Chapter 14 #2
“It was. But what was worse was realizing it had been bad for years, and she’d never told anyone.
She’d been carrying it all alone, pretending everything was fine, because that’s what Melissa does.
” Rachel met her eyes. “You’re doing what he never did.
You notice when she’s struggling. You hold space for her without demanding she perform strength she doesn’t have. ”
“That’s just basic decency.”
“You’d think so. But she’s never had it.
Not from Michael, not from her parents.” Rachel set down her mug.
“Just be patient with her. She’s going to figure this out eventually.
” She paused, then added more carefully: “The press is paying close attention to her right now, by the way. Her name is everywhere with this bill. I just want you to be aware that anyone around her is visible too, whether they want to be or not.”
June walked her to the door, something heavy settling in her chest alongside the warmth.
“Thank you for coming,” she said. “And for—all of it.”
“Thank you for taking care of them.” Rachel smiled. “Both of them. They need someone who shows up.”
After she left, June stood in the quiet foyer for a moment. Then she went upstairs to check on Lila, who had fallen asleep over her penguin drawings, notebook still open on her chest. June closed it gently, turned off the light, and stood in the doorway for a moment looking at her.
She’s tired of waiting for people who don’t come.
June had said that the people who really loved you showed up.
Had meant it, absolutely meant it. And she was standing in a house where she couldn’t hold Melissa’s hand in front of the window because of a car parked across the street.
Where she texted we miss you too instead of I miss you because nothing could be screenshot and shared.
Where a stranger at the pool had called her the nanny and been completely, accurately correct.
She went back downstairs and did the thing she’d been avoiding all day.
She picked up her phone and searched Melissa’s name.
She’d done it once before—sitting in her car outside this very house before the interview, scrolling fast to prepare herself for whoever was about to open the door.
She’d found the official stuff then. Campaign photos.
A press release about the infrastructure bill.
A picture of Melissa at some gala, stunning in a dark gown, the kind of composed that looked effortless because it had been practiced for years.
June had thought she’s beautiful in a terrifying, untouchable way and then walked up to the front door anyway.
This time she went further.
The divorce coverage came up easily—it was two years old but the internet didn’t forget.
Photographs of Melissa and Michael at fundraisers and campaign events, his hand at the small of her back, both of them performing a marriage that was apparently already hollow by then.
They looked convincing. That was the thing that sat wrong in June’s stomach—how convincing they looked.
How practiced. Oregon Senator’s Husband Speaks Out.
Sources Close to Brandt Describe Difficult Year.
Comment sections she should not have read, and read anyway, full of strangers with confident opinions about a woman they had never met.
Then the older stuff. Melissa at thirty-five, newly elected, sharp and bright-eyed at a podium. Melissa at forty, mid-divorce, photographed leaving a courthouse in sunglasses, spine absolutely straight, not a crack showing anywhere.
The woman who called just to hear June’s voice had never once appeared in any of these images.
June put her phone face-down on the counter and looked at the kitchen around her.
The herbs on the windowsill. The cast-iron pan she’d brought from home.
The small sunflower Lila had drawn in marker on a Post-it note and stuck to the refrigerator door weeks ago, still there because neither of them had moved it.
Her phone rang. Unknown number, local area code.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this—sorry, I’m looking for the Brandt residence?
” A young voice, friendly, casual. “I’m calling from the Redwood Herald.
I’m doing a piece on Senator Brandt’s infrastructure bill and I was hoping to get some background from people close to the family.
Just local color stuff. You’re—are you the nanny? ”
“I’m not able to help you with that,” June said.
“Oh, totally understand, it’s super informal, I’m just trying to get a sense of—”
“Have a good evening.” June hung up.
She sat with the phone in her hand, her heart beating faster than the call warranted. It had been nothing. Thirty seconds. The reporter hadn’t asked anything suspicious, hadn’t implied anything. Just local color, background, people close to the family.
She lived in this house. She knew which side of the bed Melissa slept on and the exact spot below her ear that made her breath go unsteady.
She knew things that would constitute local color in ways that reporter couldn’t have imagined.
And she hadn’t said a word, would never say a word, but the call sat in her chest like a cold stone anyway.
Wednesday was library day.
They walked the familiar route through downtown Redwood Hollow, past Bean There, Done That and the small boutique where they’d bought Lila’s Fourth of July dress.
The summer heat had softened into something more bearable, and the streets were busy with tourists and locals alike, everyone moving a little slower than usual.
At the library, Lila disappeared into the children’s section while June wandered the stacks, pulling books at random without really seeing them. Her mind kept drifting—to Melissa, to the meetings in Salem, to the Thornfield situation she’d been reading about in the news.
Procedural irregularities. The phrase kept appearing in articles, always in quotes, always attributed to unnamed sources.
It was a delay tactic, others cited in the articles said; a way to derail the bill without having to vote against it directly.
But it was working. The vote had been postponed indefinitely, and Melissa’s careful coalition was starting to fray.
She’s fighting so hard, June thought. And they’re trying to tear her apart.
“Miss Hollis?” Lila appeared at her elbow, a stack of books in her arms. “I found some new ones. There’s one about river otters, and one about sea otters, and one about—”
“Let me guess. Otters?”
Lila grinned. “Giant otters. From South America. They’re the biggest kind.”
“Of course they are.” June took half the stack from her. “Anything else?”
“There’s one about a girl whose dad goes away and doesn’t come back.” Lila’s voice was quieter now, her eyes fixed on the carpet. “I thought maybe I’d read it.”
June’s heart clenched. “That sounds like a good one. Do you want to talk about it?”
“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.”
“Maybe I’m trying something new.” A pause, the sound of him settling into his recliner—she could picture it perfectly, the worn armrest, the side table with his coffee. “Your mother’s worried about you.”