It rained so hard between my house and Jack’s, it was like running through a waterfall. Getting rained on improved my mood. Anything out of the ordinary did. I turned up on his porch drenched. He gave me a gray T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts to put on, and in his bathroom I peeled off my wet things and toweled down, keeping an eye on myself in the mirror.

I would be perfect for an anatomy lesson. My collarbones had their own shadows. A lot of girls would die to be this thin. Which kind of misses the point. I guess I looked okay under the circumstances, especially if I turned sideways so you couldn’t see the bump on my chest that was my port. Long neck, not-quite-human head. Better from the side, hand on my jutting-out hip. Front view. Port bump visible. Nipples staring. Hip bones. Lips. Who thought that up as a body part? At least there was one upside to chemo. No need for a Brazilian! Which Vicky tells me hurts like crazy but the boys expect you to have.

Jack Bell? Please would you go up to the model and locate the clavicle?

No problem. The clavicle is right there. It is also called a collarbone.

Go ahead and touch the model.

The collarbone goes from the shoulder to the neck . . . here . . .

Excellent, Jack. Now, can you point out the pelvic girdle? Quickly! She’s getting cold.

Well, the pelvic girdle attaches to the spine approximately here . . .

“Are you okay, Maddy?” His hesitant voice came through the door. “You haven’t fainted or anything?”

I plucked his clothes from the toilet seat. “Out in a sec!” How long had I been in there? The T-shirt smelled of laundry soap and, under that, the grassy smell of Jack. Even with the elastic waist, his shorts were loose on me. They could fall down. And I had no dry underwear to put on. Oh well! Que será, será. I rolled up the waistband, coughing to fend off the giggles. No laughing. No laughing this time.

Jack was in the kitchen in his usual place, standing with his back to the counter, hands poised on either side of him. He didn’t move when I came in. I stopped in the middle of the floor to let him get a good look at me. I wanted him to see me wearing his clothes. I tried to keep a slightly superior expression on my face. Who said I wanted to kiss him? That hug he gave me the other day had just been a moment of solidarity about fathers.

“I had this idea for the animation.” Now that I was here, with air in my shorts where air did not usually go, did I really want to think about sad skulls and crumbling faces? “We don’t have to do it now.”