Window Across the River（ISBN=9780156030120）

　　Isaac and Nora haven't seen each other in five years, yet when Nora phones Isaac late one night, he knows who it is before she's spoken a word. Isaac, a photographer, is relinquishing his artistic career, while Nora, a writer, is seeking to rededicate herself to hers. Fueled by their rediscovered love, Nora is soon on fire with the best work she's ever done, until she realizes that the story she's writing has turned into a fictionalized portrait of Isaac, exposing his frailties and compromises and sure to be viewed by him as a betrayal. How do we remain faithful to our calling if it estranges us from the people we love? How do we remain in love after we have seen the very worst of our loved ones? These are some of the questions explored in a novel that critics are calling "an absolute pleasure" (The Seattle Times).

　　BRIAN MORTON is the author of three previous novels, including Starting Out in the Evening, which won the Koret Jewish Book Award, and A Window Across the River, which was a Today Book Club selection. He teaches at Sarah Lawrence College and New York University and lives in New York.

　　1 SOMETIMES YOU LOSE TOUCH with people for no good reason, even people you love. Nora had lost touch with Isaac five years ago, but he kept coming back to her mind. He would appear to her in dreams (usually looking as if he was disappointed in her); things he'd said to her long ago would bob up into her thoughts; and sometimes when she was in a bookstore she'd drift over to the photography section to see if he'd put out another book. Through year after year of silence, she carried on a conversation with him in her mind. Every few months she would pick up the phone with the intention of calling him-and then she'd put the phone back down. She wasn't quite sure why they'd finally stopped talking, but something prevented her from reaching out to him again. Maybe there was a good reason after all. 2 BUT TONIGHT SHE WAS IN a hotel room in the middle of nowhere; it was one in the morning; she'd been trying to get to sleep for hours and she was still bleakly awake; and it was one of those insomniac nights when it seems clear to you that your life has come to nothing, that you've failed at everything that matters and there's no point in trying again, and you know that it might help to talk to someone but you're not sure there's anyone who'd be willing to listen, and you lie there thinking Is it possible to be any more alone than this? And the only person she wanted to talk to was Isaac. But do you want to get back into that? She didn't know. It had taken her so long to forget him. Not to forget him-she'd never been able to forget him-but to reach a point where the thought of him wasn't troubling her every day. It was three in the morning where he was. He'd always been a night owl. He might still be up. She called Information for the suburb where she'd heard he was living, and she got his phone number. For all she knew he was married by now. It would be incredibly rude to call him at three in the morning. It was the kind of thing she used to do all the time. She would call him at midnight, two in the morning, four, and he'd always be happy to hear from her. Once, when she was just getting to know him, she'd called him at midnight when he had another woman there; he was happy to hear from her even then. The other woman hadn't lasted long after that. But that was a long time ago, when they were psychic twins, sharing every thought. It would be rude to call him now. It would be bratty. She dialed his number. After three rings, he picked up the phone. She could tell from his thick hello that he'd been sleeping. She didn't say anything. Maybe this was all she'd wanted. To hear his voice was enough. She didn't hang up, though. "Hello?" he said again. She just kept breathing. "Nora?" he said. After five years. 3 HOW DID YOU KNOW it was me?" She heard him laughing softly. "I recognized your silence. It's different from anyone else's." This might have been the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her. "How are you?" he said. "My Nora."