Jane and Missy returned and plunked themselves back into the plastic folding chairs, looking at me expectantly as if I was about to deliver a speech or something. “What?” I tried to smirk, but it hurt to move my mouth that way.

They both chuckled. “Do you know what happened, Grace?” Jane asked.

“No. I remember … cake and ice cream.” Shadows of memories danced at the edge of my mind, but I couldn’t pull them forward.

“Apparently you rear-ended a car, and then you were hit and sandwiched in between.”

I was shocked. “Is everyone else okay?”

“Yeah. The guy you hit was barely hurt, and same for the guy who hit you.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” I breathed. Something flashed in my mind as I said that, but I couldn’t grab it fast enough to figure out what it was. “Is anyone suing me?”

“No. Although I doubt anyone would. No one knows what happened, I don’t think. Everyone was sober, the road was slick, it was dark, it was raining.

I tried to remember what happened after small group. I must have gotten in the car, driven to the freeway … I couldn’t stand not being able to remember.

Missy had a funny grin on her face. “What?” I asked.

“Guess who you hit.”

“Oh no … Paul?” How embarrassing it would be to rear-end your pastor!

“No.”

“You?” She laughed and shook her head. “Well, who?”

“Jack Harrington.”

I furrowed my brow, which caused an arrow of pain to pierce my head. “Ow. Who?”

“Remember Desert Moon, that movie about the Navajo girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember the guy who played the homeless soldier who found her?”

“Yeah. Oh. Oh.” I closed my eyes and felt ill. “Jack Harrington, as in, Jack Harrington.”

“That would be the one.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, which launched another arrow, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t figure out why they were smiling as if this was a good thing.

“He was here the night of the accident; we talked out in the waiting area. He seemed very concerned about you.” Her voice turned coy and singsong, and my knee-jerk reaction was to roll my eyes, which hurt more than I thought it would.

The pain and exhaustion and probably the meds were threatening to pull me back to unconsciousness, but this news was enough to keep me present. “Oh, please. Probably just doesn’t wanna sound like a bad driver. National Enquirer and all that—oh! Was it on the news?” I groaned and tried to pull the covers over my head. Southern California’s news thrived on the spectacular, especially when it involved Hollywood’s darlings. “This is a nightmare.”

“Grace, honey, relax,” Jane chuckled.