I knew what he was implying. ‘So why won’t he?’

‘It’s a very complicated situation.’

Mom gestured at me, all of me, living, breathing proof of what Heath Alderman was capable of. ‘That didn’t sound very complicated to me.’

The officer bent in closer to us and lowered his voice. ‘That family has this town in a chokehold. We liaise with the district’s benefactors, the local government, the schools – and not a single one of those bodies will be interested in seeing that boy in handcuffs.’ He leaned back and brushed down his trouser legs with his palms. ‘Unfortunately there’s no way to corroborate any of this, especially without the documentation, like you said. Even this incident – I’m afraid it’s your word against his. There’s little we can do.’ He got up to leave. ‘I’m sorry, ladies. I realize this has been a stressful time for you. We’ll let you know first if anything changes. Get some rest, now.’

The officer left, and with him, the entirety of my faith in the United States justice system.

Mom and I seethed. We talked about what to do in a situation where nothing could be done. She said we’d keep trying. She said she was sorry.

But mainly, we pulled out a board game from a sad-looking pile of them in the corner – Chutes and Ladders – and it was actually fun. We kept talking, and the words came effortlessly, now – but still, I found it hard to relax without actually seeing June in person. I worried that maybe she’d slipped through a crack in time and space. I thought of her, looking back at California, worried it would crumble if she wasn’t there to watch it – I guessed I felt the same way about her now. But she was fine. And I didn’t have to think about Dad constantly for him to continue existing in some form. That wasn’t fair. Not to me. Not to him. He was my dad, and I was his daughter, and that was enough; that was imprinted somewhere, either in me or somewhere else I couldn’t conceive of. And I looked at Mom, really looked at her face, and I realized that I was her daughter: and this was important too.

Mom had told me months before that I still had a life to live. And now, having stared into oblivion, playing some game with her in a hospital waiting room, waiting for the girl who was everything, I actually felt like it was true.

I was OK. And June was OK.

But she had questions to answer.

Two hours later there was a knock on the door. June’s face lit up when she saw me, and at first, I didn’t even register anything different about her; it was June, and she was here, and that was all I needed to know.