After she left, June stood in the quiet foyer for a moment. Then she went upstairs to check on Lila, who had fallen asleep over her penguin drawings, notebook still open on her chest. June closed it gently, turned off the light, and stood in the doorway for a moment looking at her.
She’s tired of waiting for people who don’t come.
June had said that the people who really loved you showed up. Had meant it, absolutely meant it. And she was standing in a house where she couldn’t hold Melissa’s hand in front of the window because of a car parked across the street. Where she textedwe miss you tooinstead ofI miss youbecause nothing could be screenshot and shared. Where a stranger at the pool had called her the nanny and been completely, accurately correct.
She went back downstairs and did the thing she’d been avoiding all day.
She picked up her phone and searched Melissa’s name.
She’d done it once before—sitting in her car outside this very house before the interview, scrolling fast to prepare herself for whoever was about to open the door. She’d found the official stuff then. Campaign photos. A press release about the infrastructure bill. A picture of Melissa at some gala, stunning in a dark gown, the kind of composed that looked effortless because it had been practiced for years. June had thoughtshe’s beautiful in a terrifying, untouchable wayand then walked up to the front door anyway.
This time she went further.
The divorce coverage came up easily—it was two years old but the internet didn’t forget. Photographs of Melissa and Michael at fundraisers and campaign events, his hand at the small of herback, both of them performing a marriage that was apparently already hollow by then. They looked convincing. That was the thing that sat wrong in June’s stomach—how convincing they looked. How practiced.Oregon Senator’s Husband Speaks Out. Sources Close to Brandt Describe Difficult Year.Comment sections she should not have read, and read anyway, full of strangers with confident opinions about a woman they had never met.
Then the older stuff. Melissa at thirty-five, newly elected, sharp and bright-eyed at a podium. Melissa at forty, mid-divorce, photographed leaving a courthouse in sunglasses, spine absolutely straight, not a crack showing anywhere.
The woman who called just to hear June’s voice had never once appeared in any of these images.
June put her phone face-down on the counter and looked at the kitchen around her. The herbs on the windowsill. The cast-iron pan she’d brought from home. The small sunflower Lila had drawn in marker on a Post-it note and stuck to the refrigerator door weeks ago, still there because neither of them had moved it.
Her phone rang. Unknown number, local area code.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this—sorry, I’m looking for the Brandt residence?” A young voice, friendly, casual. “I’m calling from theRedwood Herald.I’m doing a piece on Senator Brandt’s infrastructure bill and I was hoping to get some background from people close to the family. Just local color stuff. You’re—are you the nanny?”
“I’m not able to help you with that,” June said.
“Oh, totally understand, it’s super informal, I’m just trying to get a sense of—”
“Have a good evening.” June hung up.
She sat with the phone in her hand, her heart beating faster than the call warranted. It had been nothing. Thirty seconds. The reporter hadn’t asked anything suspicious, hadn’t impliedanything. Just local color, background, people close to the family.
She lived in this house. She knew which side of the bed Melissa slept on and the exact spot below her ear that made her breath go unsteady. She knew things that would constitutelocal colorin ways that reporter couldn’t have imagined. And she hadn’t said a word, would never say a word, but the call sat in her chest like a cold stone anyway.
Wednesday was library day.
They walked the familiar route through downtown Redwood Hollow, past Bean There, Done That and the small boutique where they’d bought Lila’s Fourth of July dress. The summer heat had softened into something more bearable, and the streets were busy with tourists and locals alike, everyone moving a little slower than usual.
At the library, Lila disappeared into the children’s section while June wandered the stacks, pulling books at random without really seeing them. Her mind kept drifting—to Melissa, to the meetings in Salem, to the Thornfield situation she’d been reading about in the news.
Procedural irregularities. The phrase kept appearing in articles, always in quotes, always attributed to unnamed sources. It was a delay tactic, others cited in the articles said; a way to derail the bill without having to vote against it directly. But it was working. The vote had been postponed indefinitely, and Melissa’s careful coalition was starting to fray.
She’s fighting so hard, June thought.And they’re trying to tear her apart.
“Miss Hollis?” Lila appeared at her elbow, a stack of books in her arms. “I found some new ones. There’s one about river otters, and one about sea otters, and one about—”
“Let me guess. Otters?”
Lila grinned. “Giant otters. From South America. They’re the biggest kind.”
“Of course they are.” June took half the stack from her. “Anything else?”
“There’s one about a girl whose dad goes away and doesn’t come back.” Lila’s voice was quieter now, her eyes fixed on the carpet. “I thought maybe I’d read it.”
June’s heart clenched. “That sounds like a good one. Do you want to talk about it?”
