They don’t happen very often, but moments like these of sensory recognition are some of the most potent she’s ever lived, the transportive effect of a whiff of perfume or pencil shavings. The Russos’ house smells just like it used to, buttered toast and wood varnish and damp fresh air, the close collegial quality of somewhere lived in and well loved, and it hits her tangibly. She loved this house like a person, so much more than her own home.
