Chapter 6
The Lake
June
The morning dawned bright and impossibly blue. June stood at the kitchen window with her coffee, watching the sunlight pour across the backyard like honey, and made a decision.
“Lila,” she called toward the stairs, “how do you feel about going to the lake today?”
The response was immediate—the thunder of small feet on hardwood, and then Lila appeared in the kitchen doorway, still in her pajamas, eyes wide. “The lake? Really? Can we?”
“I don’t see why not. It’s beautiful out, and I think we both deserve some fun.”
“Isn’t Sundays your day off?”
June shrugged. “It is, and I want to go to the lake. I’m just bringing you with me.” She winked. It wasn’t the complete truth, as Melissa had asked her to take care of Lila while she had to work for a few hours, but June felt no need to tell Lila that.
Lila grinned, then her expression turned thoughtful. “Is Mom coming with?”
“She said she’d be working a few hours,” June said, preparing for the sadness that usually rolled over Lila’s face at that.
This time, however, Lila kept bouncing up and down with excitement. “Can I swim? I know how to swim.”
“If you want to swim, we’ll swim.” June set down her coffee. “But first, breakfast. And sunscreen. Lots of sunscreen.”
Lila was already running back up the stairs. “I’m getting my swimsuit!”
June smiled and started pulling things from the refrigerator. She’d make sandwiches—turkey and cheese for Lila, something with avocado for herself. Fruit. Chips. The lemonade she’d made yesterday, tart and sweet and perfect for a hot day.
She thought of Senator Brandt, who had left early that morning. “I’ll try to be home in a few hours. Thank you for taking her.”
Efficient, distant. As usual.
But last Thursday night, sitting on the couch in the darkness, June had seen something different. A crack in the armor. A glimpse of the woman underneath all that polished composure.
She doesn’t need you to be perfect. She just needs you to be there.
June had said it without thinking, and the senator had looked at her with an expression June couldn’t quite read. Surprised, maybe. Or lost. Like no one had ever told her that before.
Or maybe June was reading too much into it, and Senator Brandt was really just wondering why the hired twenty-three-year-old help thought she had insight to share.
Stop thinking about it, June told herself, spreading mayonnaise on bread. She’s your boss. She’s a senator. She’s—
“Miss Hollis! I can’t find my goggles!”
“Check the bathroom cabinet!”
She’s just the woman who signs your paychecks, June finished silently.
(The paychecks were nice, for sure, already building up June’s non-existent savings.)
But that wasn’t quite true anymore, was it?
Something had shifted over the past two weeks.
Small moments accumulating like snowflakes—the way Senator Brandt’s face softened when she looked at Lila, the way she’d laughed at that dinner, surprised by her own amusement.
The way she’d sat in the darkness and admitted she didn’t know how to make her daughter happy.
Everyone wants to be seen, June thought. Even senators.
She shook off the thought and finished packing the cooler.
Ridgeline Lake was twenty minutes outside Redwood Hollow, a popular spot for families and teenagers and anyone else looking to escape the summer heat.
The road out there wound through dry hills and stands of pine, the air growing hotter and dustier with every mile.
June had been out here many times as a kid, swimming in the cold water while her parents set up their ancient lawn chairs and her father complained about forgetting the bug spray. Back then, the lake had felt enormous.
Today, the parking lot was already filling up when they arrived, cars lined up along the dirt road that led to the beach. June found a spot in the shade and grabbed the cooler and the bag of towels and the umbrella she’d dug out of the garage.
“It’s so pretty!” Lila was bouncing on her toes, swimsuit visible under her sundress, goggles already around her neck. “Can we go in the water right now?”
“Sunscreen first. Then water.”
“But—”
“Sunscreen,” June repeated firmly. “Your mom would kill me if you got a sunburn.”
Lila submitted to the sunscreen with minimal grumbling, and June claimed a spot on the grass near the water’s edge, spreading out a blanket and setting up the umbrella.
The lake sparkled in the morning light, blue-green and inviting, with a few early swimmers already wading in.
Pines crowded close to the shoreline, their reflections wavering on the surface, and the hills beyond lay baked and golden, scrubby grass flattened by weeks without rain.
