While Lila tried on the dress in the fitting room, June wandered toward the front of the shop, where a display of greeting cards caught her eye. HeartLine Cards, the local company—she’d seen their products all over town and far beyond it, distinctive designs, some with hand-lettered messages and delicate watercolor illustrations, others with bold colors and funny statements. June liked the ones with lots of glitter.
The Fourth of July selection was arranged in a small rotating rack. June spun it idly, scanning the options. Flags and fireworks, eagles and stars, the usual patriotic fare.
She reached out and plucked a card from the row. The front was simple—a night sky with stylized fireworks exploding in bursts of gold and red. The message read:Freedom looks different for everyone.
June opened it. Inside, in elegant script:May yours be bright this Fourth of July.
She read it twice.
She thought about Melissa. About the way she’d looked at the lake, wearing June’s sundress, her usual armor stripped away. About the tea, and the late-night conversation. About the careful control Melissa maintained over every aspect of her life—her schedule, her image, her emotions. June wondered what freedom would even look like for someone who held herself that tightly. Whether Melissa even knew.
Her face was warm. She could feel herself blushing, which was ridiculous—it was just a card, just a generic holiday sentiment, nothing personal at all.
She put it back.
Don’t be stupid, she told herself.She’s your employer. She’s a senator. She’s—
“Miss Hollis?” Lila’s voice came from behind her. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.” June turned, forcing a smile. “Just cards. How does the dress fit?”
“Perfect.” Lila did a little spin, the skirt flaring out around her. “See?”
“You look beautiful.”
They bought the dress and headed back to the car, bags swinging between them. June loaded everything into the trunk while Lila buckled herself into the backseat, and then they were driving through the familiar streets of Redwood Hollow, sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Miss Hollis?” Lila’s voice was thoughtful. “Is June your real name or a nickname?”
“My real name. Why do you ask?”
“I just wondered. It’s a month name. Like April or May.”
“It is. My mom loves the month of June—she says it’s when everything starts to feel possible. Long days, warm nights, the beginning of summer.” June smiled at the memory. “She says she knew the moment I was born that it was the right name for me.”
“That’s nice.” Lila was quiet for a moment, looking out the window. “My name means ‘night’ in some language. Mom told me once, but I forgot which one.”
“It’s a beautiful name.”
Lila shrugged. “Miss Hollis?”
“Yes?”
“My mom works a lot.”
June glanced in the rearview mirror. Lila was still looking out the window, her profile soft in the afternoon light.
“I know she does.”
“She always worked a lot. Even before daddy left. But she’s different now.” A pause. “She smiles more. Since you came.”
June’s throat tightened. “I’m glad she’s smiling more.”
“Me too.” Lila turned to meet June’s eyes in the mirror. “I think maybe she was lonely before. But she doesn’t seem as lonely now.”
She smiles more. Since you came.
June didn’t know what to say to that. She focused on the road, on the familiar turns toward the Brandt house, and tried not to think about what it meant that a seven-year-old had noticed something June had been trying very hard not to see.
