Every evening at five oyes'>#8217;clock, Christina and Rudy stopped work and began the ritual commonly known as Happy Hour. Rudy mixed Christinayes'>#8217;s drink with loving precision, the cavalier slosh of Bombay Sapphire over ice shards, before settling across from her in his Stickley chair with his glass of Scotch. They shared a love of language and music (she is an author, he a composer, after all), a delight in intense conversation, a fascination with popes, and nearly thirty years of life together.What did I think, that we had forever? muses Christina, seven months after Rudyyes'>#8217;s unexpected death. While coming to terms with her loss, with the space that Rudy once inhabited, Christina reflects on their vibrant bondyes'>#8212;with all its quirks, habits, and unguarded momentsyes'>#8212;as well as her passionate sorrow and her attempts to reposition herself and her new place in the very real world they shared.In this literary jewel, a bittersweet novella of absence and presence and the mysterious gap between them, Gail Godwin has performed a small miracle. In essence, Evenings at Five is a grief sonata for solo instrument transposed into words. Interwoven with meditations and movements, full of aching truths and a wicked sense of humor, it exquisitely captures the cyclical nature of commitmentyes'>#8212;and the eternal quality of a romance completed.
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