Chapter 7
Tea
Melissa
Three days later, Melissa was still thinking about the lake.
She sat in her office at the capitol building in Salem, half-listening to David run through the agenda for tomorrow’s committee meeting, but her mind kept drifting back to Sunday.
The sand beneath her bare feet, the cold shock of the water.
Lila’s shriek of laughter when Melissa had splashed her.
The way June’s sundress had felt against her skin—soft cotton, faintly scented with something sweetly floral.
She’d returned the dress, of course. Washed and folded, left on June’s bed while she was out with Lila. Professional. Appropriate. No reason to make it into anything more than it was.
But she could still feel the fabric against her shoulders. Could still see the way June had looked at her when she’d emerged from the restroom wearing it—surprised, maybe, or something else. Something Melissa didn’t want to examine too closely.
“Senator? Are you listening?”
Melissa blinked. David was watching her with barely concealed concern, his tablet clutched to his chest like a shield.
“Yes. The committee meeting. Continue.”
“That was everything about the committee meeting. I was asking if you’d seen the Redwood Herald piece.”
“What piece?”
David’s expression shifted into something careful, the look he got when he was about to deliver bad news. “It went up this morning. I assumed you’d… here.” He handed her the tablet, already open to a webpage.
The headline hit her like a slap: Senator Brandt’s Post-Divorce Struggles: Can She Handle the Pressure?
Melissa read the article in silence. It was short, barely five paragraphs, and maddeningly vague.
Anonymous sources “close to the senator” expressing concern about her focus.
Questions about whether her “tumultuous personal life” was affecting her ability to lead on the infrastructure bill.
A pointed mention of her ex-husband’s abrupt departure, framed as abandonment rather than the mutual decision it had been presented as publicly.
No direct accusations. Nothing actionable. Just insinuation, carefully worded to plant doubt without providing anything concrete enough to refute.
And of course, accompanied by the worst possible picture, a random shot where she looked tired and irritated.
“It’s a gossip blog,” David said. “Barely anyone reads it. But—”
“But it’s the opening salvo.” Melissa set the tablet down, her jaw tight. “Thornfield is making their move.”
“We don’t know it’s Thornfield.”
“Don’t we?” She stood, moving to the window, looking out at the capitol grounds without really seeing them. “Anonymous sources questioning my fitness to lead. Vague concerns about my personal life. Right as the bill is gaining momentum. Who else would benefit from this?”
David didn’t answer. They both knew.
“Get me the communications team,” Melissa said. “I want a response strategy by the end of the day. Nothing defensive—we don’t dignify this with a direct response. But I want to know what else is out there. What they might have. What they might be planning.”
“Already on it.” David hesitated. “There’s something else. Dr. Carter called. Three times. She said if you don’t call her back in the next ten minutes, she’s driving to Salem, quote, ‘whether she has patients or not.’”
Melissa closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Of course Rachel had seen the article. Of course she was threatening to abandon her practice to check on Melissa in person. That was what Rachel did—refused to be ignored when she sensed something was wrong.
“Get her on the line.”
A moment later, her desk phone buzzed. Melissa picked up.
“Before you say anything,” Rachel said, “I have exactly seven minutes before my next patient, so I’m going to talk fast and you’re going to listen.”
“Hello to you too.”
“I saw the article. Are you okay?”
So much for hardly anyone reading it.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing I haven’t handled before.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Rachel’s voice was sharp, the no-nonsense tone she used with difficult patients. “I asked if you’re okay, not if you can handle it. Those are different things.”
“They’re the answer you’re getting.”
A pause, weighted with everything Melissa wasn’t saying.
Rachel had known her for a decade—had been there through the marriage, the slow dissolution and abrupt crash of everything Melissa had built with Michael.
She’d held Melissa’s hand in the hospital when Lila was born.
She’d poured whiskey and listened without judgment when Melissa had finally admitted the marriage was over.
She was the closest thing Melissa had to a best friend, which meant she was also the person most capable of seeing through her defenses.
“This is going to get uglier,” Rachel said finally. “You know that, right? They’re going to dig into everything. Your marriage. The divorce. Your personal life.” A pause. “Are you ready for that?”
Melissa didn’t answer.
