I may have avoided his hand, but there was no way to shirk his wrapping me in that same hug he had all those years ago. I’ve never given much thought to hugs. But Jack’s was one you never forgot. It was an earnest hug, a comforting one, like being wrapped in an afghan a beloved relative had knitted just for you. I inhaled deeply, remembering the smell of him, a mix of sunscreen, Old Spice, beer, and wood. I relaxed into him, as if by memory, and then scolded myself for it.
