“Sunscreen first. Then water.”
“But—”
“Sunscreen,” June repeated firmly. “Your mom would kill me if you got a sunburn.”
Lila submitted to the sunscreen with minimal grumbling, and June claimed a spot on the grass near the water’s edge, spreading out a blanket and setting up the umbrella. The lake sparkled in the morning light, blue-green and inviting, with a few early swimmers already wading in. Pines crowded close to the shoreline, their reflections wavering on the surface, and the hills beyond lay baked and golden, scrubby grass flattened by weeks without rain.
“Okay,” June said, stripping off her cover-up to reveal her own swimsuit—a simple navy one-piece that had seen better days but still fit. “Let’s go see how cold it is.”
The grass near the shore was already brittle underfoot, prickly with heat, and June welcomed the idea of the lake before she even touched it—but when her feet touched the water, she found it glacial compared to the air, a sharp, clean cold that stole her breath and made her toes curl.
Lila shrieked when her feet hit the water. “It’s freezing!”
“It’s refreshing,” June said, wading in after her. The cold bit at her ankles, her calves, her thighs, numbing in waves, the lakebed smooth and silty beneath her feet. She kept going, gasping as the water reached her waist. “Come on, you’ll get used to it!”
“I won’t!” Lila squealed.
“You will. Trust me.”
Lila inched deeper, her face a mask of determination, until she was waist-deep beside June. They stood there for a moment, shivering, and then Lila’s expression shifted into a grin.
“Okay,” she admitted. “It’s not that bad.”
“Told you.”
They splashed around for a while, June teaching Lila how to float on her back while the sun climbed higher and the beach filled with families. It was easy, being here. Easy in a way thatthe Brandt house never quite was, despite all June’s efforts to make it feel like home. Out here, with the sun on her face and Lila’s laughter ringing across the water, June could almost forget that this was a job. Could almost pretend they were just two people enjoying a summer day.
Almost.
When they finally retreated to the blanket for snacks, June pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of Lila—wet hair, huge smile, towel wrapped around her shoulders like a cape.
Having a great time swimming and sunning.
She sent it to the senator’s number.
The response came a few minutes later, while Lila was eating a sandwich and chattering about the fish she’d seen:
Looks like fun. Glad she’s enjoying herself.
Professional. Distant. The usual.
But something made June type back:
You should come. Lila keeps asking if you’re meeting us.
She stared at the message for a long moment before hitting send. It was probably a mistake. The senator had work to do, responsibilities, a hundred things more important than splashing around in a lake with her daughter and the hired help.
The reply took several minutes. June had almost given up when her phone buzzed.
I have briefings. The Thornfield situation is escalating.
I understand. Maybe next time.
Another long pause. Then:
What’s the address?
June’s heart jumped. She sent the location, told herself not to get her hopes up, and turned her attention back to Lila.
