“Oh yeah.” I felt like an idiot. My face betrayed my embarrassment, and the prop guy changed his tone and covered for me: “Well, but then again, maybe they figure the cheap hotels need ‘em more than the ritzy ones. You probably haven’t been in anything less than a Ritz-Carlton in ten years.” He winked and headed off the set, and I was suddenly reminded of Greg’s blunt words during our conversation: “All have sinned, Jack; just because you have it made here doesn’t mean you have it made in heaven.”

The caterer that afternoon was setting out sandwiches as I passed by, and the song she was humming sounded familiar. It played in my head—I could hear the harmony, and then instruments—and when I came back past her again, I caught her singing the words under her breath, words I’d heard Grace sing at the concert. They’d done that particular song twice; once in the beginning of the service and once at the end. The caterer caught me staring; I apologized and hurried back to the set.

The fourth thing occurred as I was driven home that night. The 101 was clogged, as usual, and as we crept along I noticed the license plate of a car next to me: GRACE4U. I couldn’t help smiling—Don’t I wish, I thought—and then a second meaning emerged. Greg had talked about grace a lot that afternoon in his office. His words came back to me as the traffic finally thinned and I neared home, and even once I was in bed searching for sleep the concepts he’d so clearly illustrated for me hovered at the forefront of my mind.

I spent the night wide awake, a luxury I couldn’t afford when I was in midproject. As I stumbled out the door that morning, my hand found the business card again. On the way to the studio I called Greg’s office and left a message for him. Five hours of staring at the ceiling had convinced me that I needed to get this God business sorted out, regardless of the impact it would have on Grace’s and my relationship. I needed to decide one way or the other what I was going to do about faith, because apparently it just wasn’t going to go away.

GRACE

I WASN’T SURPRISED when I didn’t hear from him. That night he left I sobbed myself to sleep, alternately railing at God, myself, and occasionally Jack. There was no consolation in knowing I’d done the right thing. As the days came and went, I prayed he would call, then prayed he wouldn’t, then prayed for permission to call him myself. Nothing doing. How could such a short friendship leave such an enormous hole?