“Okay,” June said, stripping off her cover-up to reveal her own swimsuit—a simple navy one-piece that had seen better days but still fit. “Let’s go see how cold it is.”
The grass near the shore was already brittle underfoot, prickly with heat, and June welcomed the idea of the lake before she even touched it—but when her feet touched the water, she found it glacial compared to the air, a sharp, clean cold that stole her breath and made her toes curl.
Lila shrieked when her feet hit the water. “It’s freezing!”
“It’s refreshing,” June said, wading in after her. The cold bit at her ankles, her calves, her thighs, numbing in waves, the lakebed smooth and silty beneath her feet. She kept going, gasping as the water reached her waist. “Come on, you’ll get used to it!”
“I won’t!” Lila squealed.
“You will. Trust me.”
Lila inched deeper, her face a mask of determination, until she was waist-deep beside June. They stood there for a moment, shivering, and then Lila’s expression shifted into a grin.
“Okay,” she admitted. “It’s not that bad.”
“Told you.”
They splashed around for a while, June teaching Lila how to float on her back while the sun climbed higher and the beach filled with families.
It was easy, being here. Easy in a way that the Brandt house never quite was, despite all June’s efforts to make it feel like home.
Out here, with the sun on her face and Lila’s laughter ringing across the water, June could almost forget that this was a job.
Could almost pretend they were just two people enjoying a summer day.
Almost.
When they finally retreated to the blanket for snacks, June pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of Lila—wet hair, huge smile, towel wrapped around her shoulders like a cape.
Having a great time swimming and sunning.
She sent it to the senator’s number.
The response came a few minutes later, while Lila was eating a sandwich and chattering about the fish she’d seen:
Looks like fun. Glad she’s enjoying herself.
Professional. Distant. The usual.
But something made June type back:
You should come. Lila keeps asking if you’re meeting us.
She stared at the message for a long moment before hitting send. It was probably a mistake. The senator had work to do, responsibilities, a hundred things more important than splashing around in a lake with her daughter and the hired help.
The reply took several minutes. June had almost given up when her phone buzzed.
I have briefings. The Thornfield situation is escalating.
I understand. Maybe next time.
Another long pause. Then:
What’s the address?
June’s heart jumped. She sent the location, told herself not to get her hopes up, and turned her attention back to Lila.
“Miss Hollis? Can we build a sandcastle?”
“It’s more like pebbles than sand, but we can try.”
They spent the next hour attempting to construct something castle-like out of rocks and mud, with mixed results.
Lila was determined, her small hands carefully stacking stones while June provided structural advice.
The sun climbed higher. The beach grew more crowded.
June kept glancing toward the parking lot, telling herself she wasn’t watching for anyone in particular.
And then, just after noon, a familiar SUV pulled into the lot.
June’s breath caught.
Senator Brandt emerged from the car looking like someone who had never been to a lake in her life.
Linen pants, perfectly pressed. A silk blouse in pale blue.
Heels that were going to sink into the grass, and expensive sunglasses reflecting the view.
She stood by the car for a moment, scanning the beach, and June raised a hand to wave.
The senator spotted her and started walking. Or trying to walk—the heels were, as expected, not cooperating with the terrain, and June watched her pick her way across the grass until finally, she sighed, and bent down and removed her shoes, walking barefoot the last bit.
“Mom!” Lila had spotted her too and was already running, pebbles scattering in her wake. “Mom, you came!”
“I came.” Senator Brandt caught Lila in a hug, heedless of the wet swimsuit pressing against her silk blouse. “I couldn’t miss lake day.”
“Miss Hollis said you had work.”
“I did. But some things are more important.”
June stood as they approached, trying not to stare at the incongruous picture the senator made—perfectly polished from the knees up, but with grass straws stuck to her bare feet.
“You made it,” June said.
“I made it.” Senator Brandt looked around at the beach, the water, the families scattered across the grass. “I haven’t been to a lake since I was Lila’s age.”
“Really?”
“My family wasn’t much for outdoor activities.” A pause. “And after that, there was never time.”
“Well, there’s time now.” June gestured at the blanket. “We have sandwiches. And lemonade. And—” She stopped, taking in the senator’s outfit properly. “Did you bring a swimsuit?”
The Senator’s expression flickered. “I didn’t think that far ahead. I just left the office and came.”