Chapter 2 #2
“I’ll be careful,” she said. “I promise.”
Gary held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly and returned to his newspaper. The conversation was over.
June ate her breakfast standing at the counter, too restless to sit. Then she washed the dishes, wiped down the stove, and headed upstairs to make herself presentable for whatever came next.
The house looked like it belonged in a magazine spread about successful people.
June parked her fifteen-year-old Civic at the curb, engine ticking as it cooled, and stared at the sage-green Craftsman through a windshield that needed washing.
The lawn was immaculate. The white trim gleamed in the late morning sun, and the porch had a swing that looked like nobody ever sat in it.
The flower beds were the only thing out of order, with their weeds creeping in among the flowers.
She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror for the third time.
She had pulled back her curls in a low ponytail, a few strands already escaping to frame her face.
She’d put on mascara and a little lip gloss, and the sundress she’d chosen—pale blue with small white flowers—was the nicest thing she owned that didn’t have a stain somewhere on it.
She looked like she was trying. Whether that was too much or not enough, she had no idea.
Just a summer job. A paycheck to rebuild savings. Nothing complicated.
She grabbed her bag, locked the car, and made herself walk up the front path before her nerve could fail her.
The doorbell was the old-fashioned kind, the chime echoing somewhere deep inside the house. June smoothed her dress, adjusted the strap of her bag, counted her heartbeats until the door opened.
The door opened, and June’s brain short-circuited for a half-second.
She’d Googled “Senator Brandt” in the car, scrolling through images while she worked up the nerve to get out, but the photos hadn’t prepared her for the reality.
Melissa Brandt was taller than June with dark hair swept back in an elegant twist and grey-blue eyes that seemed to take up everything at once.
She wore a silk cream blouse and tailored navy trousers, and even in the doorway of her own home, she carried herself like someone chairing a meeting.
Oh no. She’s gorgeous.
…in a terrifying, untouchable way.
“You must be June.” The voice matched the rest of her: measured, controlled, giving nothing away. “Perfectly on time. Please, come in.”
“Thank you. Yes. Hi. I’m June Hollis.” Stop talking. “Thank you for having me.”
She stepped inside, and the house was exactly what she’d expected from the outside: spotless and tastefully decorated.
The living room was all cream-colored upholstery, as if it had to match the senator’s outfit, and the art looked expensive but said nothing.
There were no toys visible, no clutter, not a single sign that a child lived here.
Senator Brandt led her through to a kitchen that made June’s fingers itch with longing—six-burner stove, marble countertops, a double oven, all of it gleaming. Did they ever cook in here?
“Can I get you anything? Water, coffee?”
“Water would be great, thank you.”
June perched on one of the stools at the island while Senator Brandt retrieved a glass from the cabinet.
Even her movements were precise, nothing wasted.
June felt suddenly aware of how much space she took up by comparison—her curves, her expressiveness, her tendency to gesture when she talked.
Everything about her felt too big for this pristine, careful house.
“Your resume mentions culinary training.” Senator Brandt set the water in front of her. “But you’re not currently working in a kitchen.”
“No. The restaurant industry wasn’t the right fit.” June wrapped her hands around the glass, grounding herself. “I loved the work. The culture was harder. I’m taking some time to figure out what comes next.”
Senator Brandt’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes flickered with something that might have been understanding. “Your references are excellent. Mrs. Davis said you were the only person who could get her son to eat vegetables.”
June relaxed a fraction. “He was four and deeply suspicious of anything green. I made it a game—monster food. If you ate the broccoli, you became a broccoli monster with special powers.”
“Did it work?”
“He ate an entire plate of spinach once and then chased his sister around the house roaring for an hour. His mom was thrilled.”
The corner of Senator Brandt’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
“You’ve put down quite a bit of babysitting experience here,” she said.
“It was the best way to make money when I was a teen,” June said. “I started when I was thirteen, and kids have always seemed to like me.”
Senator Brandt nodded, though what that meant, June didn’t know.
“My daughter is seven. Lila. She’s very independent.
Good at keeping herself occupied.” A pause, the faintest hesitation.
“But summers are long, and my work schedule is unpredictable. This is a live-in position because I need someone who can be here consistently. Someone who can keep her engaged.”
Engaged. The way she said it made June wonder what Lila’s days usually looked like. How much time she spent alone.
“What does Lila like to do?”
“She reads. She colors. She’s very self-sufficient.”
That’s not an answer, June thought.
“Does she like being outside? Parks, nature, that kind of thing?”
“I’m not sure. She hasn’t had many opportunities.”
Senator Brandt’s fingers traced the edge of the countertop, a small unconscious gesture that seemed out of place on someone so controlled. Then, just as quickly, she straightened, and the cool professionalism returned.
“Let me explain the position in more detail.” Senator Brandt pulled a folder from a drawer—of course she had a folder prepared—and slid it across the island.
