“Ah, I think I remember that. He left Deep Cover not long after, I think. Did you ever watch that?” I shook my head. “Good show. Anyway, I vaguely remember hearing about the accident. He was there and saw it happen.”

I shuddered. “Wow, can you imagine?” I sipped my mocha and stared out the window. My free hand absently went to the back of my newly bared neck, which was registering every breeze and shift in temperature that occurred. It was going to take a while to get used to that.

“He must have freaked when you guys were in that accident,” Missy suddenly said. “It’s only been a couple years since she died. Wouldn’t that totally suck? To see someone die in an accident while you’re right there, trying to help—and then have it happen again?”

I hadn’t thought of that. It would be pretty horrific. “That’s why he’s doing it,” I said, the light suddenly seeming to dawn. “He’s all, you know, trying to make up for what he couldn’t do for her.”

Missy made a skeptical face. “You think so?”

I shrugged. “Missy, why else would he be doing all this? I mean, come on, I am not anything special compared to the people he knows. I’m not saying I’m not quality; I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense. I mean, do you know of any actors who haven’t married actresses? Or at least someone who’s famous for something? It doesn’t happen. There has to be some reason for it, and that must be it. He’s still tormented by what happened with what’s-her-name, and he’s found someone he can make it up to, in a way.” I sipped my mocha and thought it over. “That must be it. Honestly, it doesn’t make sense any other way.”

“Well … ”

I looked at Missy. “What?”

“What if he’s actually interested in what you said at the hospital?”

My stomach turned over. “Do you think he might be?”

She shrugged and drained the rest of her mocha. “Nothing is impossible.”

“Oh man.” I leaned my head back against the couch cushions and groaned. “That’s almost worse.”

“How do you figure? That would be awesome!”

I sighed impatiently. “Well, yes, in theory. It would be great if he wanted to know about God, yes. But not from me. I hardly know anything myself!”

“Well yeah, but”—she lowered her voice and leaned in toward me—“you were obviously good enough for God to choose you to talk to Jack about it in the first place.”

“Missy, for all I know I was high on morphine when I said all that. I mean, how ridiculous is it to think God really would have done that? I am not the ideal person for something like that.”