Chapter 14
Quiet House
June
Monday, July 20th – Wednesday, July 22nd
The house was too quiet.
June noticed it the moment she woke on Monday morning—the absence of footsteps overhead, the missing click of heels on hardwood, the silence where Melissa’s presence usually hummed beneath the surface of things. She lay in bed for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, and told herself she was being ridiculous.
It’s three days. Stop being ridiculous.
But June had gotten used to the rhythm of this house with Melissa in it, and the lack of her was noticeable in ways she hadn’t expected. The coffee already made when she came downstairs. The newspaper folded on the counter. The quality of quiet that meant someone else was working in another room—present even when absent, a gravitational pull June had apparently organized herself around without noticing when it happened.
She checked her phone. No messages. It was barely six in the morning.
Stop moping. You have a job to do.
She got up and started making breakfast.
Lila appeared in the kitchen at seven-thirty, still in her pajamas, her hair a tangled mess from sleep.
“Is Mom really gone?”
“Until Wednesday, sweetheart. Remember?”
“I know. I just thought maybe…” Lila trailed off, sliding onto her usual stool at the island. “Never mind.”
June set a plate of pancakes in front of her, watching her pick at them without enthusiasm. “What were you going to say?”
“Nothing. It’s stupid.”
“I bet it’s not.”
Lila was quiet for a moment, pushing a piece of pancake around her plate. “I thought maybe she changed her mind. Sometimes people say they’re going to do something and then they don’t.”
“Your mom had to go for work,” June said. “She wanted to stay here, but she couldn’t, because her work is important. But she’ll be back on Wednesday like she promised.”
“People break promises.”
The words were delivered matter-of-factly, without self-pity, and that made them worse. Seven years old, and Lila had already learned that adults weren’t reliable. That love didn’t always mean staying.
“Some people do,” June admitted. “But your mom keeps her promises. She told you she’d call every night, right?”
“Right.”
“Then she’ll call. And when she gets back on Wednesday, we’ll make her something special. Maybe those otter cookies again.”
“With the blue frosting?”
“With all the blue frosting you want.”
Lila almost smiled. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
They spent Monday at the community pool, because the heat had built to something oppressive by mid-morning and the backyard offered no relief. The pool was packed—families staking out territory with towels and coolers, children shrieking in the shallow end, the controlled chaos of a hot summer afternoon. June found a spot in the shade and watched Lila join the other kids, her swimming strokes still a little uncoordinated but improving every week.
Two women had set up next to June’s towel, their chairs angled toward each other, shoulders touching in the easy way of people who didn’t have to think about it. They passed sunscreen back and forth without asking. One of them laughed at something and the other one’s whole face changed, just from the sound of it.
