The drive home took just over ten minutes through Redwood Hollow’s modest traffic. They passed the coffee shop on the corner of Main and Cedar, past the library, past the newer developments creeping up the hillside that had changed the town’s skyline since Melissa’s first campaign eight years ago. The car’s air conditioning blasted against the warmth that had built up while they were inside, and Melissa caught the scent of honeysuckle through the vents—someone’s garden in full bloom, spilling sweetness into the June air.
She pulled into the driveway of their Craftsman-style home, its sage-green exterior and white trim immaculate, the lawn freshly mowed, the flower beds full of both flowers and opportunist greens. The hydrangeas along the front path were just beginning to bloom—fat clusters of blue and purple that the previous owners had planted and that Melissa had never quite gotten around to taking care of.
Her phone buzzed as she cut the engine. Rachel again.
Hi, I’m in your driveway.
So she was. The silver Prius parked to the side of the wide driveway belonged to Rachel Carter, who was currently leaning against its hood with two iced coffees and an expression of stubborn affection. She wore pants and a light linen jacket, her dark curls escaping from a practical ponytail, a takeout coffee cup in each hand. She had the kind of face that put peopleat ease—warm brown skin, laugh lines around her brown eyes, and lips that usually tugged upward. At forty-three, she carried herself with the confidence of someone who’d spent two decades in emergency rooms and had long since stopped caring what anyone thought of her.
“This is new,” Melissa said, climbing out of the car.
“I’m staging an intervention. A five-minute one, because that’s all the time I have.” Rachel pushed off the hood and crossed the driveway to meet her, pressing one of the coffees into Melissa’s hand. The circles under her eyes suggested another overnight shift at Redwood Hollow General. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“I was about to say the same to you.”
“We’re not on me right now.”
“I’ve slept,” Melissa said.
Rachel raised a dark eyebrow at her. “Sitting upright at your desk with your eyes closed doesn’t count.”
“I still think that’s more than you’ve slept from the looks of it,” Melissa muttered.
“Dr. Rachel!” Lila had extracted herself from the car and was already running toward them. Rachel crouched to embrace her, and the sincerity on her face stirred something in Melissa.
“Hey, bug. What’s that on your hands? Did you fight a marker and lose?”
Lila examined her purple-stained fingers with resignation. “I was coloring. Mom had to talk to a lot of people.”
“Did you draw me anything?”
“I made an elephant with six legs. Mrs. Anderson didn’t like it.”
“Mrs. Anderson has no vision.” Rachel straightened, keeping one hand on Lila’s shoulder. “Six-legged elephants are clearly superior. More stomping power.”
Lila giggled—actually giggled—and it made Melissa’s heart ache. This was what her daughter sounded like when someone said the right thing, which Melissa never did.
“Go wash your hands, sweetheart,” Melissa said, her voice off to her own ears.
Lila scampered inside, the screen door banging behind her, and the silence that followed was full of things Rachel wasn’t saying.
“I can hear you thinking,” Melissa said.
“I’m thinking you look exhausted.” Rachel sipped her coffee, studying Melissa over the rim with the assessing gaze she probably used on trauma patients. “And I’m thinking you’re going to run yourself into the ground this summer if you don’t figure out childcare.”
“I’m handling it.”
“‘Handling it’ is not a plan. ‘Handling it’ is what you say before you collapse in a heap.” She paused. “So, what is the plan? Couldn’t your parents take her?”
“I don’t want to send her to them for so many reasons,” Melissa said.
“Her dad, then?”
Melissa raised an eyebrow at her, and no more was needed.
Rachel softened her tone, reaching out to squeeze Melissa’s arm briefly. “I’m worried about you. Both of you. You’ve got that bill fight on your hands, you’ve just gone through a really messy divorce, and Lila—”
“Lila is fine.”
