14. Tectonic Shift
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TECTONIC SHIFT
Claire
“Mom, don’t forget about Friday,” Ellie calls over her shoulder. Her voice already fading as she heads toward the front door. Through the closed window, I hear the crunch of tires on gravel as Mona’s mom pulls into the driveway.
I glance up from my laptop. “Friday?”
She sighs. “The parent lunch for the drama club.”
“Oh. Right.”
“You promised.”
“Have a little faith. It’s on my calendar.”
The week barrels past in a haze of meetings and deadlines. By Friday morning, a new email appears at the top of my screen.
To: Claire Bennett
From: Denise Mitchell
Subject: Board Review Meeting
Claire,
Following Heidi’s recent hospitalization, several members of the Board of Directors would like to meet with you next Wednesday to discuss the incident, our current safety protocols, and any additional measures needed to support the residents and staff.
This is intended as a collaborative review, but given the seriousness of the situation, the board believes an in-person discussion is appropriate.
Please be prepared to provide an overview of the events leading up to the incident, the actions taken by Juniper House, and any recommendations you have moving forward.
Thank you,
Denise Mitchell
Board Chair
I read the email twice before letting out a slow breath.
It’s professional. Reasonable, even. But between the lines, I hear the question they aren’t asking.
How did this happen under your watch? I close my eyes for a brief pause, pressing my fingers against my temples.
I try to remind myself that Heidi survived and that’s what matters. Still, what if I’d noticed sooner?
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.
Marisol leans against the doorframe. “You look like you just got bad news.”
“You could say that. Come read this,” I say as I point toward my computer screen.
She scans the email before looking back at me. “They’re covering themselves.”
“I know.”
“And they’re making sure we’re doing everything we can.”
“I know,” I repeat, though the knot in my stomach refuses to loosen.
She rests a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Claire, nobody blames you for what happened.”
I force a small smile. I wish I believed that.
A little after 1 pm, I’m finally sneaking a few bites of a sandwich when I finally glance at my phone. Silent since this morning. Since the email about the board meeting.
Twelve missed calls—three texts from Ethan, two from Ellie, and several voicemails.
My stomach plummets. I open my calendar and the highlighted entry mocks me:
Drama Program Parent Appreciation Lunch, 12:00 p.m.
My promise to Ellie. The one she made me double-check.
Ethan picks up on the third ring, and the words rush out of me. “I completely forgot, my phone was on silent. Oh God. I can picture how upset she must have been.” I keep seeing Ellie, small and hopeful, peering through a doorway, and I can’t make myself stop.
He takes a deep breath. “She just kept watching the door. Brooke had to drag her away with a cupcake to get her to stop looking for you.”
My breath catches realizing that her teacher had to step in when I should have been present.
I walk into a silent house a few hours later.
The lunch invitation on the refrigerator catches my eye, a splash of pink against the white enamel.
I trace Ellie’s handwriting: “Mom,” written in a bold marker, followed by a heart.
The paper is creased, a testament to her anticipation.
My fingers tremble as I refold it along its worn lines and slide it back under the magnet.
It’s a useless gesture, but it’s all I have.
I rehearsed what to say, but standing here, I draw a blank.
I turn and see her in the sunroom, absorbed in her phone. Its blue glow illuminating her face. She looks up and offers a smile, but it’s one I don’t recognize.
“I’m so sorry I missed today. You have every right to be angry and disappointed. I keep letting you down.”
“It’s okay, Mom.”
“No, it’s not okay.”
Some of the brightness fades from her expression. “I know you didn’t mean to forget.”
I find Ethan in our bedroom, lounging on a chair reading an architect magazine. “How’d it go?” I ask, my voice barely a murmur.
The question lands wrong. The set of his jaw tells me everything. He closes the book without marking his page. “Do you care?”
“Of course I care,” I say, heat rising in my cheeks. “I hate that I missed it.” His gaze is unwavering, a cold accusation. “There was a situation with the board—”
“Of course there was.” Bitter sarcasm laces his voice.
“What does that mean?”
“It means there’s always a situation.”
I recoil. “I didn’t choose to miss it.”
“Whatever you say.”
“That’s not fair.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “But it’s true. Do you know who was there?”
I cross my arms, the fabric of my sweater pulling taut.
