It begins with the rhythm of rain against a New York window. For novelist Joan Wilder, life is a story she controls, unfolding on a tidy desk, far from the chaos she writes about. But on this morning, a damp parcel arrives, and with it, the scent of wet earth and a story not her own. Inside, a map, and a cassette tape carrying the desperate whisper of her sister: a plea, and a warning. Her care...
