There was a warmth in the pit of my stomach, but not really my stomach—deeper than that. My soul? “I didn’t mean to—I mean, I did mean to, but I thought I was justified; I didn’t think it mattered.” The warmth seeped into my bones. I felt almost lightheaded, but at the same time the world around me seemed to have sharpened in resolution; the color of everything seemed richer and deeper and truer. The words kept coming. “For Dianne and Penelope and every lie I told to get a part and every dollar I wasted and every mean thing I’ve ever said … ” There was an energy that seemed to grow and expand and vibrate inside me. “And I have so much. Why do I have so much? Why did you let me get so much when you knew I’d waste so much? This career and fame and money.” I was nearly laughing at the sheer volume of it all. “My health, my life, my family, my friends, Grace—God, Grace! You saved her! She could have died, but You saved her. Without her this wouldn’t be happening.”

It was like seeing one of those cornfield mazes from above. When you’re in it you don’t see the patterns, but when you’re above it it’s so obvious. I saw the past five years of my life, all the dead ends and hiccups and tragedies that had led me to where I was now, and the intersection of my life with Grace’s and how everything changed because of that one rainy night. Like I’d been living with my eyes closed for all these years and had opened them, finally, for the first time.

“Thank You.” The words were woefully inadequate. Thank You? Was that the best the English language had to offer? But I could think of nothing else. “Thank You, thank You, thank You. Why me? Thank You.”

I was standing—when had I stood from the sofa?—and staring out the window at the trees, blindingly bright in the late morning sunshine. I had to go. I had to tell Grace.

It wasn’t until later that I realized I hadn’t been carrying on a conversation with myself in my head. God had been the One talking to me.

GRACE

SOMETHING SMELLED REALLY GOOD. I roused slowly, the dull ache in my skull growing more intense. I could hear voices somewhere and was pretty sure they weren’t just in my head. I took a deep breath and reluctantly opened my eyes. The room was dark. My shades were drawn—I never drew them, I always forgot. Had I done that? The voices, I now determined, were coming from the living room, and sounded a lot like Missy and Jack.