A woman sits beside the bed of her husband who has just died, and struggles to absorb the loss. She thinks of their daughter in far off California, who still believes her father is alive. She remembers her first meeting with him in Paris; an artist and a mathematician.
The novel is written in short, seemingly unrelated paragraphs; snapshots of a marriage that lasted for years. The images come and go as she sits in the dark bedroom. You learn about Nina, you learn about Philip. It’s a love story – not sentimental, with a strangely happy ending.
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