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."
"You never said anything."
She shrugged. "I didn't want to make you feel bad. Besides, we barely knew one another. I decided I'd just be there for you, and if you wanted to talk about it you would. And then things seemed to get better, so it wasn't an issue anymore."
I felt like an idiot. Logan and Charlie had both noticed, so why wouldn't Joy? "Well, I'm sorry I never told you."
"It's no big deal. I wouldn't have brought it up at all, except that I'm scared. You've got that same look in your eye that you had when you first arrived at Charlie's, the one that says you don't give a damn about anything. Like I said, I can put two and two together. You and Logan started getting close, and you started to get better. I pick up things about the bar. I know he went through something similar, a couple of years back, so it makes sense that he helped you."
"You have no idea."
Her frown deepened. "And now you've been knocked on your ass again, in more ways than one. So what happens when you get out of here and you don't have him anymore?"
And there it was. The question that had been bouncing around my head since I woke up. Joy had a talent for getting to the heart of things.
"I don't know," I said. "My parents want me to go back to New York with them."
"Do you think that will help?"
"Maybe." It wouldn't. They were trying, and I was grateful for that, but they just weren't equipped to deal with this. They didn't know the extent of my drinking, and they didn't know about Logan. I could see it in their eyes — they thought whatever "phase" I'd been going through was over now, and they were going to get their daughter back, the one they'd always thought I should be. When they found out I was messed up beyond repair, I'd become an embarrassment, a secret to be shuttered away in rehab clinics and AA meetings. I didn't belong with them anymore. I didn't belong with anyone.
Judging by the way Joy was looking at me, she knew the truth too. She sat down next to the bed and then, cupping her hands in her mouth, she let out a long sigh. "Logan looked so...broken. Like he was just passing the time waiting to die. I can't bear the thought of seeing the same thing happen to you."
She sounded so sad when she said that, and I wanted to reassure her that it wouldn't, but I couldn't make myself say the words. She was right to worry. The scene she painted was scarily familiar. It was me from nine months ago, in the wake of Tom's death, stumbling around my apartment aimless and hammered out of my skull. I thought I had my problem under control. I didn't want to become that person again, but I could already feel the bottle beckoning me with numbing fingers. In light of everything that had happened, I didn't know if I was strong enough to hold it at bay.
"Have you ever lost someone?" I asked. I couldn't reassure her, but maybe I could make her understand.
She shrugged. "Grandparents, an uncle, but nobody unexpected. I've been lucky."
I nodded. A year ago, I'd been in the same position. Don't get me wrong, those deaths hurt, but they're not people you see every day, and they don't come out of the blue. They don't rip through your life like wildfire. Losing a partner is something else entirely. "When Tom died, it was like the world had ended. There was this enormous hole inside me, and it felt like my soul was slowly draining away through it. I hated myself. I didn't want to do anything. Some days I couldn't even get out of bed.
"I didn't think anything could feel worse than that, but somehow this does. Logan's not dead, but he might as well be. I can't touch his face or run my hands through his hair. I can't kiss him or hold him. I can't even speak to him. And it's not because of some mistake, or some cruel act of fate. It's because he chose not to be here. He abandoned me when I needed him the most. How am I supposed to get over that?"
The last half of my speech turned to mush as tears choked my body. Crying hurt like hell, but I didn't care. I needed to let some of that emotion out or it was going to consume me.