50. Healing Fault
CHAPTER FIFTY
HEALING FAULT
Claire
Marisol and I are halfway through our morning walkthrough when Amanda calls from the community room.
“Claire, can you come look at this?”
She points to the large bookshelf along the back wall, and I stop short.
Since I started at Juniper House, it’s leaned precariously to one side, several shelves pulled loose and the trim cracked.
Now it stands perfectly straight. The damaged trim has been replaced, the shelves are sturdy, and the wood has been refinished.
I run my hand along the smooth edge. “Who fixed this?”
Amanda shrugs. “I’m not sure.”
I glance at Marisol and notice she’s suddenly fascinated by the bulletin board on the opposite wall, her back rigid.
“Marisol.” My voice is low.
“Yes?” she turns, her smile bright.
“What’s going on? Does this have anything to do with the zero-dollar maintenance invoices I’ve been reviewing?”
Her expression is almost offensive in its innocence. “Maybe?”
I cross my arms, giving Marisol my best mom look.
“Fine. Ethan has been making repairs, and he didn’t want you to know.”
“What? Since when?”
“Several months.” I continue staring at her until she finally caves. “Since before Thanksgiving.”
My jaw drops. “Before Thanksgiving?”
“It started with the greenhouse fence after the windstorm.”
I remember the fence. I also remember approving estimates to repair it. “You’re telling me Ethan fixed it?”
She nods.
Honestly, I don’t know what to say. As we continue through the building, Marisol points out more of Ethan’s work. A repaired vanity here, new lighting there, fresh paint, rebuilt cabinets—the list goes on. The farther we walk, the more examples she finds.
“He usually comes after hours,” she says.
I look at her. “Why?”
“You’re asking the wrong person.”
The following Tuesday, I enter Juniper House through the maintenance entrance at the rear of the building.
Somewhere down the hallway, a rhythmic thudding breaks the silence—the unmistakable sound of power tools.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I follow the noise.
The closer I get, I recognize the whir of a drill and someone muttering under their breath.
When I round the corner, Ethan is standing on a ladder replacing damaged ceiling tiles. He’s unaware of my presence, so I keep watching him. His sleeves are rolled up, and he has a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. Dust covers his shirt, and he has a pencil tucked behind one ear.
As though sensing my presence, he glances down and freezes, then carefully climbs down from the ladder and sets his tools aside.
“Claire.”
I cross my arms. “What are you doing here?” The question sounds ridiculous, yet I need to ask.
He glances toward the ceiling. “The tiles are damaged.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Understanding flickers across his face. “The building needed repairs.”
“Marisol says you’ve been doing this for months.”
“Yeah.”
I raise an eyebrow in question. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His smile disappears. Something vulnerable appears in his expression. “Because it needed to be done.”
I continue staring at him, and he finally shrugs.
“I know the budget here is tight. The girls deserve better than broken furniture and leaking sinks.” If he had wanted recognition, he would have made sure I knew months ago. “And because this place is important to you.”
He shifts his weight, shuffling his worn work boots. “There is actually something I want to ask you.” He takes a slow breath. “I want you to come to counseling with me.”
A humorless laugh escapes me.
“Claire, please.”
“No.”
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
That’s when I see the reflection of his wedding ring.
I’m surprised he’s still wearing it. The gold is scratched near the bottom—a mark I recall from the summer before Ellie began kindergarten.
He’d been helping my dad repair a fence at the ranch and came home furious, having gouged it on a nail.
I had laughed then, telling him nobody would notice. Now, I can’t stop staring at it.
I look up, only then realizing he’d never stopped talking.
“I’m not asking you to come home or to make any decisions about us.”
I tighten my arms across my chest, waiting.
“I just want you to hear what I’ve been working on.”
I look up, my eyes finding a crack in the ceiling. “I don’t know.”
“That’s fair.”