“Not really.” Lila shifted the books in her arms. “Maybe later.”
“Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”
They checked out the books and walked home in the afternoon heat, Lila unusually quiet beside her. June didn’t push—she’d learned that Lila would talk when she was ready, and pushing only made her retreat further into herself.
It wasn’t until after dinner, while June was combing Lila’s hair before bed, that Lila finally spoke.
“My dad said he’d visit for my birthday.”
June’s hands stilled on the braid. “When was your birthday?”
“March. March fifteenth.” Lila’s voice was flat, reciting facts. “He said he’d come, and we’d go to the aquarium, and he’d take me to see the otters. But then he had a work thing, so he couldn’t.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“It’s okay. He sent a present.” A pause. “It was a gift card. Mom helped me pick out some books with it.”
June didn’t know what to say. A gift card for a seventh birthday, from a father who lived hours away and couldn’t be bothered to show up.
“Do you miss him?” she asked carefully.
Lila was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know. I think I miss… Like, I miss having a dad who does dad things. But I don’t really remember what that was like. He was always working and doing other stuff.”
“That must be hard.”
“It was harder at first. When he moved away, I kept thinking he’d come back. That maybe if I was good enough, or quiet enough, or—” Her voice cracked. “But he didn’t. And now I don’t think about it as much. It’s just… how things are.”
June finished the braid and wrapped her arms around Lila from behind, holding her gently. “It’s okay to be sad about it. Even if it happened a long time ago.”
“I’m not sad.” Lila’s voice was muffled. “I’m just… tired of waiting for people who don’t come.”
Oh, sweetheart.
“You know what I think?” June said softly. “I think the people who are supposed to be in your life—the ones who really love you—they show up. Not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard. When it matters.”
“Like Mom?”
“Like your mom. She works so hard, but she always comes home to you. She always calls when she says she will. She keeps her promises.”
“She does.” Lila turned in June’s arms, her grey-blue eyes—so like Melissa’s—searching June’s face. “You do too. You always show up.”
“I try to.”
“I know.” Lila hugged her tightly, her small arms surprisingly strong. “That’s why I like you.”
June held her until Lila pulled away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Can we read the otter book now?” Lila asked, her voice almost normal again. “The one about giant otters?”
“Absolutely. Giant otters it is.”
Her phone rang while she was making dinner—her father’s name on the screen, which was unusual. Gary Hollis texted occasionally, but he almost never called.
“Dad? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Can’t a man call his daughter?”
“You never call.”
