Page 49 of Faultlines

“Yeah, I’m here. Claire—he left early this afternoon.”

“Okay—hmm. I thought he was coming straight to the ranch after work today to help with setup.”

“I can come help. Give me thirty minutes.”

“Thanks, Reid. I appreciate that. We’re getting so close and can use all the help we can get.”

For three hours, Reid and I work in a steady rhythm, transforming a mountain of donated items into neat auction packages. He doesn’t mention Ethan again, just wordlessly hands me twine for a gift basket or helps me lift a heavy quilt. By the time we finish, my feet ache, but it’s the quiet solidarity that resonates.

“Thank you,” Lucy says, her voice tired but grateful as we stack the final basket.

Reid walks Ellie and me to our car. Once Ellie is inside, I close the door and turn to him. “Reid, I—I can’t thank you enough.”

He brushes imaginary dirt from his shirt, mouth opening and closing before speaking. “Claire, ah… is everything okay with you and Ethan?”

“Things have been difficult, but I’m sure we’ll get on track once things slow down,” I manage.

“Okay, good. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for either of you.”

“Thanks, Reid.”

The remaining days bring their own challenges.

A sponsor dislikes their logo placement on the event banner and requests repositioning. The caterer has table placement questions I can’t answer, so I refer them to Lucy. I can usually find her in the arena, looking overwhelmed.

“Tell me where you need me,” I say, as she hands me a stack of seating charts.

“We have to rearrange the tables.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

Slowly, the space is transformed from rustic into something worthy of a formal event. I spend an hour arranging photographs showcasing the equine therapy program. One photo shows a small girl, once timid, now beaming as she leads a towering chestnut mare. Another captures a veteran, his shoulders relaxed for what might be the first time in years, his hand resting on a horse’s neck.

As I study the photos, Lucy joins me beside the display, her arm brushing mine. “Pretty incredible, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes it’s easy to forget how many lives this place touches.”

She glances around the barn. “I feel the same about Juniper House, and that’s what I want people to remember Saturday night.”

The following day, the auction software isn’t cooperating, several donated items arrive without descriptions, and the guest list changes three separate times.

I find Lucy and Sloane sitting at a table with their heads resting in their hands, and a bottle of wine open between them.

I slide into a chair across from them. “Are you both okay?”

“Do you want the honest answer or the supportive answer?” Lucy asks, lifting her head.

“Supportive,” I reply.

“Everything is going to be wonderful,” she says. They both nod in agreement.

“And the honest answer?” I ask.

“Saturday can’t come fast enough.” Lucy replies.

By the end of the night, hundreds of tiny lights illuminate the venue, auction displays fill one side of the tent. As we add the finishing touches, it’s far more beautiful than I imagined.