Page 67 of The Silence Between

Great. Not just a personal problem, but potentially a political one too. Miguel might have found himself an ally with actual power.

“The custody review is next month,” I said, the words tasting bitter. “Coinciding exactly with Mari turning twenty-one.”

“Shit.” Tasha's blunt assessment summed it up perfectly. “That's not good timing.”

“No.” I leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling like I'd been awake for a week straight. “It's like everything's converging at once. Miguel, the review, Mari's transition, the job change. And Ethan's return on top of everything else.”

“Ethan?” Tasha raised an eyebrow. “I thought you two were avoiding each other.”

“Trying to. Failing spectacularly.” I ran a hand over my face. “We've agreed to stop pretending coincidental encounters aren't inevitable. We're even collaborating on a bookstore project.”

“That's...progress?”

“I don't know what it is.” The admission felt like giving up. “Just one more complication when I'm already juggling too many.”

Tasha squeezed my arm, her expression softening. “I'll keep eyes and ears open at the hospital, let you know if I hear anything else about Miguel or Townsend. And Leo? Don't try to handle everything alone. That's what got you into trouble last time.”

She left with a promise to call with any updates, her footsteps echoing down the corridor until the school fell silent again. I stood frozen under the harsh fluorescent lighting, my mop forgotten as the full impact of everything hit me at once.

14

SHIFTING TERRAINS

ETHAN

“So what Hawthorne is doing here,” I said, circling a passage on the projected page of The Scarlet Letter, “is developing the theme of public shame versus private guilt. Notice how the physical description of the town square emphasizes exposure?”

Twenty-four freshmen faces stared back at me with varying degrees of engagement. Most were taking notes, a few were clearly planning their weekend, and one was studying the text with an intensity that reminded me startlingly of her older brother. Same furrowed brow, same slight head tilt. The Reyes DNA was strong.

“Would anyone like to identify another passage where physical setting reinforces thematic elements?” I asked, scanning the room.

Sophie's hand rose, not with the desperate “pick me” energy of students seeking approval but with the quiet confidence of someone who simply knew the answer and wasn't making a big deal about it.

“The forest scenes,” she said when I nodded to her. “They represent freedom from social judgment but also moral ambiguity. When Hester and Dimmesdale meet there, they're away from the town's eyes, but the darkness also suggests they might be making morally questionable choices.”

Well, damn. Her analysis cut straight to the heart of the novel's symbolic structure. I'd had grad students who couldn't articulate that concept so clearly.

“Excellent, Sophie. That's exactly right.” I turned to the rest of the class, trying not to look too impressed. “The contrast between public spaces and private ones creates tension that drives the narrative forward.”

As the discussion continued, I found myself watching Sophie more closely. Her comments revealed she'd clearly been reading way beyond the assigned pages. She casually referenced books that would give most high schoolers nightmares: Steinbeck, Morrison, García Márquez. Authors I'd once geeked out about with Leo during our own high school days, staying up too late arguing about symbolism like the literature nerds we were.

When the bell rang, Sophie lingered as other students bolted for freedom, waiting until the room had emptied before approaching my desk.

“Mr. Webb? I was wondering if you could recommend something similar to One Hundred Years of Solitude? I finished it last week and really loved the magical elements mixed with family history.”

I nearly dropped my whiteboard marker. A freshman voluntarily reading García Márquez? In high school, I'd thought I was sophisticated for understanding the SparkNotes.

“That's impressive reading for your age,” I said. “Where did you encounter it?”

“Leo has this collection of books he's saved since high school. The important ones, he calls them. The ones that changed how he sees things.” A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. “He used to read to us every night when we were younger, not just kid books, but chapters from whatever he was reading. Said there was no point talking down to us just because we were small.”

The image hit me like a truck. Leo reading by lamplight, young siblings crowded around, probably exhausted from working multiple jobs but still taking time to read literature to children who could have just as easily been watching TV. Meanwhile, I'd been at college complaining about my reading load while my parents paid all my bills.

“You might enjoy Isabel Allende's House of the Spirits,” I suggested. “Similar magical realism tradition, also centered around a family across generations.”

Sophie nodded, making a note in her phone. “Leo just started managing at Second Chapter Bookstore. He can probably order it.”

“He mentioned the new position,” I said casually, as if Leo and I regularly chatted about career moves rather than carefully navigated professional collaboration while pretending not to have a complicated history. “It seems like a good fit for him.”

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