Chapter 7 #2
“I’ll be in my office,” she said finally. “I know you’re technically off, but if Lila wakes up—”
“I’ll handle it, of course.”
Professional. Appropriate. Exactly what Melissa should want from the woman she was paying to care for her daughter.
So why did it sting?
She retreated to her office, closed the door, and sat in the dark without turning on the lights. The article was still pulled up on her phone. She read it again, then again, cataloging each insinuation, each carefully planted seed of doubt.
Post-divorce struggles.
She thought about Michael, charming and careless, building a new life in Seattle while she held together the pieces he’d left behind.
She thought about the bill, the months of work, the coalition she’d built one vote at a time. All of it at risk because there were companies that didn’t want the added costs it would mean.
Are you ready for that?
She ate and worked, losing sense of time until there came a soft knock at the door.
Melissa looked up. The door opened a crack, and June appeared, silhouetted against the hall light.
“I made tea,” she said. “I found some chamomile in the back of the cabinet—I hope that’s okay. I thought you might…” She trailed off. “I’ll just leave it here.”
She set a steaming mug on the desk, the ceramic making a soft sound against the wood. The scent of chamomile drifted up, warm and faintly sweet.
“Thank you,” Melissa said, and her voice came out rougher than she’d intended.
June nodded. She hesitated in the doorway, and Melissa thought she might say something else—might ask again if Melissa was okay, might push past the deflections to whatever was underneath.
But she didn’t. She just said, “Have a good evening, Senator Brandt.”
“Melissa.”
June stopped in the doorway. “What?”
“Melissa. I believe at this point, you can call me by my given name. No need to be so formal.”
“Oh.” June’s eyes were wide, and then she nodded, her lips turning up in a small smile. “All right. Good night, Melissa.”
She closed the door softly behind her.
Melissa sat alone in the dark, wondering if it was too much familiarity, if she’d just made a mistake.
She stared at the tea. No one had done something like that for her in years without being paid for it.
No one had noticed she was struggling and tried to help without being asked, without expecting anything in return.
Even Rachel, for all her fierce loyalty, usually demanded answers before offering comfort.
And Michael, he’d stopped doing such things long before the divorce was a fact.
But June had just… noticed. And brought tea. And left without requiring Melissa to perform strength she didn’t feel.
She wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.
Melissa had just finished the tea and was contemplating whether she had the energy to shower before bed when the doorbell rang.
She glanced at the clock. Nearly ten. Too late for deliveries, too late for constituents, too late for anyone with reasonable boundaries.
Which meant it could only be one person.
She opened the door to find Rachel on the porch, still in scrubs, a paper bag in one hand and an expression that brooked no argument.
“You didn’t call.”
“Rachel, it’s—”
“You didn’t call, so I came.” Rachel pushed past her into the foyer. “I brought Thai food, because I didn’t have dinner and I don’t know if you did, and wine, because you look like you need it.”
“I ate. June made—”
“The nanny made dinner? Good. Then you can have seconds.” Rachel was already heading toward the kitchen, and Melissa had no choice but to follow.
June was there, sitting at the kitchen table with a book and a mostly empty cup of tea, and she looked up with surprise when they entered.
“Oh. Hello.” Her eyes moved to Rachel’s scrubs, to the paper bag, to the bottle of wine. “I can get out of your way—”
“You must be June.” Rachel set the bag on the island and extended her hand with a warm smile. “I’m Rachel. Melissa’s friend. The one who shows up uninvited when she ignores my calls.”
“I didn’t ignore your calls. I was going to call—”
“Right, because you usually call at ten at night.” Rachel turned back to June, still smiling. “She does this. Retreats into her fortress of solitude and pretends she doesn’t need anyone. It’s infuriating.”
June’s mouth quirked. “I’ve noticed.”
“Have you? Good. Then you can help me stage interventions.” Rachel pulled containers out of the bag—pad thai, spring rolls, something with basil that smelled incredible. “Have you eaten? There’s enough here for three.”
“I should probably—” June glanced at Melissa, uncertain.
“Stay,” Rachel said. “Please. I want to hear about the woman who’s apparently performed miracles with Lila. Melissa told me about lake trips and otter facts?”
“Melissa—I mean, Senator Brandt talks about me?” June’s gaze flickered to Melissa.
“Melissa talks about Lila talking about you. Which is basically the same thing.” Rachel was already opening cabinets, looking for plates. “Where do you keep the—ah, found them.”
June moved to help, pulling out silverware and napkins with the ease of someone who knew the kitchen intimately. Within minutes, the three of them were seated at the island, containers open between them, and Rachel was asking June about culinary school.
Melissa watched them interact: Rachel’s easy warmth and June’s initial hesitation giving way to something more relaxed.
They liked each other. Of course they did.
Rachel liked everyone who wasn’t actively terrible, and June was…
June. Looking for the best in people and pretty much impossible not to be charmed by, with those bright eyes and easy smile.
“They made otter-shaped pasta last week,” Melissa found herself saying. “June and Lila. The otters didn’t survive the boiling water, but Lila was so proud of them.”
“That sounds adorable,” Rachel said.
“It was.” Melissa’s voice softened without her permission. “Lila adores her.”
June’s cheeks flushed. “Lila’s easy to adore back.”
Rachel caught Melissa’s eye across the island, something knowing in her expression. Melissa looked away.
“I should let you two catch up,” June said, standing. She smiled at Rachel. “It was really nice to meet you.”
“You too. I hope I see you again.”
“I hope so too.”
June disappeared down the hall, and Rachel waited until they heard the guest room door close before turning to Melissa with raised eyebrows.
“She’s lovely.”
“She’s good with Lila.”
“Mm-hmm.” Rachel’s expression was far too perceptive. “And you can’t stop looking at her.”
“I don’t—”
“Drink your wine, Mel.” Rachel pushed a glass toward her. “And then tell me about the article. The real version, not the press-ready one.”
Melissa took the wine and drank deeply, grateful for the change of subject.
She wasn’t ready to examine Rachel’s observations too closely.
Not yet, probably not ever.