Grace for Drowning

The only thing I didn't mention was Logan. I didn't know how to begin talking about that. Some days I was angry beyond belief. I had visions of tracking him down and yelling until my throat was raw, of releasing my rage through my fists, just like he'd taught me. Other days I spent staring mutely at the ceiling, overcome by fear and confusion.

Often, the urge to drink became so strong I contemplated dragging myself from my bed and crawling out the doors in search of booze, but my body was still too broken to even allow that. I had a morphine button, which let me pass some of the time in a blissful haze, but it wasn't enough. For most of my waking hours I was trapped in this hell I'd made for myself, with only my thoughts for company. I felt like nothing more than a passenger in my own life, being pulled along toward a future that loomed, dark and empty, ahead of me.

The healing process was agonizingly slow. Aside from my multitude of external injuries, I'd broken five bones, fractured seven more and torn two tendons. Apparently it was a miracle I hadn't damaged my spine, although most days I felt like a quadriplegic nonetheless. I could barely move for all of the plaster and bandages and stitches and, for the first few weeks, even the tiniest flexing of my muscles sent a lance of pain through my system. It was terrifying. You don't understand how much you take your body for granted until it's stolen from you. All I could do was lie there while the world rolled on around me.

Gradually, though, I began to heal. They moved me back on to liquid food, and then eventually solids. Everyone made out like that was a big deal, because obviously being able to chew steamed carrots is the epitome of achievement. It just made me feel like a child. My legs were still too damaged to allow proper walking, but once they felt I was strong enough, I began being taken for wheelchair rides around the corridors. I spent the bulk of that time fantasizing about taking control of the wheels and pushing myself out the doors. Nothing waited for me out there, but at least I'd be free to deal with it as I wanted.

My position at The Apollo was filled before I even woke up. Milo sounded truly sorry over the phone, but I didn't blame him. He had a business to run, and who knew when I'd be mobile enough to actually work a shift in a kitchen again. Maybe I never would be. Ordinarily, that thought would have left me curled in the fetal position, but now it just felt like another entry on the long list of ways the world was trying to screw me.

You know that phrase "in the blink of an eye?" Most of the time when people use it, it's an exaggeration. They just mean something happened really quickly. But in this case, it's perfectly accurate. One moment, I had everything — health, happiness, a fantastic job and a man who loved me. Then I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, all of that had been scoured away, gone in the blink of an eye. It's horrifying that everything can change so fast.

About two weeks after I woke up, they caught the guy that hit me — some combination of security footage and DNA left in the car, apparently. He said he was high when it happened and he didn't even remember it properly. Funny how he could do something to me that I'd never forget, but it just slipped through his mind like water down the drain. Now that the ramifications of his actions had sunk in, my apathy had faded, replaced by a low burning rage. Whatever happened to the guy, it wouldn't be enough to make up for what he'd done.

Joy visited most days. She did her best to cheer me up, coming armed with ice cream and Jersey Shore DVDs and a litany of stories about what was happening around the bar. I loved her for that, and the few smiles I found during my recovery were due to her efforts. She never asked about Logan, but the way she looked at me when the conversation lapsed said she understood how much his betrayal had hurt me. I think she felt as powerless as I did, in some ways, knowing there was nothing she could do to ease my pain.

One day, a month or so after I'd regained consciousness, she came into my room looking grimmer than normal. She tried to hide it, but the conversation was distant and distracted.

"Is everything okay?" I asked. "You seem...down."

Her brow furrowed and she looked away, as though she was suddenly uncertain. "I saw Logan yesterday."

My mouth dropped open. "What? How?"

"Charlie let slip that he had him stashed away in some cabin he owns, so the other day I snuck into his office and found the address, then I drove out there."

A million questions flooded my mind, so I picked one at random. "Why?"

"You haven't been yourself since the accident. You put on a brave face, but I can see how much you're hurting. I was worried. I thought maybe I could convince him to come back. I know how important he was to you."

I couldn't believe she'd gone to those le

ngths. "And what happened?"

She shook her head. "It was bad. He was bad. He looked like he hadn't slept in about ten years. To be honest, I barely recognized him. He was so gaunt, and he was wearing these filthy clothes. I'm not sure he's actually left the cabin this whole month."

"Did you talk to him?"

"I tried. He told me to leave. Then when I wouldn't, he threatened to throw me out. I would have kept trying, but I think he was serious. He got all up in my face, and he didn't look like he had much self-control right now. It was eleven in the morning and he was already drunk. Judging by the bottles on the floor, he's been doing a lot of that."

He'd fallen off the wagon. I guess I expected as much. Charlie had said Logan was "the worst he'd ever seen." Even though he hadn't given any more details, it told a pretty clear story. I felt a pang of sympathy, but I shoved it aside. Logan didn't deserve my pity. He'd made his choice, and now he had to suffer the consequences. I didn't know if he was driven by guilt or anger, or something else, but it was irrelevant.

"Well, I appreciate the effort," I said.

"It was worth a shot, right?"

I nodded, although it felt like a lie. I wanted to believe that if he walked through the door at that moment, everything would be okay, but that just wasn't true. Too much had happened for us to have any kind of easy reconciliation.

Joy's expression drooped further. "It frightened me, seeing him like that."

"Why?"

She hesitated for several seconds. "Because I'm scared the same thing is going to happen to you."

I tried to contain my surprise. I'd never talked to Joy about my drinking. In the beginning it had just been too embarrassing, and later, I thought it was under control. Was her comment specifically about that, or just general self-destruction?

"To me?" I asked carefully.

"I'm not stupid, Grace. The puffy cheeks and red eyes, the constant trips out to the alley, the fact that you lost your last job — I can put two and two together. I know that for a while there you were drinking more than you should have. I can't say I blame you, after the things you've been through."