“The guest room at the end of the hall would be yours. Private bathroom, access to the kitchen, use of the common areas. You would be welcome to have visitors during your time off, though I’d ask that you let me know in advance if anyone were to be staying overnight. ”
June nodded, flipping open the folder. Inside was a single typed page outlining the terms.
“Working hours would generally be seven in the morning until Lila’s bedtime at eight, with breaks during her quiet time after lunch.
Sundays are yours entirely, and you’ll have one additional day off per week—if the position is something you’re interested in, we can determine which day works best once we establish a routine.
” Senator Brandt’s voice was crisp, efficient, as if she were presenting to a committee.
“I’ll need flexibility for evenings when I have events or late meetings.
Those will be compensated as overtime. Payment is biweekly, direct deposit. ”
June glanced at the salary figure and kept her face neutral, though it was more than she’d expected. “I… that all sounds good.”
Senator Brandt gave a curt nod. “Caring for Lila is my only requirement. I don’t expect housekeeping or cooking for me—there’s a cleaning service that comes twice a week, and I manage my own meals.
Your responsibility is Lila: her meals, her activities, her general wellbeing.
I’ll provide a household credit card for groceries and any outings or supplies you need for her, and I ask that you keep receipts. ”
“Of course.”
“Do you have any questions about the terms?”
June scanned the page again. It was thorough—almost impersonal in its thoroughness, like a contract for a business arrangement rather than the care of a child. But maybe that was how these things were usually done; after all, it was a job contract.
“This all seems very clear,” June said. “I just have one question, about Lila.”
Senator Brandt’s expression flickered, something unguarded passing through her eyes before she smoothed it away. “Yes?”
“What do you want this summer to look like for her? Not the logistics—the feeling of it. What do you want her to remember?”
The question seemed to catch Senator Brandt off guard. She was silent for a long moment, her fingers still resting on the edge of the countertop.
“I want her to have fun,” she said finally, and her voice was softer than before. “I want her to be a child, not a—” She stopped, shook her head. “I want her to have a good summer. That’s all.”
Before June could respond, a flicker of movement caught her eye. A small figure in the doorway, half-hidden behind the frame, watching them with wide grey-blue eyes.
“Lila.” Senator Brandt’s voice softened in a way June hadn’t expected. “Come say hello.”
The girl edged into the kitchen slowly, and June felt her heart squeeze at the sight of her.
Lila was small and serious, with the same dark hair as her mother pulled back in a braid and the same grey-blue eyes, though on her they looked too watchful.
She wore a sundress with tiny strawberries on it, and her hands were clasped in front of her like she was waiting to be told what to do.
June slid off the stool and crouched down, bringing herself to Lila’s eye level.
“Hi, Lila. I’m June. It’s really nice to meet you.”
“Hi.” Barely a whisper.
“Your mom tells me you like to read. What’s your favorite thing to read about?”
Lila glanced up at her mother, checking something, then back at June. “Otters.”
“Otters are amazing. Did you know they hold hands while they sleep? So they don’t drift away from each other.”
Lila nodded. “I know. I read about it. Mom didn’t know, but I told her.”
June smiled. “If I get this job, I’ll bring you a book about wild animals that I’m pretty sure has pictures of different kinds of otters. Would you like that?”
A long pause. Lila’s gaze dropped to the floor, then rose again, studying June with that same unsettling intensity. “Okay,” she said quietly.
June smiled.
She stayed another thirty minutes, answering questions about her experience and her approach to childcare.
Senator Brandt was thorough and professional, but June caught her watching Lila while they talked—watching the way Lila lingered in the doorway, listening, the way she’d gradually moved closer to where June was sitting.
By the time June stood to leave, she’d been offered the position. Start date Wednesday at eleven.
“I apologize for the short notice,” Senator Brandt said. “Time got away from me.”
She didn’t seem like the type time—or anything else—got away from, but June shrugged. “It works for me.”
Senator Brandt walked her to the door, their footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. At the threshold, June turned back.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Senator Brandt. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
“At eleven. That will give you time to settle in before we pick Lila up from school.”
June nodded, and smiled—warm and easy, the kind that came without calculation. “I’ll be here.”
She stepped out onto the porch, resisting the urge to look back as she walked to her car. She could feel Senator Brandt’s gaze on her, steady and assessing, all the way down the front path. Only when she reached the Civic did she allow herself a glance over her shoulder.
Senator Brandt still stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her, expression unreadable.
June waved once through the windshield as she pulled away from the curb. In the rearview mirror, she caught a glimpse of Lila watching from the living room window, one small hand pressed against the glass.
The house disappeared around the corner, and June let out a long breath. Her hands were trembling on the steering wheel. Nerves. The interview, the job offer, the reality of what she’d just agreed to.
Not the way Senator Brandt’s eyes had held hers for a beat too long.
Not that at all.