“Mel.”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Melissa turned toward the window, phone pressed to her ear. “The bill matters. What they write about me doesn’t change that.”
“It matters if it affects you. If it affects Lila.”
“Lila is fine. She’s having a wonderful summer.” The words came out sharper than intended. “She’s happy. The new nanny is… good with her. She even took Lila to the lake.”
“And you joined them,” Rachel said. “I almost choked on my coffee when you sent me that picture. I can’t believe you, Melissa Brandt, went to the lake to just relax and be.”
Melissa tried not to sound too affronted. “I know how to relax.”
“Really?”
“Rachel—”
“Well, you looked happy. You and Lila. You should do more of that.”
Melissa scrolled through her phone to the photo. June had taken it—Lila laughing in the water, sunlight catching the spray, Melissa watching her. She’d forwarded it to Rachel without thinking, a rare moment of impulse.
“It was a nice day,” she said carefully.
“Relax-days usually are. Or so I’ve been told.” A muffled knock on Rachel’s end. “I have to go. But you’re calling me tonight, understand? Actually calling, not texting. I want to hear your voice when you tell me you’re fine.”
“I’m fine.”
“Tonight, Melissa.”
The line went dead, and Melissa stood alone in her office, staring at the tablet still open on her desk. The headline glared up at her, black letters on white screen, each word a tiny wound.
Post-divorce struggles. Can she handle the pressure?
She thought about Michael, about the affair that had ended their marriage, about the careful press statements and the private devastation.
When she blinked, the quiet devastation of Lila’s face flashed before her, when they’d told her daddy was moving away.
She’d tried to hold everything together, to be strong enough for both of them, to prove that she didn’t need anyone.
Are you ready for that?
No. She wasn’t. But she didn’t have a choice.
The drive home took longer than usual. Traffic on the highway, an accident near the Redwood Hollow exit, Melissa’s thoughts spiraling in circles while she sat behind the wheel and watched the sun sink toward the horizon.
By the time she pulled into the driveway, it was nearly eight. The house was lit from within, warm light spilling through the kitchen windows, and she could see movement inside—probably June cleaning up from dinner.
They ate without me again.
Even in her head, it sounded sad. She pushed it away; it was just the way it was.
June fed Lila, and the part where she kept one plate for Melissa’s unpredictable returns was really outside of the scope of their arrangement.
June was the nanny; she wasn’t some personal assistant to Melissa.
There was no requirement for June to cook for her, or take care of her in any other way.
But tonight, sitting in her car in the gathering dark, Melissa felt the weight of all those missed dinners pressing down on her.
She went inside.
The house was quiet. Lila must already be in bed—it was past her bedtime, and June was strict about the schedule. Melissa set her bag on the entry table and moved toward the kitchen.
There, she found June.
She was standing at the sink, washing dishes, her back to the doorway. Her hair was loose tonight, falling past her shoulders in soft waves, and she was humming something Melissa didn’t recognize.
Melissa stood in the doorway for a moment, watching.
She’d been doing that more lately. Watching June move through the kitchen, watching her interact with Lila, watching the way she filled spaces that had been empty for so long. It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t—
It wasn’t anything.
“You’re home.”
June had turned, dish towel in hand, and Melissa realized she’d been caught staring.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t.” June smiled, but it faded quickly as she studied Melissa’s face. “Long day?”
“Something like that.”
“There’s a plate in the oven. Lila helped make it—chicken and roasted vegetables. She’s very proud of her carrot-cutting skills.”
“I’m sure she is. It’s good of you to teach her.”
“It’s fun. She’s a quick study.”
Melissa moved to the oven, retrieving the plate, but she wasn’t hungry. The knot in her stomach had been there since she’d read the article, and food was the last thing she wanted. It wasn’t the article itself; it was what she knew would come in the coming weeks.
June was watching her. Melissa could feel it—that steady, assessing gaze, the same one that had unsettled her from the first day.
“Are you okay?”
The question was gentle. Non-intrusive. The kind of question that could be brushed off with a polite deflection, the way Melissa brushed off most questions about her wellbeing.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Okay.” June didn’t push. She turned back to the dishes, giving Melissa space, and somehow that made it worse.
Melissa took the plate to the island but didn’t sit. She stood there, staring at the food, feeling the silence stretch between them.