I suddenly felt bad for just standing and staring when she didn’t even know I was there, so I cleared my throat gently. Nothing. Her music was apparently too loud. I tried again. “Grace?” Her eyes opened as she pulled off the earphones. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” I began, moving further into the room. “I’m Jack Harrington; I was in the accident with you a couple nights ago.”

She nodded mutely, staring at me with a look that I couldn’t name. It wasn’t the usual “Wow, a celebrity!” face that I tended to get; it was more searching, confused. I wondered if she was coherent or still mentally fuzzy from the head injury, or from the drip of drugs beside her bed.

I was suddenly very uncomfortable. “I just wanted to … uh … come by and see how you were.” She nodded and opened her mouth to speak, then apparently thought better of it and shut it again. This was really weird. I wished she’d at least say something. I kept talking to fill the silence. “I also wanted to let you know that the press might try to contact you—they also may not, they can be hard to predict, but I’m not going to comment, and you don’t have to, either, unless you want to.” Another nod; she looked distracted, but she was staring at me intently, and I didn’t know how to interpret this. I shrugged. “Anyway, that’s it. I’m glad to see you’re doing all right. You, uh, are all right, aren’t you?”

This seemed to snap her out of something, and she blushed and smiled. “Yes, I am, thank you.” Her voice was quiet; I had to really listen to hear her. “I’m sorry I was staring.” She flashed a small smile. “Thank you for your concern.”

More awkward silence followed, and I felt desperate to leave. “Well, nice to meet you, Grace. Glad you’re on the mend.”

I backed up toward the door, preparing to leave, when she hastily called out, “Wait!” I stopped and looked at her expectantly. She had that look on her face again: somewhat distracted, but looking right at me, as if she was trying to see something in me.

She studied me, frowning slightly, and then suddenly she smiled with a look of recognition. She let out a light, “Ohhh,” and she said, apparently more to herself than to me, a sentence that seemed born out of medicinal loopiness: “You’re the one I’m supposed to save.”

GRACE