“I’m an actor,” he said. “Just like you.” I smiled politely. “Nice work if you can get it.” He nodded. “Got an agent this week,” he said as we started moving again. “I feel like I’m really on my way. But, you know, if we get to the airport with time to spare, I’d be interested in any tips you have for somebody starting out.” “Uh-huh,” I said, looking out the window. I decided, as we drove up the dark, winding streets of Harry’s neighborhood, that if Nick asked me again, after we got to the airport, I was going to tell him that it’s mostly luck. And that you have to be willing to deny your heritage, to commodify your body, to lie to good people, to sacrifice who you love in the name of what people will think, and to choose the false version of yourself time and time again, until you forget who you started out as or why you started doing it to begin with. But just as we pulled around the corner onto Harry’s narrow private road, every thought I’d ever had before that moment was erased from my mind. Instead, I was leaning forward, shocked still. In front of us was a car. Bent around a fallen tree. The sedan looked as if it had run head-on into the trunk, knocking the tree down on top of it. “Uh, Ms. Hugo...” Nick said. “IT see it,” I told him, not wanting him to confirm that it was really in front of us, that it wasn’t merely an optical illusion. He pulled over to the side of the road. I heard the scrape of branches on the driver’s side of the car as we parked. I froze with my hand on the door handle. Nick jumped out and ran over. I opened my door and put my feet on the ground. Nick stood to the side, trying to see if he could get one of the doors of the crashed car open. But I walked right to the front, by the tree. I looked in through the windshield. And I saw what I had both feared and yet not truly believed possible. Harry was slumped over the steering wheel.