We hugged too hard, and it hurt like hell, but I didn’t care. I buried my head in the space between her neck and shoulder as all the fear I had felt about her, about what she could have been, purged from me. She was here. She was now.

I couldn’t even keep myself from crying, and from the way she heaved against me, she couldn’t either.

Only when she pulled back did I notice the brick of a cast on her arm and the shaved bit of hair on the right side of her head.

I realized the woman behind June had to be her mom. She had June’s wide-set eyes and height, but even tighter curls, bunched up on the top of her head. They were about the same height. It was funny; even given the couple of times she mentioned her mom, I’d never imagined what she’d looked like: maybe I’d thought June actually just appeared one day, perfectly formed.

I smiled as much as my wound would allow, and let her hug me. ‘I’m so glad you’re both all right,’ she said.

‘Mom,’ June said, ‘is it OK if I go back with Sydney?’

Our moms exchanged a look; June’s went to speak, seemingly apologetic, but mine stopped her. ‘It’s no problem. They should be together tonight, I think.’

So we drove. We sat in the back seat, not saying much; neither of us wanted to talk about anything. Not yet. There were too many tragedies, so many that I didn’t even know which one to focus on. None of us did. We were experiencing the full-body-and-mind equivalent of not knowing what to do with your hands.

June spoke in a strangely casual way to Mom about how she’d never broken a bone before and how badly it hurt when it happened. I felt the jagged texture on my right cheek, dragged my middle finger up and down the stitches. Likely, I think we were still in shock.

And then a hand on mine.

June wrapped her fingers round and squeezed. There wasn’t anything romantic about it, I didn’t think; it seemed more like necessary contact, like holding a baby after it’s born.

June wasn’t looking at me; she was staring out of the car window, the streetlamps silhouetting and dancing and playing along her profile, the long shadows appearing, skewing and disappearing like lifetimes one after the other. I squeezed back.

June next to me. June in a bed.