Jodi waved Sloane around to where she was standing and pulled her to her bosom, which it really was. Some people have chests. The lonely ones have torsos. Jodi had a port. Her embrace was familiar and transformative. She smelled like a Salvation Army couch completely stuffed with lavender, and the effect was curiously settling, like the times that Sloane had hid behind clothes racks as a child, accompanying her mother on errands,
