Coincidence
Chapter One
It started with my father's death. At least, that was how it seemed
at the time. Now, looking back, I realize how impossible it is to be
sure where anything really begins; or, for that matter, where, or
even whether, it has ended.
I was alone at our apartment in Manhattan for the weekend. My wife,
Sara, was in Chicago checking out a couple of young artists who were
exhibiting there. She had her own gallery downtown in TriBeCa and a
reputation for bringing new talent to the attention of a
sophisticated market at just the right time. It was Sunday evening
and I'd spent the day alone, trying to work up an idea for a new
book. I write nonfiction books that occupy a kind of no-man's-land
between real science and fantastical speculation. I've dealt with
poltergeists, ESP of various kinds, stone circles, ley lines, the
pyramids. You get the idea. I have a good time and never knowingly
write junk. I mean I don't just invent stuff or make claims unless I
can support them with at least a respectable amount of evidence.
They're not best-sellers, but at least they do well enough to keep
my publishers coming back for more, so I suppose I can' ... read full excerpt from: Coincidence ebook
