One good thing from all of this was that the depression I’d been in had apparently been chased away by the accident, at least for now. I was eager to get going on another project, so I started reading through the three scripts I’d been sent: one action, one drama, and one romance. I hadn’t done any romances yet, so I read that first. It was a typical romantic comedy, pretty light on plot and heavy on sappy dialogue, but they’d already cast Alexis Giovanni as the female lead, and she would be great to work with. I enjoyed the script and made a note to consider it.

I kept an eye on the TV tabloids to see if Grace ever talked to the press, but the accident was apparently old news now that one of Hollywood’s hottest couples had announced their divorce. The stiffness in my neck would occasionally remind me of the accident, but other than that I had effectively pushed the whole thing from my mind. It was over, no one was dead, life goes on.

I accepted the part in the romantic comedy, and by mid-January we were rehearsing. This was a new genre for me, and I enjoyed the stretch. The cast was great too; besides Alexis Giovanni, we were joined by Hannah Price, a contemporary legend I was privileged to finally meet. We were all talking over lunch one afternoon when she mentioned her daughter, who had decided to go into teaching. “No Hollywood for my girl,” she laughed as she sipped her Evian. “She’s got her father’s reticence for the limelight. But she’s got a great gift for teaching. I’m proud of her. She’ll be broke, but her boyfriend does computer stuff, so hopefully she’ll marry into some money.”

This comment stayed with me that night. As I drove home I was reminded of Grace and realized she probably wasn’t making that much—and now she had to buy a new car and probably deal with higher insurance on top of it. Could a teacher handle that financially? The car she’d been driving the night of the accident had not been in the best shape; it was an old model, boxy and rusted. Not the safest thing to be driving on the 5, surrounded by SUVs and minivans.

I arrived home, sorted through the mail, of which there wasn’t much, and got ready for bed. I’d done a good job of forgetting about Grace, but now I was having a hard time doing it again. I couldn’t chase away the image of her staring at me, her blue eyes reflecting something between compassion and resignation as I’d hightailed it out of her room. She was the one in the hospital, and yet she was trying to help me.