she reminds me with a laugh.
“That doesn’t mean—”
“You literally design buildings for a living.”
“Buildings are not theatrical castles,” I say, scanning the list she put in front of me.
“They’re surprisingly similar.”
“They’re nothing alike.”
“Practically connected.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It would mean a lot to Ellie. And I promise I’m fun to hang out with.” She tilts her head. “Unless you’re one of those people who have forgotten how.” She knows exactly which buttons to push.
Catching the twinkle in her eyes, I know she’s won. I sigh.
“I think I dislike you.” I smirk.
“Most parents do initially,” she says.
By the time she’s done, I’ve somehow agreed to not just build sets. I’ve also agreed to consult on stage design and be on hand for ‘technical emergencies.’ She’d pointed to a line item for ‘parent volunteer lead’ and said, ‘Ellie would be so proud,’ and I just... nodded.
It’s impossible to say no to her, but if I’m honest, I don’t want to. There’s something almost embarrassing about how much I want to do it again when I make her smile.
She looks up at me as she gathers her papers. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For being easily manipulated?”
“For showing up. Ellie is an incredibly lucky girl to have you.” Then she hesitates. “Actually—if we’re coordinating schedules, it might be easier if we exchange phone numbers and emails.”
This is the sort of thing parents and teachers do every day, I tell myself. A strange sense of crossing a line flickers through me, a feeling I can’t quite name.
“There,” she says as she hands my phone back. “If anything changes with the program, I’ll let you know. And if you remember you hate children and theater, it’s too late.”
That gets a laugh out of me. “Good to know.”
A knock interrupts us, and the counselor appears. “Ellie’s ready.”
I stand. “Thanks for your help.”
“She’s a wonderful kid, Ethan.”
“I know.”
Ten minutes later, after a silent walk through the school hallways, Ellie is in the passenger seat of my truck. Her arms are crossed, her expression miserable. I drive three blocks in silence before pulling into the parking lot of Bennett & Cross.
Her brows pinch. “Why are we here?”
“Because my workday isn’t over.”
“Well, why do I have to come here?”
“You’re suspended.”
“Temporary details,” she mumbles, though I can tell the whole ordeal bothers her.
I laugh despite myself, and we head upstairs. Everyone in the office notices our arrival. Reid gets up from his desk as we walk past and follows.
“Hi, delinquent,” he says while ruffling her hair.
She sticks her tongue out at him while trying to duck out of reach. “Hi, Uncle Reid.”
“You can use the corner table in my office,” I tell her, attempting a stern tone. I gesture toward the small table and four chairs opposite my desk. “You can do your schoolwork there.”
She tips her head toward the ceiling before dropping her backpack onto a chair as Reid gives us some privacy. At first, we both pretend to work. Eventually, I set down my pen. “Talk to me, Ellie-bean.”
She stares at her laptop screen for a few seconds before replying, “Nothing to talk about.”
“Ellie, please.”
Silence. Then, finally— “She deserved it.”
I should correct her, but I fight a smile. Not because she shoved someone, but because I recognize that fierce loyalty. Claire would have done the same thing at thirteen, or worse. I rub both hands down my face. “That’s not helping your case.”
“She was being a bitch.”
“Watch your language. What did she say, exactly?”
Her jaw tightens. “She said… Mom must not care about me if she never shows up to anything.” Her voice catches on the last word, drops almost to nothing. “So, I shoved her.”
A single sniffle escapes. She unlocks her phone, focusing on the screen instead of looking at me.
“You know none of what that kid said about your mom is true.”
“I know.”
But her voice lacks certainty, and that scares me more than the suspension. “Do you?”
“I know she loves me,” she whispers.
The pause before her answer lands somewhere in my chest. “But?” I push.
Her eyes well up. “I just wish she were around more, and I wish she would show up when she says she will.” I move to the chair beside her and squeeze her shoulder.
“Your mom would burn the entire world down for you.”
She doesn’t look up from her phone. Her thumb keeps scrolling, some endless feed of other people’s lives. “Yeah,” she says, flat. “Okay.”
The word lands between us, small and heavy. She’s heard me say this before, or something like it. Heard Claire say it too, in the rushed phone calls, the promises to make it up to her, the I’m sorry, work was crazy texts. All those words that mean everything and nothing when you’re thirteen.
I want to tell her that I know how it looks. That I see the empty chair at her ceremony, the way she scanned the crowd for her mother’s face and found only me. But I’m standing here defending Claire again, and I’m not even sure if I’m trying to convince Ellie or myself.
“She would,” I assure her.
She nods, wiping away a tear.
“And for the record?” She looks at me. “The next time someone insults your mother—”
A tiny smile appears. “Yeah?”
“Use only words,” I tell her with a wink.