35. Crustal Adjustment
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CRUSTAL ADJUSTMENT
Ethan
My phone rests on the nightstand. I reach for it before I can talk myself out of it and open the video Sloane sent.
The clip lasts less than thirty seconds.
I watch it to the end anyway and then I replay it.
Each time, I try to see it through Claire’s eyes.
I imagine her watching me with Brooke, touching her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
By the fourth viewing, every excuse I’ve been telling myself for months finally falls apart.
I’d convinced myself I was escaping a distant marriage. Every justification I made feels weak.
I drag myself out of bed. The bruise beneath my eye has darkened overnight, spreading purple and blue across my cheekbone.
I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My eyes are fixed on the mirror without really seeing what’s in front of me.
Brooke has been texting me all weekend, and I haven’t responded.
The drive to work feels endless. I arrive early hoping to avoid people, but it’s pointless.
By mid-morning, enough employees are in the office that my black eye is impossible to ignore.
No one asks about it. A few stare too long, their gazes lingering like a foul taste.
A junior architect, clutching a rolled set of blueprints, almost speaks but decides against it.
I spend the morning pretending to review drawings, but accomplishing nothing.
Around ten-thirty, a sharp, distinct knock sounds on my half-open door. Reid steps into my office. His eyes are immediately drawn to my eye.
“Damn. Jensen or Peter?” he asks, pointing.
“Jensen paid me a visit… it’s well deserved.”
He sets a pastry box on my desk before taking a seat. “I went to see Claire yesterday,” he says.
“How is she?”
He studies me. “Not good.”
I look down at the untouched pastry box. His answer doesn’t surprise me.
“Lucy told me Claire listened to your voicemails.”
My head lifts. “She did?”
For the first time all morning, I think there might be a chance she’ll call me. “Did she say anything?”
“No.” He looks away. “She kicked me out. She was angry that I knew and didn’t tell her. I couldn’t... I didn’t know what else to say.”
I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. “Did you know Sloane took a video? I’ve watched it a few times, trying to see it from Claire’s perspective,” I admit, my voice flat.
He raises his eyebrows. “Why would you do that to yourself?” he asks around a bite of a scone. I’m glad one of us still has an appetite.
I turn toward the office window. “Because I wanted to see what she saw. I wanted to put myself in her shoes.”
“And?”
“It looked like what it was: a middle-aged man reliving his college days with someone two decades younger. I’ve become a cliché.” I straighten, the chair creaking again. “I’m ending it tonight. I should’ve taken your advice and ended it weeks ago.”
Frustration flashes across his face, his jaw tightening. “Then why didn’t you?”
When I exhale, the sound is a ragged whisper. “Because I’m selfish.”
Sitting across from the friend who tried to warn me, the scent of his raspberry scone still in the air, I find myself facing a far more uncomfortable question.
If Claire ever gives me the chance to fight for our marriage, do I even deserve it?
That evening, I pull into the middle school parking lot as the sun dips below the trees. Everything looks the same as it has for months, from the familiar chatter of the students to the performance posters taped to the auditorium doors.
For so long, rehearsal was the part of my day I looked forward to most.
A week ago, the laughter and controlled chaos felt familiar. Today, every sound scrapes against my nerves.
My eyes immediately search for Ellie. For months, I came here looking for Brooke first. Tonight, I’m looking for my daughter.
Her absence is immediately noticeable. The worn velvet seat she usually claims is empty.
Her backpack isn’t there. Even the group of students she normally gravitates toward feels incomplete without her.
The Queen of Hearts’ throne sits near the side of the stage, untouched.
For the next two hours, I keep busy fixing a loose backdrop and a stubborn set piece, anything to stay occupied. I notice Brooke looking at me from across the auditorium, but neither of us makes any effort to cross the room. She has to be wondering why I haven’t answered her messages.
Eventually, I hear approaching footsteps. Brooke stops beside me as I stack scenery flats.
Her voice is quiet. “Ellie wasn’t here tonight.”
I nod without looking up. “No.”
“Is she okay?” The concern in her voice makes this harder.
I set the scenery flat down and lean against it. “She’s with Claire.”
She studies the bruise on my face before looking back at me. “Ethan, what’s going on?”
“Claire knows.”
“What?”
“She knows about us.”
The color leaves her face. “Oh God... how? Is that why you haven’t answered me?”
Without answering, I pull out my phone, make sure the volume is all the way down, and open the video. My stomach twists violently as I hand it to her.
Her expression changes as the footage plays. Confusion gives way to recognition, then to horror. When the video ends, she looks physically ill.
I take the phone back, the plastic warm from her grip, and slip it into my pocket.
“Someone saw us?” she asks.
“Friday night. Claire was here in the auditorium after rehearsal, with her sister Lucy and their cousin Sloane.”
She lowers herself onto the edge of the stage, staring into the now empty auditorium.
“She left you?”
“Yes.”
A shudder runs through her. “What about Ellie?”
“I’m not sure what she knows.”
“What happens now?”
I look across the auditorium, and think of the life and future I took for granted.
“It’s over, Brooke. I’m sorry. I need to get my family back. That has to be my priority,” I say, and I walk out of the auditorium without looking back.
From the outside, the house looks as it always has. The flowerbeds Claire planted are still neatly maintained. Ellie’s bright red bicycle still leans against the side of the garage, a splash of defiant color.
Quiet greets me as I open the front door. I make my way upstairs. Halfway down the hallway, something catches my attention. The linen closet door is ajar. Claire has always had a habit of leaving cabinet doors and closets open. The sight is so ordinary that it almost makes me smile.
I glance inside and realize something is different. The shelves still hold neatly folded blankets and towels.
I continue toward our bedroom, my steps unnaturally loud on the old wood.
Claire’s side of the closet is half empty.
The blouses she wears most often to work have disappeared.
The sturdy leather boots she always pulls out when we go to the ranch are no longer lined up beneath the hanging clothes.
Even the overnight bag she takes on trips is missing from the top shelf.
I told myself she just needed a few days at the ranch to cool off before she’d answer my calls. I’d imagined us sifting through the wreckage together. But staring at the empty hangers on her side of the closet, that foolish hope crumbles.
I sink sluggishly onto the edge of the bed. Her reading lamp still sits on the nightstand with a book tucked beside it. The chair in the corner has a soft cashmere sweater draped over it.
After several minutes, I force myself to stand and walk across the hall.
I enter Ellie’s room and the ache intensifies.
Her favorite sweatshirt, a bright pink hoodie, is gone from the hook behind the door.
Several framed photographs have vanished from the bookshelf, leaving clean rectangular spaces on the dusty wood.
Even her beloved Queen of Hearts costume is gone.
My phone vibrates and for one foolish second, hope surges through me. Convincing myself it’s Claire.
Reid: How did it go tonight?
It’s done.
Reid: How’d she take it?
With acceptance.
Three dots appear on the screen, disappear, then reappear.
Reid: Good.