Two unconnected women, April and Isabelle, pack up and leave their husbands one misty day, but tragedy strikes. Isabelle does not see April's car in the deep fog until it is too late. Their cars collide and April dies, leaving behind her husband, Charlie, and 9-year-old Sam. Wracked with guilt, Isabelle seeks out Charlie and Sam and falls completely in love with both of them.

Isabelle is an avid photographer, and when Sam gets a taste of photography, he is immediately taken by it. His enthusiasm for this newfound hobby momentarily curbs his grief for his lost mother. While Sam and Isabelle clearly share an amazing bond, Charlie is justifiably reticent. Isabelle was responsible for April's death; how can she realistically expect to have a life with him and Sam?

As his initial restraint wanes, Charlie comes to love Isabelle's warmth and her obvious affection for Sam. But what future can they have together? What chance of survival does their love have against the odds stacked against them? Given the circumstances, is it even possible for them to plan a life together? Leavitt poses some weighty moral questions about love, trust, grief and forgiveness, some of them near-impossible to unravel.

Pictures of You is an interestingly apt title. It holds the literal reference to the loving pictures Isabelle takes of Sam, which will always bind them to one another; and there are the pictures that Sam takes of Isabelle, and of Charlie. There is also the more subtle reference to the abstract, intellectual "pictures" each of the characters has of the other people in their lives.

The young impressionable Sam has a picture of who and what Isabelle is, and as a result, has certain expectations of her. Charlie perceived April in a certain way, but was shocked to find a packed suitcase in the car on the day of the accident. Was she leaving him? Where was she going? And why? This single perplexing act raises numerous vexing questions about April, and Charlie has nowhere to turn for answers.

This probing book reflects a number of beautiful and somewhat complicated relationships. Leavitt is compassionate towards her characters. She understands their vulnerabilities and disquiet, and is able to portray loving relationships in a special way. She leaves one wondering whether one is ever what others perceive us to be. Do we fulfil the "pictures" others have of us? And to what extent do we reveal ourselves, or keep our true selves hidden from others?