“Every parent. Stepparents. Siblings.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get it. Ellie’s head snapped toward the door every single time it opened. Her whole face would light up, thinking it was you.”
“I texted her afterward.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I know it isn’t.”
“Do you? Luckily, Brooke noticed she was upset and distracted her.”
“It’s Brooke now?”
“Ms. Whitmore.”
“What more can I do? I already apologized to Ellie. I can’t turn back time, Ethan.”
“No, you can’t.”
I sink onto the end of the bed. “I can’t juggle it all,” I whisper.
His anger wavers, but he doesn’t relent. “So, our daughter just gets whatever’s left? The scraps of your time?”
“No, that’s not what I mean.”
“Tell me I’m mistaken.”
I rub my forehead. “I thought I had time to fit it all in today.”
“You always think you have time.”
“You think I’m failing her.” The hurt in my voice is unmistakable.
“I think she needed you at that luncheon today, and you weren’t there. It’s another promise you made to her that you couldn’t keep.”
“I’m trying.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
I’m not sure what else to say so I leave the bedroom. My footsteps are heavy as I make my way back downstairs.
The next morning, I find Ellie in her room. “Get your shoes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m kidnapping you.” I force the playfulness, hoping it will patch the crack that has opened between us. If I pretend everything is fine, maybe eventually it will be.
“Aren’t kidnappers usually strangers?”
“I’m improvising.”
“What if I don’t want to go?”
“Then this becomes a very short kidnapping.”
She laughs and I consider that a minor victory. “Is Dad coming too?”
“I’m not sure. He left me a note saying he had to go into the office today to finish something.”
Ten minutes later, after a quick stop to pick up Mona, we pull onto the ranch. As soon as we get out of the car both girls head straight for the barn, their footsteps light and quick.
“Do they only move in packs now?” Lucy shouts from the front porch.
“Pretty much,” I snort.
“When did that happen? I feel like it was just yesterday that she ran to me first.”
“It started about five minutes after she realized we aren’t cool anymore.”
“I’ve never stopped being cool,” Sloane calls out, walking in the direction of the barn.
“Hey, don’t teach Mona any naughty habits,” Lucy yells after her.
“That’s a lot of pressure,” she replies.
“Last time Sloane took Ellie to the movies, she came back with a purse full of contraband snacks. You’re a bad influence,” Jensen says, coming up behind Lucy and kissing the top of her head.
“All part of survival training. I have so much to teach her. That was just the beginning,” Sloane says, then slips into the barn.
By the afternoon, Mona has become absorbed into the family chaos, sitting between Ellie and Sloane, looking both amused and overwhelmed by the sheer volume of personalities surrounding her.
I try to focus on something other than thoughts of Ethan’s unanswered text messages.
The weight of my phone in my pocket is a subtle, irritating presence.
I try to concentrate as the girls discuss rehearsal, speaking with great speed and enthusiasm that I’m struggling to keep up. Every few minutes, one of them dissolves into laughter over some inside joke that makes no sense to anyone else.
“How is it possible that they’re old enough to have their own language now?” I ask, watching them.
Lucy follows my gaze and smiles. “The same way we used to.”
“That’s different.”
“It’s no different.”
“It feels different.”
“That’s because you’re old now.”
Across the table, Sloane gasps. “Lucy, you can’t just attack people during lunch.”
“You told me last week during lunch that my metabolism has officially retired,” she replies.
“That was a medical observation and not an attack.”
“It was an attack.”
“It was not.”
Jensen doesn’t even look up from his plate, his fork scraping against ceramic. “For the record, I agree with Lucy.”
Sloane narrows her eyes at him. “That doesn’t count. You’re contractually obligated to agree with her.”
After we eat, Lucy insists everyone saddle up for a trail ride, and before long we’re winding our way through the rolling hills that border the property. Golden grass sways in the warm breeze, and rows of vineyards stretch across the distant valley below.
Ellie rides ahead with Mona, their argument carrying back to me in fragments—something about whether Mona’s horse is plotting a rebellion or just has a bellyache.
Lucy and Jensen follow behind me, while Sloane is managing three separate conversations riding one-handed, drifts between all of us.
When we get home, I’m disappointed to find Ethan already asleep. The next day he disappears into his study, and the closed door sends a clear message.