Elegant beauty or not, Iris Brodsky is a 76-year-old walking catastrophe. She can't even get her corpuscles to flow quietly. Everyone assumes she's crazy, but in her humble opinion, that doesn't give them the right to call her a murderer. She finally convinces Charlie Hamilton, that charming 45-year-old widower from the police department, that her late husband was the Homeric monster and Bulgarian spy she always claimed. Her own innocence, of course, is an altogether more complicated matter. Charlie has reasons of his own for believing in Iris and spirits her away just in time from the clutches of a publicity-hungry law enforcement establishment. But from the first inch of their transcontinental American odyssey onward, the colorful pair inadvertently breaks one law after another. Not the most constructive of strategies, but it still doesn't qualify either of them as homicidal. Or does it? From the Atlantic to the Pacific, with perilous collisions along the way, Until I Die describes a life that cannot be measured in years, where even the aged and dying start from scratch in the universal search for significance. There are no failures in this life, other than those unfortunate voyagers who give up before they learn to honor their own souls. For the rest, an instant of clarity is all it takes to validate a lifetime of confused wandering. Or so Iris and Charlie hope.