In Breckenridge, Colorado, while splashing in a hot tub with new college friends, I raised a spaghetti jar of Miller Genuine Draft and drank to my own health; meanwhile, my girlfriend was dying at a hospital in London. On Friday, April 8, 1994, some drunk smashed into Janna Sugar’s spine with his car (a car painted the dull black of shadows, a two-door, a Mercedes with those long blank license plates, a convertible—all details invented and perfected during the long years since the “accident”)...