I laughed, and instantly regretted it. It felt like an army of tiny men were trying to chisel their way out of my chest. "Take a memo: no laughing," I said, when I could talk again.
"I'll have to keep my razor-sharp wit in check then," replied Joy.
I tried the safer option of a smile, with no ill-effects. "Indeed you will."
"How do you feel?"
"Honestly? Awful."
She grimaced. "That sounds about right. Do you remember anything?"
"Nope. Nada. What happened? All the nurse told me was 'accident.'"
"You were hit by a car. The driver ran a red. They think maybe he was drunk, but they haven't actually caught him, yet. Three witnesses and nobody got a license plate."
I should probably have been angry, but the whole situation was so unreal. With no memory of the event, I felt strangely detached from it, like it had happened to somebody else. "I find it so weird that I can just forget something that important. It creeps me out. One minute I was walking along the street, the next minute it's three weeks later and I'm here." I glanced down at my broken chest. "But then a part of me doesn't want to remember, since I imagine it hurt like hell."
"I imagine so. On the plus side, they must have you on some wicked drugs."
"Damn straight. I feel like I'm on a cloud, right now."
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 cheeks 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.