The woman is unnamed. The time is unspecified. The place is a motel somewhere in California. She is a widow, and it has been one year since her husband's death at the hands of Muslim extremists. She has decided, on the basis of a chance encounter, to take a Muslim lover. He is courtly, solicitous, understanding, and understandably nervous. He is married and has two daughters. She has had no lover since her husband's death. Their graphically recounted affair is passionate and disturbing, and it veers into violence. How can desire so quickly transmogrify into hate? How does prejudice contaminate belief? Can grief ever be expunged? Can we purify ourselves of our pasts, redeem ourselves for the future, or are we consigned to a vicious cycle of recrimination and revenge?