Grace for Drowning

In the silence that followed, I felt that little spark of good cheer evaporate. I appreciated that Joy had come, and I was super happy to see her, but I wasn't so intoxicated that I missed the absence in the room. She seemed to sense it too, because her expression fell.

"Where's Logan?" I asked. I almost didn't want an answer. The fact that he wasn't here told me something was seriously wrong. Had he been involved in the accident too? Was he in a bed in the next room, trussed in bandages just like me? Or worse...I couldn't even finish the thought.

The fact that Joy took her time choosing her words only made my anxiety worse. "He was here," she said eventually, "when it first happened. But when he came in and saw you like this, he kind of flipped out."

"Flipped out?"

She winced. She looked like she'd rather be doing anything else in the world than having this conversation. "He tore out of here like he was being chased by a demon. I tried to stop him, but it was like I didn't exist. He hasn't been back since. I'm so sorry, Grace."

I felt like the ground had opened up beneath me. Logan was fine. He wasn't here by choice.

"Maybe if he knows I'm awake..."

The sadness on her face said more than her words. "I think he already knows."

Those words hit me like a punch to the stomach. Tears stung my eyes. I understood what had happened. I'd seen Logan run like that before, that night at the theater. Something had snapped inside him. But it had been three weeks, and he hadn't returned. That didn't make any sense, not after the things we'd shared and the words we'd said. If the situation had been reversed, nothing would have kept me from his bedside for as long as it took for him to wake, but he'd left me alone, not even sure if I was going to live or die. I'd never felt so abandoned before. Not when my parents cut me off, not when Tom died. Nothing compared to this.

"Can you just try calling him? I could speak to him."

She gave a helpless shake of her head. "I don't even know how to reach him. He's not talking to anyone. He hasn't been back at the bar. He hasn't even been at the gym. Charlie can contact him, but nobody else has heard so much as a word."

I wanted to close my eyes and drift off to sleep again, so I could wake up and have this all be some horrible nightmare. That's what it felt like, some impossible reality that could only be conjured by all the fears swirling in the back of my head. And then it got worse.

"There's something else you should know," said Joy. "You've got some other visitors waiting for you outside." Guilt flashed across her face. "Your parents. I know you probably don't want to see them, but after the accident, we didn't know if...well you know. Anyway, we decided we had to track them down. I'm sorry."

I shook my head slowly. At that moment, there was nobody on the planet I wanted to see less than those two people but, a few seconds later, as if reacting to some invisible cue, they came bustling into the room.

"Oh my god," cried my mother when she saw me, raising her hands to her chee

ks dramatically like a daytime soap star. It had been a long time, but she looked exactly as I remembered; slim, vulpine and blond as a Playboy bunny. She wore her fifty years well — with the help of a bevy of creams, dyes and toners — and even now, in her daughter's hospital room, she was dressed as though she expected a surprise charity ball to spring up around her at any moment.

My father followed a moment later. "Oh, Grace," he said, shaking his head. Somehow the gesture conveyed more disappointment than concern, as though he were saying "you didn't listen to us and now look at you." He was older than my mother, but still looked sharp and sturdy and, like her, he was dressed to impress in a finely tailored charcoal suit. Impressions were important to my parents, even in a place like this. Perhaps especially in a place like this.

I didn't know where to even begin talking to them. They knew nothing of what I'd been through, nothing about who I was now. Their intentions for showing up here were probably good, in the most warped way possible, but that didn't mean anything good would come of it.

I felt that tingle at the back of my throat, that yearning for something to blot the world out. Obviously a drink wasn't possible though, so my body reacted the only way it knew how. The tears that had been ebbing from my eyes became a torrent. Of course my mother took this as a sign of incredible happiness, and soon I was embroiled in the most awkward, physically painful family hug in history.

"Look what they've done to you," my mother said, after I'd begged them to back off.

Seeing them was unnerving, almost surreal. I'd spent a lot of time since our falling out thinking of all the things I wanted to say to them, but now that the moment had arrived, I was lost for words. There was so much more going on inside me at that moment. The hurt they'd caused was a matchstick next to the bonfire left by Logan's flight.

All I could muster was a tiny nod.

"Are you comfortable?" my dad asked. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine," I said, which was obviously far from true, but all I wanted was for them to leave me alone.

"Really, anything at all," chimed my mother. "We're staying at a hotel just a few blocks away, and we'll be here as long as you need."

It was creepy to have them fussing over me again like nothing had ever happened, like there wasn't a fucking enormous unacknowledged elephant taking up seventy five percent of the room.

"We've been talking to the police," my dad continued. "They haven't caught the fiend that did this yet, but they're following some leads. Whoever it is won't escape justice."

"That's good," I replied. I was surprised to find I didn't really care about justice or retribution. Maybe later, but it wouldn't change anything now.

"I haven't seen Tom around," my father said with a trace of hesitation in his voice. My eyes darted to Joy, who just shrugged. Apparently nobody had told my parents anything more than they needed to know.

"Tom's dead, Dad." I searched their faces for some trace of happiness, because that's how I imagined they'd react. To their credit, I found none.