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Unemployed attorney Isaiah Mellington, age 58, is surprised by a letter from his late father, Sinclair, a wealthy litigator. In the letter written prior to his death four years earlier, Sinclair tells his son that Sister Abby, a Dominican nun and friend since World War II, “will have loose ends that need to be wrapped up” when she passes away.

After learning that Sister Abby has died, Isaiah heads to Kettle Falls, Washington, where he’d visited the convent many times as a boy with his father and where he expects to spend a quick, easy weekend.

But Sister Abby’s “loose ends” are connected to a life she lived outside the convent. And eight days later, Isaiah, who’s been experiencing a mid-life absence-of-meaning crisis, is still in Kettle Falls with four women—an aging former nun and the keeper of Abby’s secrets; a romantic involvement; and two others whose lives are being hijacked by Sister Abby’s past.

As betrayal encroaches upon Isaiah as well, he discovers a paradoxical sense of purpose that does little to blunt the impact of a half century of lies.

Excerpt:

“Her job was supposed to be in Washington, D.C.,” Zeke said, his eyes still fixed on Isaiah’s and his jaw visibly tightening. “That was the deal Sinclair made with the Whitmores. She didn’t have a car or even know how to drive, so she needed to be in a big city where she could get around on the bus. But she’d only been there a couple a weeks when they sent her to the Washington Post’s Charlotte office to cover some cockamamie made-up feature story, they called it.”

“What makes you think it was made up?” Isaiah asked, feeling full already and watching in awe as the meat continued to disappear from Zeke’s plate whether he was speaking or not.

“Figured it out once I got to know her. Didn’t take much figuring neither.”

“And how did you get to know her?”

Zeke stopped chewing and fixed his eyes on Isaiah’s. “You can be kinda pushy, son.”

“Sorry,” Isaiah said, suddenly feeling like he was five.

Flashing a smile so broad that the meat was visible between his teeth, Zeke said, “Just joshing you.” Then he stared off into the air. “Chronological order, huh? Well, that might not be as easy as you’d think. But I guess the front end musta been on Saturday, October 23, 1948.”

Isaiah put his fork down on his plate and studied Zeke’s face. “You remember the date and the day of the week?”

“That’s what I said. You got a hearing problem?”

“Is that when you met Abby?”

“Yup. Everybody’s got a fork-in-the-road story, you know. And that was mine. Got up that morning, just like always. Ate breakfast just like always too. Didn’t wear my overalls, though, ‘cause we was going into Charlotte. Put on my go-to-meeting jeans and a clean shirt that I even ironed. Guess I should a seen it coming, but I didn’t. All I know is that nothing ‘bout my life—and I mean nothing, not even the color of the damn sky—was ever the same after that day.”