Everything about the interaction made me angry. Angry that Bea was being weird, that June was friends with her, that Dad was dead and I was here and all I could think about was Bea’s clawed hands jamming a copy of Healing Homosexuality into my mailbox. June looked distressed, and since I hadn’t told her about the messages and my suspicions, it wasn’t because of that; it was because of my history with Bea, so even though the thought of explaining everything exhausted me I just needed to clear the air and get it out of the way. ‘What you think happened didn’t happen.’

June shook her head as we drove from the parking lot. ‘What do I think happened?’

‘Seriously, I feel like I need to address this or else – I don’t know. What Bea told everyone wasn’t what happened. We liked each other – I mean, at least I thought we did, and I don’t know, I’m sick of being pegged as some, I don’t know, aggressive lesbian, when that’s not what happened at all. OK? That’s not what it was.’

The world rolled past. We watched as it went. ‘I believe you,’ June said, and I looked at her. ‘Like. No. God. Of course I do.’

I wasn’t even trying to hide my discomfort at this point, but her saying that made me ease up a little. ‘Do you?’

‘I always figured that … that was the case. Bea seems, like, nice enough, but I totally believe she’d lie about something like that. I don’t actually know her that well. Not at all. No, I know you better and I – I don’t think you’d do something like that.’

I kept my eyes planted firmly on the dashboard. Tyres whooshed. Windshield wipers squeaked. Girls sipped. ‘OK. Thank you.’

She shrugged. ‘Please don’t think that that changes my … perception of you, or anything.’

I wasn’t sure what she meant: what happened with Bea, or me liking girls in the first place. I assumed the latter. ‘I don’t.’

‘No, because I mean, like, even I …’ She grunted. ‘Never mind. We don’t have to do this now.’

We’d been silently driving for a few minutes when June spoke under her breath, as if she didn’t care whether or not I heard. ‘That put a slight damper on my surprise.’

We turned on to River Styx Road.

River Styx. I’d driven down this road hundreds of times. We’d driven down this road hundreds of times. Dad and me.

And I knew, based on that, that River Styx Road was a dead end.

‘Is … this where Heath lives?’ I asked.

June didn’t answer.

We seemed to float down the road until we followed a left turning marked with a sign that read RIVER STYX, down a steep slope then into the empty parking lot.

I was back.